THE FUNNIEST BLOGFEST THAT NEVER HAPPENED_I COULD NEVER PASS UP A CHANCE TO LAUGH_MARK TWAIN

{"The funniest things

are the forbidden."

- Mark Twain.}

That Lilah gal canceled her Laughter Blogfest. But Lord Almighty, I am past tired of grieving for the past.

Time for some laughter. So, I, ghost of Samuel Clemens, do declare this day Laughter Blogfest day

in honor of that little lady who thought of it --

At least on this blog :

This is from Roland's account of Captain Samuel McCord aboard the cursed steamer, Demeter, bound for Paris in 1853.

McCord has the 6 year old girl, Missy, in the crook of his right arm, having saved her from two revenants : one a grandmother, the other her grandson.

Invisible due to his Apache magics, they are walking on deck to a Ball meant to kill not to entertain. Let McCord tell you the rest --


We were nearly there. The music was louder. The night was colder. And darker, too. But a dark that seemed alive.

Missy looked up, her blue eyes skeptical. “How come I can still see you, see me, if we’re both invisible?”

“Because we’re both wrapped in the threads of night.”

“Explain to me again about these threads.”

“I never explained them to you the first time.”

“Yeah, I sorta noticed. You know Mama read me that story about the emperor’s new clothes, Mister Sam. You wouldn’t be --”

“Hush! We’re about to come up on two women.”

“Two women? I don’t see them. How did --”

“I smelled their perfume on the breeze. Now, hush!”

She pouted, but she hushed. Just in time, too.

As I turned the corner of the promenade deck, I almost stepped on the heels of the same two older ladies who had reported my roughing up of Sir Robert to the Captain.

I smelled the whisky toddies on their respectable breaths.

“Oh, Agatha, do you think we are fashionably late enough?”

“Mildred, if we were any later, we might very well miss that charming Lord DayStar’s entrance. And we would not want that, would we? He is so witty.”

“And handsome.”

“Posh, I am too old to notice such things.”

“As am I,” tittered Mildred.

Missy looked like she wanted to puke. Me, too. I continued to listen.

Agatha sniffed, “Well, at least that horrid American cowboy will not be there. Why the way he took up with that foreign tramp was positively shameless.”

I fought back the urge to kick her in the backside.

Mildred bobbed her head, “It was disgraceful. But what else could you expect of an uncouth murderer and traitor?”

Missy squirmed in my arms, and I shook my head.

Agatha sighed, “Why ever do you think the states made him, of all people, a policeman?”

“America! Such an uncivilized place. What else would you expect of such uneducated riff-raff?”

Agatha turned to her friend. “Did I ever tell you what that horrible clod did to me the other night?”

Mildred, eager-eyed, hushed, “No.”

Her eyes became teasing. “Have you been hiding an onboard romance from me?”

“Dear heavens, no! But that awful savage and I chanced to be at the same dinner table two nights ago.”

“How were his manners?”

“Simply atrocious. Do you know that he had the utter lack of them to ask me for a breast from the chicken platter?”

“No?,” gasped Mildred horrified.

“Of course I informed him that anyone with even the semblance of good manners asked for white or dark meat.”

“Whatever did he do then?”

“Just drank his horrid orange juice and smiled.”

“That is all?”

“I only wish it were.”

“Oh, my. What did he do after that?”

“The next morning, the steward knocked at my door with a rose corsage and a note.”

“A corsage and note? Not from that McCord surely?”

“The very one.”

Mildred leaned forward like a withered bird of prey and whispered, “What did the note say?”

Agatha seemed to radiate heat as her face flushed, “I quote : Madam, I would be most pleased if you would pin this on your white meat.”
***