Thought for the Week
The smoke rises gently from the curvaceous hookah pipe at the center of "The Chapel" at Iguana Wanda's. Iguana Wanda, perhaps once a knockout sorceress but now just a saggy-breasted, warty old hag, takes a long toke on the pipe, holds the smoke for a moment and blows a double smoke ring, one through the middle of the other. She looks over at the Defensemaster, black-robed and sitting glumly in the corner, nursing his Bilsenkraut Bier.
"So tell me, maaannn, if yew were a wummin, what wummin wood ya be?"
Distracted, the dull, red eyes set deep in the silvery skull suddenly glow brighter, like when you push two buttons at once on a cheap, handheld, electronic football game.
"What did you say?"
Iguana Wanda cackles and begins coughing deeply, almost hacking, but chortling at the same time. With a hack she regains her speech, and speaks up, trying to be heard above the sounds of the dwarven jazz combo playing on-stage. "I asked yew, if YEW were a WUMMIN, what wummin WOOD YA BE?"
His eyes dimming once again, the Defensemaster pulls out a holographic display, sets it next to the water pipe in the middle of the table, pushes a few buttons and leans back in his chair. The jazz combo stops abruptly as Mr. Hologram beams a three-dimensional image into the middle of the bar.
"Why, my dear Wanda, you should know that. I'd be Stevie Nicks circa 1975."
With another laughing, hacking cough, she takes a long toke on the hookah as the transmission commences...
"So tell me, maaannn, if yew were a wummin, what wummin wood ya be?"
Distracted, the dull, red eyes set deep in the silvery skull suddenly glow brighter, like when you push two buttons at once on a cheap, handheld, electronic football game.
"What did you say?"
Iguana Wanda cackles and begins coughing deeply, almost hacking, but chortling at the same time. With a hack she regains her speech, and speaks up, trying to be heard above the sounds of the dwarven jazz combo playing on-stage. "I asked yew, if YEW were a WUMMIN, what wummin WOOD YA BE?"
His eyes dimming once again, the Defensemaster pulls out a holographic display, sets it next to the water pipe in the middle of the table, pushes a few buttons and leans back in his chair. The jazz combo stops abruptly as Mr. Hologram beams a three-dimensional image into the middle of the bar.
"Why, my dear Wanda, you should know that. I'd be Stevie Nicks circa 1975."
With another laughing, hacking cough, she takes a long toke on the hookah as the transmission commences...
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