Saturday, April 25, 2009
In flawlessly fluent English, the Odd Prowler cleared the air in ten seconds of a malestrom which had been brewing for months.
When a female (and single) Bluegreenplant reporter was passing through the neighborhood where the Odd Prowler is renting a room from Bill Duckton, she stopped when she saw the Odd Prowler washing and waxing Duckton's proverbial blue car. She decided to give him an impromptu English quiz.
"Where are you from?"
"Why don't you ask old autoharpist?"
"How is it going in ESOL One class?"
"Aren't you afraid you are going to get a sunburn out here in the hot sun with no shirt?"
"We have sun in Center of Earth. Um..." He paused.
The clever reporter had tricked him and he knew it. He had admitted that he was from the Center of the Earth.
The Odd Prowler hemmed and hawed and then regained his composure and pointed at the clean car. "Look. No scratch!"
It was true. The car was just fine, no scratch at all. The scratch must have been grime.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
The infamously shy autoharpist, Mally Branagain, spoke in public for the first time since her traumatic brush with death in 1974.
Her words were music to the ears of audience members during her Pacoima, California, concert just last week. Mally had previously sworn that she would never again talk "patter" between songs at one of her concerts because a yellow New Mexican scorpion attempted to take her life when she was cracking a joke about music notes before a roadie smashed it.
In Pacoima, she halted herself midway through the old classic "Old Bunch o' Keys," grabbed the microphone and shouted, "I know where he is from! I know where he is from! The Odd Prowler is from the Center of the Earth!"
Just then, a string broke on her autoharp and she was rushed off the stage.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
With a dejected Odd Prowler sustaining an undersized umbrella above him at a press conference in the pouring rain, Pluitzer Prize Winner Bluegreenplant reporter, Bill Duckton, decided to cut his losses and apologize to Bill Dafferty for dragging his name through the mud.
"I am so sorry," he began, "that Bill Dafferty chose to hire this flamboyantly untalented lawyer to threaten me and make my good friend..." He gestured toward the Odd Prowler, who seemed to understand. Then he continued, "He made my friend, someone who saved my life in the Center of the Earth, so nervous that he couldn't pass the ESOL test to the next level."
A concerted gasp was heard from the other reporter in attendance.
"Titstein knows that this guy," He pointed to the Odd Prowler again, "should be in Level Two! Oh, yeah. And I know that Bill Dafferty is an honorable man and I apologize if his lawyer thought I dragged his name through the mudd."
Tuesday, April 07, 2009
It was a simple interview, ten questions. The odd prowler had been studying for weeks. Everyone admired how well prepared he was. Confidence guided him to the chair across from the examiner. His mind--sharper than any pencil. The questioning began.
"What is your name?"
"What is your name?"
Awkward silence. The odd prowler's lack of comprehension prompted an osmosis of nervous sweat on his forehead.
"What is your name?" and the interview was over. The quizmaster flatly refused to bend the rules a little bit and move on to the next question.
The odd prowler vocalized a non-lexical speech perturbation.
"This interview is over. He is to be remanded to Level One."
So he must repeat Level One English Class, even though this reporter has heard him banter in English. He refused to answer the very first question, and for that reason we shall continue to call him, the odd prowler.