Last Time I Saw

MIKE (MR FALLACY) was in the long room at the Broad Ripple Brew Pub back in October.

No, it wasn’t.

::?::

It was on the front porch at Roseholme Cottage.

Oh. Well, technically. But who’s telling this story?

So you think it’s OK to deceive your audience?

There is such a thing as poetic license. AND… “time” can encompass all the lesser events of the day, subsumed in the larger, overarching event of the Blogmoot. These things are at the discretion of the storyteller in fiction, as you ought to know…

WHAT IS IT WITH YOU AND THIS FICTIONAL THING! SHEESH!

Oh. … Keh. You done?

::straightens clothing and brushes hair into loose array:: Mostly.

Good. We’ll discuss this later.

Last time I saw Mike, whom I find a thoroughly delightful person, was in the long room at BRBP, and he was posing the question, “Who’s your favorite Founding Father?”

And that’s supposed to be brilliant? Seems kinda simple to me.

Most brilliance is. I found the question incisive and, yes, brilliant. Perfect for the occasion.

Your answer?

Three: Alexander Hamilton, Thomas Jefferson, and Ben Franklin. The smuggler, the libertarian, and the entrepreneur. To me, they seem to encapsulate the American spirit.

Fair enough. That was a month-and-a-half ago. What’s the occasion?

Hmm? Oh. Mike. He’s a blogger, for all he blogs in the shadow of his superstar wife. And he’s a thoughtful one — thus the point of the anecdote about the incisive question. He’s on my daily rotation. I click through to his blog to check and see if he’s posted something new. Usually, not, and I click out again. It’s gotten to be a habitual action. Click in. Glance. Click out. Saturday, it was: click in; glance; oh! there’s something new!, click out. … DAMN!

::titter:: Sorta like the Bugs Bunny cartoon.

::?::

Where Bugs is in a gun fight and his opponent blows the smoke away after every shot. BANG! (poof!) BANG! (poof!) then he looses the rhythm and goes POOF! (bang!). Usually because Bugs has thrown him off by — like — yelling BANG! at the wrong moment.

Oh.

Sorta like that.

No. Not really.

OK. Sorta.

Swennyways. Mike’s post?

Oh, hell. Go read it for yourself.

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