It has often been urged by my traducers that Lord Thrilling does not exist. Well, I am happy to report to yore Lordships that the old man is before me now, even as we speak, enjoying a drop of something cheerful, of course, and looking Slothy squarely in the eyes.
Howard Johnson’s motor lodge is where I first conceived of Lord Thrilling. Even at a young age, I knew the North American Continent was a wary large place.
Do not scoff at me until you have spent a month smoking my tea sticks. Dear Fixxx and I spent above a decade in the student ghetto and have nothing to show for it but dis well-worn pink frisbee.
Slothy eat a Big Mac and contemplate St. Louis, Michigan. The old five and dime on north Main Street is long gone. But the prisons on the east side of town still loom o'er the cornfields and tractor supply stores.
Is Donald Gene Miller watching these same cotton candy clouds float above the fruited plain? What a horrible thought on this sunny July afternoon. Lord Thrilling and I were only in the area to investigate reports of aggressive Sedge Wrens hanging about at a local nature preserve.
this cat been in every prison in Michigan from Marquette to Standish to Jackson and even The Center for Forensic Psychiatry in Ypsilanti. And now he’s in some minimum security lockup in St. Louis, south of Mt. Pleasant.