To hear Trudi's story, give her a click.
Or, you can read at the Synod Horrenda.
The story so far is here.
Redefining misanthropy for a fresh generation. Standard posts begin with a definition from Ambrose Bierce's The Devil's Dictionary followed by a modern adjustment. Miscellany on Wednesday and storytelling on Saturday.
Once I seen a human ruin2010 Update: An invention of Elisha Otis for the purpose that the descent of man not be accelerated by the descent of men.
In an elevator-well,
And his members was bestrewin'
All the place where he had fell.
And I says, apostrophisin'
That uncommon woful wreck:
"Your position's so surprisin'
That I tremble for your neck!"
Then that ruin, smilin' sadly
And impressive, up and spoke:
"Well, I wouldn't tremble badly,
For it's been a fortnight broke."
Then, for further comprehension
Of his attitude, he begs
I will focus my attention
On his various arms and legs —
How they all are contumacious;
Where they each, respective, lie;
How one trotter proves ungracious,
T'other one an alibi.
These particulars is mentioned
For to show his dismal state,
Which I wasn't first intentioned
To specifical relate.
None is worser to be dreaded
That I ever have heard tell
Than the gent's who there was spreaded
In that elevator-well.
Now this tale is allegoric —
It is figurative all,
For the well is metaphoric
And the feller didn't fall.
I opine it isn't moral
For a writer-man to cheat,
And despise to wear a laurel
As was gotten by deceit.
For 'tis Politics intended
By the elevator, mind,
It will boost a person splendid
If his talent is the kind.
Col. Bryan had the talent
(For the busted man is him)
And it shot him up right gallant
Till his head begun to swim.
Then the rope it broke above him
And he painful come to earth
Where there's nobody to love him
For his detrimented worth.
Though he's livin' none would know him,
Or at leastwise not as such.
Moral of this woful poem:
Frequent oil your safety-clutch.
A hangman told me, over beer,"My job I can do free from fear."I asked him, then, to tell me good,Why cloak the sinner in a hood?He answered, "Well, before I frees 'em,I dress 'em as the jury sees them."-Dresden Snappletort, Esq.
"They call me a blue-stocking!" madam explained;2010 Update: A Boston baseball fan after the 2005 American League Division Series. Prior to that, a Chicago baseball fan of perennial season-ending poverty virtue.
"Pray why, of all ladies, should I, sir, be named
From the hue of my stockings, which man never spied?"
"Nor ever desired to," the villain replied."
Bulbous bangs enormous roaredAnd swamping pickled he,Through beetling barbarous restoredFuliginous and free;For bellicose arbitramentHe on his nether ear had went!