Rosecrans was out on parole. The village magistrate had granted an early release for Christmas. He had to promise not to do scams or bilk guests at the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa. the Face of Everyman knew in his heart that things weren’t going to go right when within days “R” was selling time shares. He got top dollar for every Aerie.
the Face of Everyman was flattered when the newspaper editor returned to the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa for a follow up story on “E’s” humble beginnings. The editors eyes glazed over when “E” spoke of deep magma chambers, tumultuous eruptions and grinding glacier flows. Sensing that he had lost his audience “E” opened his sea chest and displayed his medals: The Blue Max, Croix de Guerre, the Victoria Cross . . . From that point on the editor recorded every pearl of wisdom the venerable sage uttered.
Each year someone from The Village Press came to the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa to interview the oldest living veteran. This year the editor himself came to ask the tough questions. the Face of Everyman tried to insist that he was really a non-combatant; more of an observer really. The Editor pressed him ever harder; but “E” deflected such questions about being used as a cannon ball by Napoleon’s cannoneers. He would admit, however, to trying to enlist during the Pig War of 1859; but the editor had stopped taking notes. Ultimately the paper ran a small photo with the caption: Four billion year old veteran exhibits signs of memory loss.
Often “a day late and a dollar short”, Robespierre returned to the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa hoping to make money on the efforts to rebuild after the devastation of Tropical Cyclone Diego. To his chagrin, there seemed nothing left to be done. the Face of Everyman took pleasure in telling him that “The Boys and Girls Club” from the village had taken upon themselves and had volunteered to set everything right.
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.