Short new chapter for WIP

I assumed that I'd just take this day off and not add to BRYAN THE TYGER, cuz I ran out of time and didn't have anything in mind; but then I quickly jotted some dialogue and decided that it'll work to transition from this low point to some new adventure. So maybe I'll take tomorrow off, but certainly the next time I write it'll be more fun for me (not you, dear reader: it'll never be fun for you).

P.S.

In other news: my Public Private Diary is fully printed; also I made a list of my latest novels that have been printed but not included in any collection.

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“How did you all manage to discover my whereabouts?” asks the Wizard of Oz. “My fellow oligarchs assured me that this bomb shelter would prevent any meddling kids or detectives from sniffing me out.”

“Ah, so you were doing the oligarchy’s bidding!” sez Myala. “You weren’t just using that mobile device to exchange text messages with your biological family members?”

“That is correct,” the Wizard hangs his sweet-old-man’s head. “I became addicted to making money.”

“So, now that you’ve been found out,” sez Myala, “will you agree to implementing a redistribution plan, so that Emerald City can guarantee to all of those who you’ve fraudulently ruined that henceforth their basic needs will be met?”

The Wizard seems to consider this idea for a moment, staring silently . . . then he bursts into laughter, which continues for a frighteningly long time, just like the little fellow does in that scene from Werner Herzog’s film Even Dwarfs Started Small (1970).

However, as abruptly as his laughing fit began, it now comes to a halt, and the Wizard repeats his initial question:

“But how did you find me?”

I myself now step forward and say: “Well, our young colleague Ms. Gale, here,” I extend my mighty Tyger-forearm toward Dorothy, as she smiles and genuflects, “after doing a quick search on the Internet, learned that you are the head of an international monopoly, specifically a tungsten cartel; but that you were using this gambling joint as a front operation. Plus, she and her three other zoas (this Trinity is now sadly in Sheol, due to my own intractable wrath that will not relent), had just come from visiting you, and thankfully Dorothy remembered the return directions as well as the combo to the safe-room.”

Looking over Miss Gale, the Wizard’s face lights up: “Oh, yes! aren’t you the one who brought me those odd-looking fellows, each of which was convinced that some crucial aspect of his character was missing?”

“Yes!” replies Dorothy, “you explained that they were simply suffering from delusions, and you assured them that they had been in possession of these desired traits all the while, only they lacked the self-assurance to be aware of it.”

“No,” I Bryan the Tyger say, “those were not delusions. Believe me: I mauled them; and those men were truly empty.”

The old Wizard now appears puzzled: “But I clearly remember granting them each a symbolic trinket to help restore their self-confidence . . .”

“He’s telling the truth,” Dorothy nods. “To signify brains, he offered the Scarecrow a diploma; then he gave the Tin Woodsman something like a pocket watch that was crafted in the shape of a heart; and, lastly, in accordance with that grand U.S. tradition, the Cowardly Lion was awarded the Medal of Freedom.”

“Ah,” I reply to Miss Gale; “that explains why your friends seemed to contain no more than rank mist, and it was as if they were swoln with wind, when I consumed them. For there’s no way I could’ve distinguished the taste of a paper diploma from the rest of that Scarecrow’s stuffing: it’s all just wretched straw, to me. Likewise, a tinned mechanical heart, which registers clock­time rather than eternity, could never pass as savory flesh to my Tyger-palate.”

“Good point,” sez Dorothy; “and, doubtless, it can be said that, as a member of the political class, our friend the Lion was rotting inwardly and spreading foul contagion, before disappearing himself.”

Now that we’ve solved all these mysteries, there is boredom in heaven for the space of thirty-three moments.

“Well,” the Wizard eventually claps his hands and sez: “who wants to go for a hot air balloon ride?”

(What I predict will happen in the next chapter is that I Bryan the Tyger and my best friend Myala the Black Panther will leap out of the hot air balloon when we notice that it is flying over our castle on the peninsula in the Alps. But we shall do this only after saying goodbye to all of our friends and assuring them that, repeatedly in the future, we shall revisit them in the hills of the Chankly Bore.)