Little Oliver had aged-out of the orphanage. He had been taught basic life skills and was expected to adjust well to his new life. When he asked the Face of Everyman if he were his benefactor, Mr. Robespierre, E shuddered and tried to think how he could steer this young fledgling away from the life of crime and chicanery offered by Mr. R. No suitable solution presented itself. Everyman, for the moment, was flummoxed.
Tilley couldn’t catch her breath. “Help!” Aliens were clearing a landing field near the very spot she had chosen for her nest. The Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa was seldom visited by authentic aliens in accordance with the 1947 Treaty of Roswell; of which the Face of Everyman was an early signatory. He assured Ms T that those folks meant no harm and were actually working to make the near by waters cleaner. In fact, the kindly ol’ pensioner had circulated a memo advising all that a crew of Master Gardeners would camp here for several days for the express purpose of habitat improvement. Somewhat mollified, Ms T returned to her nest to shelter her eggs from the Spring rains.
For the most part, the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa was a happy and friendly place. One long standing feud occasionally surfaced. The animosity between Robespierre and Mullard went so far back in time that neither recalled how it had started. the Face of Everyman urged them to form a truce and “bury the hatchet”. The metaphor was lost on these determined foes.
It was Earth Day at the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa. Once again that old mountebank Robespierre had slipped past security forces disguised as an Earth Loving parade marcher. Later he would mix among the crowd and offer an opportunity to buy shares in a corporation that would pay companies not to pollute these sacred waters. The hard working folks hereabouts were enthusiastic and eager to subscribe. Luckily the Face of Everyman recognized the familiar patter of this inveterate charlatan and “dropped a dime on” him.