Incomprehensible, outlandish and, dare I say, boring

Incomprehensible, outlandish and, dare I say, boring.

The events I have related are quite true, Marge.

Henceforth you shall address me as Mrs. Engram! I do not know any of you ... people.

But, surely you remember me. You banished me from my home and had me hunted in the woods like an animal. You used to call me "toad."

I certainly see the resemblance, sir, but I assure you we have never met. And I wish the pleasure had been indefinitely postponed.

Oh, a Dickens reference. Touche!

Apparently you have some breeding ... be it amphibian or otherwise.

See here M-M-Mrs. Engram. The fact remains that an alternate timeline has been created and it must be mended if we are to return to our own times.

So I am to believe that you three people traveled through time and attempted to murder me in Japan one hundred and forty-five years ago? I am further to believe that you failed in your task, creating an alternate timeline in the process, then traveled through time again for no other reason but to bore me with the details of your misadventures?

Actually, after we failed to kill you in Japan -- twice actually, with my father's unsuccessful attempt being the first --- we traveled through time to kill you again here outside of your chalet by means of a directed rockslide. Only to have failed again, or so said the crows. So we traveled through time again to this point in history to again to try to kill you.

How considerate ... and if this story continues much further I fear you may succeed.

But, you see, we could not kill you this time because you are no longer you. You were not where you should have been at the appointed time. You are not the demon Marge, you are simply a somewhat disagreeable demonic persona with an unuually long lifespan.

How kind of you to notice, young man. And you were the polar bear cub you say I detested?

Yes, ma'am.

No small wonder. ... At any rate, this circus act of yours has ceased to amuse me me and I am no longer in the mood to humor you. You must leave my chalet at once or I shall have my menservants, who I assure you are very much alive, show you the way out.

Perhaps, then, Mrs. Engram, there is someone you will believe. ... Karl, Truman ... please come in.

Malik! Mr. Abbas! Come here at once!

Hmmm. I reckon them two Turkish fellers ain't a-comin, Marge. Mmmm.

Karl here accidentally buried them under a pile of rocks, I'm afraid.

You! You were present when my dear brother Ronan disappeared amid that rock slide in Japan when I was just a girl!

I reckon that was quite a whiles back. Mm hmmm. I had some french fried potaters that day. Hmmmm.

One hundred and forty five years ago, to be exact.

You murdered my brother!

More like we kept you from eating the little bastard. At any rate, little Ronan isn't dead. He was taken away to Limbo by Saint Michael and, according to the crows -- burp! -- he's at the North Pole in 2009 babysitting Santa Claus, alive as you or me.

Mmm hmm. He alive and with Santy Claus. Mmm. Them menservant fellers a yours, they's dead, tho. Mmmm.

If my litter has been damaged in any way, you shall pay dearly. ... What do you want from me?

Do you know a fellow named Old Donovan?