Oh, the indignity of it all. Never in my worst nightmares did I imagine that my life would end in Lawn Ornament Hell, yet here I stand flanked by a dead rhododendron and a chipped amphibian. A woefully out-of-date Christmas banner slaps me in the face with each howling wind gust accompanied by the nettlesome whine of a chartreuse whirl-a-gig. (Don't these people know that bearing white snowmen after February first constitutes the most heinous of house fashion faux pas?) But perhaps the greatest insult of all is the pathetic excuse for a garden gnome next to which I am forced to perch. Is it the proud gnome of Amelie fame who carries a French cinema pedigree? No. Is it a frightening garden gnome of Harry Potter fame whose utter ugliness evokes admiration and awe from every onlooker? Again, no. Rather, I have been forced to gaze down upon a poor excuse for an ornament that still bears the name "Wal-mart" upon its tag. Fortunately, he has not yet attempted to initiate conversation with me.
And yet, in the heart of my deepest dark despair, a single ray of hope has managed to shine through. Late last night, I was awakened by a telephone ring. I accidentally heard Mr. Kenn yell, "Don't bother to come here, lady. It's mine now." Could he have been speaking with Bathos? Did she miraculously seek me out? Is she coming to save me so that once again I will be able to continue my quest?
I know not the answers to those questions, but instead will have to wait patiently for events to unfold. In the meantime, I find comfort in the sage and uplifting words of Chumbawamba:
"I get knocked down. But I get up again. You're never going to keep me down."
As always, I remain,
Ramon the Flamingo
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