the Face of Everyman’s whole being shuddered as he was awakened by Reggie playing peekaboo. The Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa Montetorkie School’s “head start” program that encouraged interaction among all beings. The venerable sage was determined to have his class of being removed from the list. No artfully carved chunk of basalt should ever have to suffer the indignity of having cold wet claws covering his eyes. Where were the parents when this sort of thing happened? Probably playing bingo in the Casino.
Conway approached the Face of Everyman more on his own behalf than his narrow constituency. He had learned that an ear mark in the new tax bill would place a tariff on out of state Crawdad tails and offshore farmed garden slugs. Many locals in Ward 3 of the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa relied upon “C” to maintain the status quo. Could “E” bring pressure to quash this onerous and unwarranted tax grab? On this volatile subject the venerable sage remained mute as he was often wont to do.
For months Roscoe had planned a daring daylight raid on a clandestine Crawdad mill hidden somewhere on the vast grounds of the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa. It was meant to be a hit and run operation but somehow he got into a deep philosophical discussion with the Face of Everyman over the nutritional merits of crayfish over the common garden slug. Poor Roscoe, he returned home empty handed and had to be satisfied with dumpster diving for someones discarded dried figs.
From somewhere deep below the surface of the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa lagoon a hand reached up and firmly clasped the paw of Trasher. In that brief moment he recalled every detail of the urban myth of “The Drowning Dutchman”; an early explorer of this perilous rocky coast. Scenes of being dragged to the depths flashed through Trasher’s mind. Luckily, as the Face of Everyman later explained, it was probably just a turtle investigating and sampling the new intruder. Trasher shuddered in fear and revulsion. The myth lives on in his young mind.