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Show Guess who p by Bob Brumfield It was a dark and stormy night. I had decided to forego a gala in my honor, and was planning to catch up on my color crayoning. I had just opened my box of Crayloas (or Crayolae, if you prefer) and was thumbing through my coloring book, when there was a knock at my door. "Down, big fellow!" I said to my killer roach, Attila, who had left his spot by my feet and was growling at the door. "Down, I say!" Attlia stopped his scratching at the door, but continued growling as he crawled into the kitchen and began tearing at a wildebeest carcass I had left on the floor for his din-din. "Who's there?" I asked, cautiously., "Who's knocking at this late hour (it was well past 9 p.m.)?" "Guess," a feminine voice replied. "Maria Ospenskaya?" I ventured. "Of course not, silly she's dead," the voice answered. "Marie Dressier?" "She's dead, too," the voice said. "Good heavens!" I exclaimed. ex-claimed. "Have all the women in my life gone to their reward?" "Not all of them, darling," the voice cooed. "But of course!" I exclaimed. "Itmust be Dame May Whitty! By Jove, I can't think of anyone I'd rather see! Here, just a moment, while I undo these chains and bolts and locks which protect me from intruders, in-truders, and. . . " "Hi, sobrehombre! " It was whatsername Jackie. "Oh, fudge," I said, dejectedly. dejec-tedly. "I thought it was somebody neat. What are you doing here?" "Are you surprised, reflection of my own secret soul's hidden desire?" Jackie said. "Somewhat," I replied. "I had assumed, from that picture of you in a bikini I saw in the periodicals, that by now you would be withering away in some sanatorium specializing in terminal rickets." "That horrid picture! Did I really look that bad?" "You looked like the center foldout in 'Popular Malnutrition' magazine," I said. "What was it you wanted?" wan-ted?" "I got tired of floating around on that old yacht," Jackie replied, petulantly. "I wanted to see you." "Well, feast your eyes for a few seconds and then beat it," I said. "I'm busy coloring in my book." "Can I do some?" she asked. "No. You always use up all my yellow crayon, and then there's none left when I want to color skies and things." "Okay, then I'll just watch you while you color." "I don't like it when people watch me. It makes me nervous and then I get the color all outside the lines and mess it all up," I said. "Besides, you make noise when you breathe. I can't stand noise when I'm coloring." "You used to like it when I breathed heavily," she said. "I didn't either." "You acted like you did." "I thought it was dumb." "Do you think this is dumb?" she asked, waving a check for a million dollars under my nose. "Yes, it's dumb," I replied. "It's dumb because it isn't signed." "I don't have my pen witn me," she said. "Use one of my color crayons," I said. "Use the yellow one if you want to. I m it when you come to play with me, Miss Jackie." - -Reprinted from the Cincinnati Enquirer |