The resident faculty left a photo of withering grapes outside the mail room. The staff hope it was a clue, as otherwise we have no idea whither it may lead…. (More)
First our thanks to last week’s writers:
On Monday, you shared your stories of offline political activism in Things We Did This Week, Linda Lee found The Perfect Bag in Midday Matinee, and Winter B spotted Quantum Entanglement Yields ‘Ghost’ Images in Our Earth.
On Tuesday, the Squirrel summarized Hillary and eGate in Morning Feature, readers helped tell Tuesday’s Tale: Monotony, Inc. in Midday Matinee, and Winter B shared Farmer Takes “Old” Approach in Our Earth.
On Wednesday, the resident faculty looked at Systems and Conditions: The Constitution and Gridlock in Morning Feature and Linda Lee asked Is it Contagious? in Midday Matinee.
Through the rest of the week, the resident faculty began their series on Who Else But Hillary? with The Senators in Thursday’s Morning Feature, continued that series with A Deep Bench in Friday’s Morning Feature, concluded that series with Why Democrats Need a Primary in Saturday’s Morning Feature, and Ms. Crissie was asked Not Some Fragile Thing? in Sunday’s Morning Feature and Winter B brought us Eco News Roundup: The Stemat Spirit in Our Earth.
Note: Please share your stories of offline political activism in Things We Did This Week.
Thus we return to the photo left outside the mail room as the resident faculty made their way from the
wine cellar library where they spent the weekend drinking thinking on our motto of Magis vinum, magis verum (“More wine, more truth”) to the hot tub faculty lounge for their weekly game where the underwear goes flying planning conference:
“I hope they’re not implying we’re out of wine,” Chef said as she brought out the decoder ring.
The Squirrel shook his head and tapped at his Blewberry: “They didn’t say anything about it. I guess I could check the
wine cellar library if you want.”
“I’ll check it later,” Chef said as she scraped stray pecans into the Squirrel’s bowl. “I’d hate for you to come back looking like this:”
“I don’t touch the stuff anymore,” the Squirrel texted. “Not since that embarrassing bourbon on Incident Street. And we know whither that led.”
“You withered?” the
Professor of Astrology Janitor asked.
The Squirrel nibbled a pecan and tapped at his Blewberry: “Umm, whither and wither are different words. Whither means ‘to what place,’ as in ‘I don’t know whither they headed.’ Without the h, wither means ‘to become dry and weak,’ usually on the vine, according to the metathree.”
“Isn’t that a metaphor?” Chef asked.
The Squirrel shrugged and tapped at his Blewberry: “It was, but it withered.”
Professor of Astrology Janitor said.
“That makes me wonder,” the Squirrel texted. “If those old standup comics needed a drummer’s rim-shot to signal a punchline … was that because their jokes were awful or because people in the audience looked like that purple squirrel?”
“Probably some of both,” Chef said. “So, about the clue?”
The Squirrel nibbled another pecan and tapped at his Blewberry: “Sure. This week the resident faculty will ponder whether our constitutional system will wither and, if so, whither we may go.”
“Whether wither and whither?” the
Professor of Astrology Janitor said. “Well, I guess we did the weather a couple of weeks ago. Might as well finish the homonyms.”
Well yes, that too.