This just in from Baltic Avenue....

Today I bring you two fascinating tales of love and redemption.

The first, a sure winner in the 6 word story rounds:

Rapist pirate saves the day again!

Now for the second, titled Chocofinger:

“Mint chip squadron,” the lieutenant boomed over the radio, “report your status!”

“All clear sir,” the elfin guard responded, his eyes never leaving the chocolate lovers catalogue. Roderigo, clad in a pure black three piece suite, slipped past the cookie ogler’s security post and silently scaled the steps to the foreman’s perch.

From this high branch, he was able to oversee the entire manufacturing floor. It was massive; clearly the elves had convinced the tree nymphs to magic the inside of the ancient oak to be larger than the outside. It was flawless, and that’s saying a lot considering tree nymphs are terrible at physics.

Rolling the edges of his well waxed mustache, Roderigo walked the distance of the foreman’s quarters in three strides. Along the smoothly varnished surface he lightly traced his fingers over a knot, and pushed ever-so-slightly. The sounds of heavy wooden gears clicked and rotated as the room transformed itself into a high tech, missile command center. Sitting in a shiny metallic captain’s chair, stroking a glaring mutant squirrel, Ernie, the foreman and chief elf, rotated into the room.

“We’ve been waiting for you, Agent Neuf,” Ernie said, snapping his stubby fingers together. Seven guards, all clad in their Keebler greens entered the room, semi-automatic guns in hand.

“Mint chip squadron, I presume?” Roderigo snidely said, adjusting his waistcoat.

“No, these are an elite squad known only as Azucar,” Ernie replied, his eyes dancing with dangerous glee as he watched the spy fidget with his cufflink.

“Well no bother, I suppose, seven are just easy to cast off as one.” And with that Roderigo tossed a cufflink to the ground causing the room to fill with noxious green smoke. He parried and thrust using his gleaming dagger to cut his way to the edge of the foreman’s perch. Then with a graceful leap he escaped the clutches of the last coughing Azucar guard by an inch, falling into a vat of oily cookie manufacturing byproduct.

As Roderigo ducked beneath the surface, swimming for the drain, he heard Ernie’s choked shouts of “Catch him! Don’t let him return to Lilliput with our secret!”

Henny Penny's To Dos:
Purchase electronic elephant
Build cat trap to keep that meddling Mr. Frecklepants out of the craft room
Kool-aid dye some yarn
Bounce
Teach Cleo French
Report to the taxman

Gutentag from the Gumdrop Mountains!

Welcome to the Hen House! Pull up a fluffy ottoman and sip your grape soda while I spin you a yarn you surely won't believe.

This year the heart shaped box of candies was especially frilly and promised exceptional fanciness. Surprisingly, the sole cherry cordial of the chocolate lot was not just hiding enough sugary goop to induce a diabetic coma at 10 feet, but it was also home to a perfectly preserved "P" scrabble tile. This sugar coated factory mishap was discovered by Miss Helena Pout of 87 Tiger Lily Court. Miss Pout had come to expect the treats from her secret admirer each year at Valentine’s day, but she had never found a tooth-cracking clue before. Convinced that true love was just around the corner she promptly dialed every name in the phone book between “O” and “Q.” Soon enough a date was arranged with a gentleman known as Mr. Rutherford Plumb, who found the inquisitive caller a delight and only half-listening to her tale of candied love, falsely laid claim to the 4 years of aloof gift giving. Their dinner did in fact begin a long and lasting courtship. One watched closely and delightedly gossiped about by neighborhood busy body, the recently widowed Mrs. Henrietta Spout of 67 Tiger Lily Court.

From the desk of Henny Penny...
Everything has been coming up roses over the past few days. I've had my fingers into the embroidery thread and my first few attempts at stitchery have turned out swell. Mostly the output of my efforts are for an online swap at craftster. I'm making "dotees," or mini art dolls. It's fun to mail things about the country and accept little trinkets, specially made, just for you. There are a few thorns, such as the new fructose free diet I've been encouraged to try out (apparently I only enjoy eating fructose filled things - like wheat), the need to collect samples for the GI doc (no need for details, let's just say I've never been happier to use my upper lip as a nose plug), and I'm prepping for a crown of the worst variety...the molar topping type.

On the happily ever after front...
We set aside our first deposit into the baby fund, met up with a Denver infertile couples group (and I'm happy to report we're rocketing head first down the luge to new friendsville), and Mr. G finished his final. Little Cleo has finally had a trim, she looks sleek despite her new interest in shivering. Whereas Bootsy and Mr. Frecklepants have been hiding for days, and only recently came out sniffing the air as I (quite splendifically) prepared sea scallops for the first time!