Here is a letter I found in my house

From: Marge
Oct. 28, 2007
Impaler Castle
Romania

To: My Dear Dead Friend Truman
The Spiritual Realm
Non Parallel Time

My Dearest Dead Friend Truman,

It has been too long since we have corresponded and I hope you are well (the fact that you are dead notwithstanding). I had the strangest dream today and I felt compelled to contact you.

I dreamed that I was a little girl studying the martial arts in Japan when I was almost killed by a rockslide (these events so far happen to correspond with reality). Then I dreamed that I had a small brother who was trapped in a cave by aforementioned rockslide (I, however, was an only child).

As I stood outside the walled-in mouth of the cave, a polar bear rug began speaking to me.



(Here is a pencil sketch of said bear. Perhaps you did not know of my artistic talent!)

This must be very amusing to you, as you know of my fondness for polar bear rugs. I have been fascinated with them since I was a child and I simply cannot have enough of them surrounding me.

Anyway, the polar bear rug and I dug through the rocks to save my brother, but, alas, he was not in the cave. The only person there was someone named Karl, who said he was from Arkansas and was fond of fried potatoes. The next thing I knew, I was standing amid the ruins of a destroyed, burning city.

I cannot tell you how much this dream has vexed me, yet I cannot understand its significance. Perhaps I have too much on my mind.

As I'm sure you know the Vatican today beatified some so-called "victims" of the Spanish Civil War. To this day I am quite suspicious of the Spaniards and their forked-tongued king, Juan Carlos, traitor to fascists everywhere.

Also, I apparently have run afoul of the local bureaucracy here in Impalvania. It seems they have found some alleged code violations with the castle. Several inspectors have been "dispatched" to poke and prod at its thousand-year-old foundations and it seems none of them has returned to their retched cubicles. Perhaps they were catapulted over the ramparts or impaled in a forgotten dungeon. Whatever their fate I don't see how it is any of my concern.

At any rate I have been thinking of at least temporarily shifting my base of operations to the city of Allentown in America, where I would like to test my theories on society-building on a living model, so to speak.

I hope to see you when I arrive in America. I have been in contact with an influential blogger in Allentown and I intend to use his headquarters as my Team Marge nerve center. (He is as yet unaware of this plan.)

Adieu, mon ami

Marge

You messed up my new TV

So, Don, why do you want to be a character on Allentown is Nice?

Well, it looks like I'm going to have a lot of free time on my hands and I'm really funny. You should see me, I laugh all the time!

I have noticed that, but you know we already have two professional athletes working here, The Player, with whom you're familiar, and R. Dodger. They are very popular, at least with themselves.

I am aware of that Mr. Liker, but I was led to believe that both of those characters were dead.

That's not necessarily cut-and-dried. The Player is technically dead and he's gone to heaven. But he still visits the blog from time to time. The Dodger has had his head bitten off by a sea monster, however he's still talking and threatening to sue people. So I wouldn't say he's actually dead. In fact, I was dead myself and here I am.

I must say I was very pleased when Karl whacked The Player with his slingblade and killed him. You should have seen me laughing at that one. It was nearly as funny as the time I threw a four-yard swing pass about six feet over Westbrook's head in Cincinnati. If he caught it, he might have scored and we might have won. I laughed so hard.

Yes, I saw that. And I saw Sunday's game. You were so awful I think you messed up my new TV. Are there any other reasons why you believe you should be a character here?

Well, I'm a trend setter. For instance a week ago I didn't know an obscure rule about overtime in football, I mean I've only been around 10 years and I've only played in overtimes, maybe 10 times. Now I know the rule and a brought a lot of attention to it. This makes me a trend setter. ... Did I mention I like your tan?

Really? ... I have to be honest with you. I've been so busy and my schedule is a mess. I never know when I'm going to be around to even write the blog. Plus I'm still trying to decide if Allentown will be destroyed or not. Just as these may be the last days of you and Andy Reid, these are probably the final days of Allentown. I'm not sure I can fit you in.

Did I mention that I can dance? I do this moonwalk thing sometimes when I score.

You score? I forgot about that.

Or maybe I could help you out with the crows. I really don't get them or how they fit in with that Irish guy. ... And I don't get the deal with the other Irish guy. And what ever happened to Meg? She was cute.

Well, I guess that's on me. I need to put my guys in a better position to succeed. But I know what to do and we'll get it fixed.

Seems like I heard that in Cincinnati.

You some kinda demon?

You look well, Marge. Small, but well. Childhood agrees with you. ... I just want to pinch those rosy cheeks!

Do so and you shall lose a paw. ... How do you know my name? I have no intention of sharing banter with some flee-bitten doormat while my dear brother is trapped in that cave. What has become of my menservants?

So glad to see you haven't lost your charm.

I demand that you stop speaking to me and retrieve my brother Ronan from that cave!

Why, is it past your lunch time?

How dare you! My father will kill you. Do you know who he is?

Um, Ivan the Nosewipe or something? ... Listen Marge, I have a friend trapped in that cave as well, so I'll help you dig. ... After you.

When we are finished here you shall adorn the wall of the servants' privy.

************************************************************************************


Hmmm. I guess you's Ronan.


Who are you?


Name's Karl. Hmmm. I guess we stuck in this here cave. Hmmm. You some kinda demon?

I am the direct descendant of Cuchulainn, the greatest Irish warrior.

Hmmm. That's what them crows said.

You've spoken to the crows? They are a scourge upon Ireland! Some day when I am grown I shall wipe those creatures from the face of the earth.

Hmmm. Them crows said somethin 'bout that too.

Do you know how to get out of this cave?

Mmm. I reckon I have some friends outside gonna help. Hmmmm.

Why are you looking at me like that?

Hmmmm. I'm fixin' to eat ya. Hmmmm.

You ... have doomed Allentown to destruction

Good Lord, everything is ruined. Everything we have planned for so long has gone for naught. Marge will live and she will destroy everything in her path, including Allentown.... And it is your fault. You and your blasted crows have doomed Allentown to destruction.

I'm terribly sorry Mr. Bear, I truly am. But there must be another way to kill Marge without destroying the crows. These are noble, mythical creatures who seek to foster harmony between man and heaven.

Spare me your inane lecture, you toad. All is lost and the fault lies squarely on your frail green shoulders.

Well, I ...

But father, wait a moment. Remember when I lived in the future and I contacted to my own ghost in the seance? I told myself that you were actually killed when you executed this very attempt on Marge's life. You fell into the canyon and died. However, this time you were spared -- saved by the crows.

It is true. You were saved by the crows. If we were able to change your history, perhaps we can still stop Marge.

You know, she is just standing there at the bottom of this canyon, talking with Truman. Perhaps we could....

Caw, caw!

The crows say no. They say we must go to Lithuania.

Caw, caw!

I'm sorry. Romania. The crows want us to travel to 21st century Romania.

A fine big woman, she is

... Marge opens up with an aggressive move, tossing the sea monster through a large picture window onto the sidewalk. ... The sea monster is down and not moving. ... Of course, not much is moving as time seems to be progressing verrrry slooooowly right now. I'm afraid, folks, that this match may be over before it even gets started.


Jaysus, ya'd think a fine big sea creature like that would put up a better fight. We got tougher sea trout than that in the River Liffey.

Wait, there appears to be some movement. Marge is trying to follow the sea monster through the picture window to finish her off, but it looks like she can't fit through ....

She a fine large woman, that Marge, devil.

Hey, that reminds me ... what was goin on with you at the BrewWorks earlier, anyways? Wait, hold that thought. ... Whoa, what do we have here? The door to the grocer's alley seems to be slooooowly opening, and ... wait a second, it looks like ... yes it is! It's R. Dodger, Marge's faithful toady ...

Aye, he's a fine big strappin' lad isn't he?

Better living through chemistry, that's what they say. And lookit! He's carrying a rusty old lawnmower blade. By golly, it looks like the sycophantic yes man is going to finish the job for Marge. ...

I believe that's a keyser blade, devil. Some lads calls it a slingblade, but I fancy the term keyser blade. And, if ya don't mind me sayin', I believe that's a baker's alley, not a grocer's alley.

Whatever you say, pal. Who am I to argue with a drunken Irish tenor who staggered through a sixth-dimensional rift from a parallel timeline? ... So folks, Dodger is coming at the sea monster with a keyser blade from the baker's alley while Marge is still struggling to squeeze through that picture window. ...

Begorrah, a fine big woman she is ...

... Meanwhile, the sea monster is just totally out of it. She seems completely dazed and helpless. ... O.K. -- Dodger has reached the prone monster and, wait a minute, I think he's saying something to her ....

I'm gonna kill you just like I killed your pal, Atown-Liker. I should have finished you off back at that hospital in Mon ---

Oh my!! Did you see that? The sea monster just bit Dodger's head clean off and spit it out in the gutter! That's gotta hurt!
Crap! I'm gonna sue your ass!

I seen play like that once in hurling. I believe it was Cork versus Kilkenny. Callahan took a mighty swing at the sliotar with his hurley and he knocked poor O'Malley's head right off, saints preserve us.

Fascinating. I may hurl. Wait ... there's some movement. The sea monster has picked up a parked car ....

It's a wee little thing ....

She's carrying the car over to the house ... Marge is stuck halfway out that window yet ... Oh my goodness! The sea monster has smashed the car right on Marge's head, knocking her back inside. Ouch! Now she's throwing the car inside the house after her. ... I don't see how Marge could have survived a blow like that. That's gotta smart!

Indeed, I believe it was a Smart Car.

Is it my imagination or is time speeding up a little? Look at that guy walking this way down the block -- the one with the tan ... that looks like normal speed. Wait a sec ... Marge is stirring ... whoa! Look out! She's just kicked down the front wall of the house and she's following the sea monster toward 9th Street. ....

Jaysus, Mary and Joseph!

I couldn't put it any better myself. C'mon, we gotta follow them around the corner ...

No, not that. Would you look at that man comin down the block. Saints preserve us!

Aside from the hideous tan, he seems unremarkable. ... C'mon we have a fight to broadcast and you're a natural color man. With all of your inane comments, you're a regular Tim McCarver.

Don't ya see it, devil? It's me! It's me! Holy Mudder of God, it's me!

Oh! Isn't he supposed to be dead?

Hey! What the hell did you do to my house?