Fictionlet
“Okay, I’ve got a question for you then,” Brigid said.
“Oh?” said Greg. “Fire away, young porcupine.”
“Well, I’ve always wanted to know just what it means to strike like thunderball. I gather it’s something that people who look at this world and want it all do … but that’s as far as I get.”
“Oh!” said Greg. “Well … it’s … um…”
“You don’t know either,” Brigid said.
“Certainly I do!” said Greg. “Don’t be ridiculous!”
“Well then what is it?”
“It’s … er…”
“Yes…?”
Greg blinked, moistened his lips and thought for a long moment. “No,” he finally said, tossing a hand into the air. “You’re right. I haven’t a clue. It’s utter gibberish as far as I can make out. A complete non sequitur.”
Brigid nodded. “That’s what I thought.”
“Still,” said Greg. “Tom Jones. That’s got to be worth something.”
“Absolutely!” Brigid replied. “That part was never in dispute.”
-The Gneech
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