To tell the truth, I always thought my granddad’s pipe dreams stemmed from reading too much Ballsack.
That is until the morning Helen Wheels, my preceptionist, ushered in a tattered visage of the past and introduced him as one Flambow.
“Flambow” I asked, “author of ‘The Seasonings Of Nell’ ?”
“But” I said, “I thought you were mort. ”
“No” he replied, “Mort is my brother, I am Auteur, and as you see, I am very much arrived.
Bone sure, Messear, you are relative to Randell Jock Atrack ?”
“If you mean old Randy Jim, he’s my granddad.”
“Ah, your grandpear, the old fruit, may we?”
“May we what?”
“Speak to heem?”
“Sure I’ll ring him right now.
I’m sure he will be trilled to hear from an old camp padre. ”
“Oh ear from me he shall.”