Profiles


qmark.gif The Autonomous Eye does not wish to discuss his mysterious origins or the secret of his fantastic powers. Neither will he disclose his present whereabouts or his probable destination.

The Eye is bored with all these things.

The Eye does not resemble the photograph on this blog. Ha ha ha! No he does not. Ha ha ha!

The Eye does not wish to discuss the puzzling events of New Year’s Eve. Suffice to say that justice will be done. Never again will the Autonomous Eye be “shot from a cannon.” Like a common cannon ball!!!!!!!!!!!!

That little dwarf better hide if he knows what’s good for him. Yes, the fourth one. He had better beware the piercing gaze of the Autonomous Eye!!!

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Like, O.M.G., you’ll never guess what? I’m at the big Shell in Sydney, Australia to celebrate NYE.!!!!! Oh, and you know how I was supposed to be in Paris before right, because Daddy said he was sending me there for my Christmas present, but really – are you ready – really he sent me to Montreal!!!! How crazy is that? I guess I must have not heard him right or something or maybe he was playing a trick on me – as usual!! Oh well, anyway, I had suuuuchhhh a good time, wherever I was and everyone talked French, so what’s the difference, right? Thanks Daddy. And ha ha ha!!!!!!!!!!!!! Everyone here is talking Australian, so this time I’m pretty sure I’m in the right spot ’cause they don’t talk Australian anywhere else, right?

So, anyway, I’m supposed to tell stuff about my life and everything. So, okay, I live with Daddy. He’s really nice and calls me his princess and spends just oodles of money on me and sometimes likes to play jokes on me to make me laugh. We have sooooo much fun together. Mummy died when I was just really little and Daddy’s like, “whatever”, if I ask anything about her. He says she was an old witch and I’m better off without her anyway. I don’t know. Some people’s mummy’s are really super nice. My friend Gina’s mummy cooks, like, the most amazing stuff for us all the time and knits things and stuff. She’s kinda fat, but always hugs me and makes me feel super warm and fuzzy. Her hugs are really soft and cuddly –not like Daddy’s hugs…but don’t tell him because I don’t want to hurt his feelings.

Okay, so, I’m blond and have the cutest blue eyes and dimples and all the boys say I’m drop dead gorgeous. And lots of girls tell me that, too, so it must be true. I don’t know. I’m just me and I try to be nice to everyone and stuff and I give things to poor people all the time and once, I told an old lady how to get to the American Embassy. I knew because I used to date a guy who worked there!!! How cool was that?!!! It felt super good to be helpful. I like being helpful. So that’s me — ES. I love you all. xxxoooxx!!!!!!!!!!!

An internet poem
by Fox

The arctic fox is adapted to survive in the far north.
“Kumiho” is the word for the fox spirits of Korean mythology;
a fox is hunted on the ice.
The fox is out of the bag.

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Foxes are clever mammals with large ears
and a long, bushy tail.
This is an educational site
dedicated to the often misunderstood red fox. 

This brave fox wandered up on our porch.
The fox is now in the shops.
The Fox is a lovely big Edwardian-style pub,
fairly reminiscent of the Hare.

Studies have shown that fox numbers drop
as coyote numbers increase.
Coyotes have taken over the rural habitats
so that the fox are forced into more urbanized places. 

The fox knows many things,
but the hedgehog knows one big thing.
In this game you’re a cute fox, of course.
Fire up the Fox!

Foxes hunt game by stalking and pouncing,
just like a cat. They wait until the mouse or vole
comes above ground, then the fox jumps
high in the air and pounces on its prey.  

There is much written
about the history of the Fox.
Man do I love that Fox robot!
Fox better get ready for an email blitz.

The Fox school is the largest, most comprehensive
business school in the region.
Spot the fox, video, view, video, view,
upload and share, spot the fox.

To kill its prey, the fox
severs the spinal cord with its teeth.
Foxes, like other wild animals,
do NOT make good pets.

The Fox rocks.
May the Fox be with you!

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Posted by Shagatha’s Personal Assistant

I risk Shagatha’s ire in doing this, but I want the public to understand the real Shagatha – to know her and love her the way I do. You see, deep, deep,deep down beneath the harsh, woman of iron, Shagatha is a scared,vulnerable child.

Shagatha was born into abject poverty, the 13th child of alcoholic parents who earned a living as thieves and professional shaggers. Tawny and Lance may not even have been her biological parents, but she grew up in their tiny, fetid shack surrounded by a gaggle of unkempt and unruly “family” members and a never-ending procession of horny strangers. Her siblings quickly went into the family business of thieving, drinking and shagging for money. Shagatha always felt she was destined for better things and ran away on her 12th birthday – the day she was expected to start contributing to the family coffers.

How this painfully small, thin child, with no formal education, survived on the streets is something that may remain locked in Shagatha’s mind forever. All I know is that at 17 she married one of the nation’s wealthiest restauranteurs. He was 82 and alas, died after only 8 years, leaving Shagatha very well off indeed. She never married again. The public saw her as a gold-digger who helped old Ted to the grave. But, one evening when Shagatha and I were relaxing in front of the fire, sipping some wine, she confessed to me that Ted had been the sweetest, kindest person she had ever known and that she had loved him with all her heart and had been completely shattered when he had died. If you could have seen her face…. It made me weep.

Since her widowhood, as we all know, Shagatha has shagged her way around the world both figuratively and literally, amassed untold wealth and become the hard woman we all love to hate. To me, though, she will always be my Shaggie – though of course, I’d never dare call her that to her face.

Shagatha is supposed to write profiles for all of us, but she doesn’t seem all that motivated. I’ve written my own, and suggest the rest of you do likewise.

People think it’s easy being furniture, but it’s  not. They think a chaise just lounges around all day, with not a care in the world.

I say try it for a day and see how you like it. After a few hours you’d make a deal with the devil just to get your freedom back.

GenieWhich is what I did, essentially. Only I wasn’t getting anything back because I was always a chaise, and it wasn’t the devil, it was a genie who escaped from a lamp and gave me three wishes.

My first wish was to be human. That’s when the genie said it’s a myth that genies have unlimited powers. Apparently they can only give you modified versions of your wishes. Who knew?

The genie gave me some human characteristics and powers: mobility, speech, vision, things like that. Yet I had to remain a chaise for all time. There was even a  clause that said if my owner ever found out about my human characteristics, I would lose all of them instantly.

I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how disappointed I was when I learned all that.

After an initial period of despondency, I realized  I was better off than I had been before, so I vowed to make the most of it.

At first I just stayed home, reading my owner’s books, surfing the net, and gazing out the window at the world down below on Bank Street. I didn’t dare go outside, in case my owner came home while I was out. 

Then  one day I convinced myself it wouldn’t hurt if I stepped outside for just a minute, just to air myself out a bit and feel the breeze on my fabric. I knew my owner’s schedule like the back of my — well, like the back of my back —  and she wasn’t due home for two hours.

So out I went, clippity-clop down the stairs and out into the raw glory of Bank Street! Oh how I love Bank Street! The shops! The smells! The derelicts! The elves!

Now I go out  almost daily, as soon as my owner leaves for work. Sometimes I even go out  at night, when she’s at yoga.  

I made my very first friends on Bank Street. Life is so much better when you get to go outside and meet your friends at the Usual Spot for emergency meetings and beer.

I just have to be very careful that my owner doesn’t find out. I stay in when it’s raining, because she’d notice if I got wet. Sometimes I smell a bit funky when I get home because Third Elf had a nap on me or Foxy peed on my leg. When that happens I just give myself a little once-over with the Febreze, and then I smell like Citrus and Light again.

And that’s my story so far…