Wednesday, September 20, 2006

I am Dragged Before the Throng

"Get in there tartan-arse," vociferated Perkeo, forcibly tugging me into the Convention room by my leash. I did not approve of his vociferating and when I stood my ground and refused to be pulled, he tried hollering the same phrase. This likewise failed, so he yelled it instead. He gave bellowing a try but again, this did not elicit a response. He proceeded to scream, bawl, screech, exclaim, bark, and roar the words, but I would not be moved. He briefly toyed with ejaculating but this only made me more determined to stand still. Eventually he resorted to plain old honest shouting, whereupon I allowed myself to be moved into the room. I hoped that my protest would instill in him the lesson that I simply will not negotiate with showboaters.

Inside the room were hundreds of people of all creeds and hues. They gathered in flocks around innumerable stalls at which salesmen demonstrated and sold puzzles of all colours and shapes. Every man jack of them froze and stood silent when Bossert stepped majesterially into the arena. (As an aside, I am afraid I never saw many of the prototype puzzles on display - ideally I would like to offer my loyal readers some tips about what puzzles and games will be available on the market shortly and might become the number one toy for Christmas, but I only saw in detail the stall nearest to me which was staffed by a team from India. They were demonstrating a plastic likeness of an onion bhaji which the user was required to disassemble and then successfully reconstitute as a small model of Sherlock Holmes. I include a picture below for reference purposes)

Once Bossert was assured that he had every person's attention, he declared,

You know me as "The Solver", friends,
But today that title ends:
Forevermore you'll know me as
The puzzle maker with pizzazz.

This elicited more gasps of astonishment, not least from the Swedish contingent advertising "Ultimate Scrabble", excited at the use of six z's in one brief phrase. Bossert allowed a moment for his rhyme to sink in. Whispers began to circulate. As curiosity and excitement grew around the room, Bossert turned his head and from the corner of his mouth said softly,

Step up Horton, stand up straight,

...At last you'll meet your sorry fate.

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