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April 8, 2010
I don't want to ask. I don't want to be told.
"I am, however, considering that other great exercise in reversal of fortune: the capture of an albino. As Erskine Caldwell so delicately informed us in God's Little Acre, albinos can find treasure long buried or hidden from we normals. Doubloons, pieces of eight, even pocket change and the occasional penknife. It must be metal, I believe. To my understanding the albino cannot ascertain buried paper tender. But that's just scrip anyway, foisted upon us by a bankrupt government, eh?
They're like fucking leprechauns, these albinos. Plus one does not have to deal with the Irish in the process, the codswaddlers. Albeit, like leprechauns, the albino must be captive. Why, he's not just going to walk up and give you the booty. He acts upon duress, unfortunately, and you must be prepared to use coercion, stringent coercion if necessary, to force him to bely his gifts.
I love it when a plan comes together. Of course, all I have now is duct tape, a Taser, and a divining rod. --Velociworld: Changing My Luck
Posted by Vanderleun at April 8, 2010 6:31 PM. This is an entry on the sideblog of American Digest: Check it out.
Your Say
Thanks for letting me know that Velociman has his foot back on the gas pedal.
Posted by: Daniel K Day at April 11, 2010 12:47 PM