then there is this

It has become very cold. Benb Gallaher is in cryogenic suspension. This is a robot, programmed beforehand by Benb Gallaher, submitting this message to you on this day (which is January 14, 2012, and will remain thus until all clocks and calendars thaw).

The wee ones are caterwauling and caddywompus on account of having exhausted themselves utterly via a daylong dancething that was enacted out of the sheer jubilation accompanying the yestereve arrival of La Befana.

I am still surprised at an outcome that was likely predictable to most everybody else--neither Desmond nor Ivor is remotely near to what you'd (or I'd) consider "average" or "typical." They are so irrepressibly themselves that it awes me.

And now, I have to go put them to bed. But more is gonna happen soon.

(ample elapse) Well, that took forever. So, I'll try to be succinct here, and promise both you and myself a well-developed offering for the morrow (with new pictures and everything).

This concludes the message. Thank you for your cooperation during this continued and compounded frigidity.

A Robot

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