The term preferred by Nursery Rhyme characters, to Nursery Rhyme characters. (As it were.)
As Eddie was unable to do corroborative nouns, Tinto would never know just how hard Eddie had tried, although given the sincerity of the bear’s tone, the clockwork barman could only surmise that it had been very hard indeed.
The sun’s father’s name was also Sam. As is often the case with suns.
See The Hollow Chocolate Bunnies of the Apocalypse for further details. In fact, buy a copy right now if you haven’t already read it, read it all the way through, then go back to the first chapter of this book and start again. Because this is a sequel. And although a damn fine book in its own right, one in fact that should win any number of awards, but probably won’t because there is no justice in this world, it might be best to read the first book first and the second book second. Only a suggestion.
Neat trick.
The debate regarding whether mermaids can be described as having thighs continues. And remains unresolved.
Which is to be found chronicled in that damn fine book (and SFX award-winner) The Hollow Chocolate Bunnies of the Apocalypse. Available from all good booksellers.
Stop it now! Ed.
Last warning! Ed.
Careful now. Ed.
And let’s be honest here, who isn’t? Because when it comes to royalty amongst the ranks of British entertainers, the Chuckle Brothers reign supreme. No? Well, please yourselves, then.
Even though sighing really wasn’t Eddie’s thing. As it were.
Well, just think of the fun you could have, sticking it over a friend’s front door while they’re out and seeing their expression when they come home.
Clearly Tinto’s reference to quintuple murder at the end of the previous chapter must have something to do with his problem with numbers. Clearly!
Yes, of course you know where!
It really does.
And I’m not joking here. When I worked in a prop house, I regularly received free tickets from one of the staff who was dating a Covent Garden ballet dancer. The tickets were always front-row tickets. I used to breathe through my mouth.
As opposed to the ‘ceiling below’ – although there is no such thing. Unless of course you live in a flat. But this is by the by.
Well, it was all soiled with the sewage.
The Hollywood sign is probably the most famous sign in all of the world. It was erected in 1923 to advertise the housing development beneath it. The original letters, fifty feet high and thirty feet wide, spelled out ‘Hollywoodland’ and were lit up nightly by more than four thousand bulbs. With a chap living in a little hut behind the sign, whose job was to change them when they needed changing. Nice work if you can get it. In 1932 an aspiring young starlet named Peg Entwhistle threw herself off the H. Others followed her example, but to avoid the bad publicity their names went unpublished in the Los Angeles press. In 1939, the light-bulb chap was sacked, the sign fell into disrepair and all its light bulbs were stolen. But then in 1949, the Hollywood Chamber of Commerce restored the sign, knocking down the ‘land’ bit at the end. By 1978 it was all knackered again, so the Chamber of Commerce got a fund-raising campaign going, raised enough cash to completely restore the sign and have kept it looking smart ever since. With the aid of sponsorship from Hollywood stars. Apparently Alice Cooper sponsors The Second Big O.
For it is indeed upon Mount Lee that the Hollywood sign is to be found.
The Roosevelt Hotel is a magnificent Spanish-colonial-style affair, built in 1927 and thoroughly unspoilt, and it is to be noted that not only were the very first Academy Awards presented there, but Marilyn Monroe did her first ever professional photo-shoot beside the pool.
Yes, there, obviously.
Now, again for those who harbour an interest in such things, it is to be stated that Mann’s Chinese Theatre can truly be described as the jewel in Hollywood’s crown. Created in the late nineteen-twenties by Sid Grauman, this oriental-style folly, with its sixty-nine-foot-high exotic bronze roof and its wealth of architectural detail, dazzles the eye and is the palace for the ‘royalty’ of Hollywood.
What? Ed.
Look it up. It’s really weird.
Yes, there. What a good movie, Bladerunner, eh?
Oh, it’s the 1950s, is it? YES, IT IS.
You look a right Herbert in the one you bought. Ed.
As well he might!
Number twenty-three being that number which always turns up in American movies. On hotel room doors, on the sides of freight train carriages. Here, there, everywhere. Why? Well …
Ronin. And what a great movie that is!
Well, it would in the 1960s on Owlsley acid.
And there is!
Absolutely true.
Ah, that’s where.
(For there is much jargon involved in being a trucker in the USA and chatting on the old CB.)
There it is again. Weird, isn’t it?
This being one of those roadside diners that had a petrol pump in front. Which was quite convenient really.
And a garage too. How convenient was that?
Damn me, not again!
If it’s going to become a running gag, it’s already becoming tedious. (Ed).
Make that the last (Ed).
The old ones really are the best.
It might well be asked why, if the other Jack was in fact an armoured robot, he didn’t simply do away with the officers when they arrested him at Area 52. It might well be asked, but it’s as sure as sure that it won’t be answered. Surely he was ordered not to cause a commotion near the launch site, and at all until the launch time was up and he was sure that the operation was under way! It’s possible, so let’s stick with that.
A soft drink popular amongst rubber toys.
Or henpit, possibly. Or possibly not.
As opposed to starboard. As ships of all varieties are wont to do in this kind of situation.