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Samuel Dreckers

Carbonized prior to March 6, 2005.

On Monday, I walked over to Samuel Dreckers’ house, slowly and cautiously, carrying my dome-shaped bottles of carbonic acid and tetrahydrocycline methyl chloride. Samuel (poor Mr. Wilson!) was not home, so I spun around at his front door until I spilled the chemicals all over the nearby QWERTY keyboard and jittering number line.


On Tuesday, I fell in a hole and could not get out, so I pondered upon the various tenets of MP3s, William Shakespeare, Bob Dole, and Alyssa Milano (and of course her feet). A bottle of shampoo poured itself down the hole on Wednesday, allowing me to do several differential equations, once more imagine an MP3 player in the rusty metal forest, and propel myself out of the hole.

Thursday was another nefarious instigation of instantiative methodology and orthodox complexity. Listening to something about car insurance, and deciding not to shop here again, I returned to Mister Dreckers’ house. He was there, sitting in a five-legged chair on his porch, humming to himself about golden xylene.

“Hey, Sammy! Dial 10-10-220!” I shouted to him as I arrived. “Have you seen or heard or subliminally officiated upon any Englebee Troobles lately?”

“I have, Phil! An Englebee Trooble came by my abode yesteryear and asked me about Alyssa Milano! Something about ’er feet! I said they were very cute, and he went on his way, philosophizing and reticulating with himself!”

I asked Samuel Dreckers (poor, poor Mr. Wilson…) if he knew where the Trooble went. Samuel told me he went to Beaufort, Maine, and was then headed to Chechnya for Christmas. I was determined to yet again track down the Englebee Troobles in another country.