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Spaceways, v. 4, issue 2, January 1942
Page 11
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SPACEWAYS 11 THE LOG OF THE FOOFOO SPECIAL tiful edifices, as Milty became tourist guide and explained all satisfactorily. A few hours later, Philly crept up and gradually surrounded us like a colossal, dirty amoeba, and we dropped Milty at his parents' home. After raiding the Rothman ice box, we went to the Madle abode for a repeat performance. Bob proudly displayed a dozen pieces of mail, accumulated during his absence, and was roundly jeered as a has-been by Julie and me, who knew we would have a small mountain to cope with when we returned. Bob's parents wanted us to stay, but we decided to push on. Rusty was to stay permanently and find a job in Philly. The FooFoo Special seemed strangely light and peppy with the back seat empty and half the luggage gone. We zipped over the ninety miles between Philly and New York in exactly two hours and reached Brooklyn a half hour later. Julie woke up his wife and he and I had a snack before Iw as bedded down on the living room couch and they retired. July 13th--In spite of my request to get me up early, they let me sleep until ten, for which I was duly grateful. After careful instruction on how to solve the labyrinth of Brooklyn, I was on my way, and for a wonder found my way to the Merritt parkway without a hitch. About noontime I stopped at a filling station and phoned Trudy Kuslan that I would shortly drop in on her, and not to be startled at my appearance. Brother Lou was there, with whom i exchanged greetings, and he decided to put off his departure for college until I arrived. A half-hour later I was in West Haven, and when Trudy saw me she let out a squawk of anguish and nearly swooned in spite of my warning. Lou stayed long enough to persuade her to speak to me, and then was off in the Empress of FooFoo. She finally got used to the chin whiskers, and we gabbed all afternoon and evening, in between listening to Gilbert & Sullivan (not Joe & Walt) (ik!) and classical (ah!) recordings. The Kuslans are greatly attached to the music and lyrics of G & S and all visitors are tied in their chairs and forced to listen to whole performances of The Mikado, H. M. S. Pinafore, and whatnot. I agreed to listen peaceably, and so was not confined. I left about eleven and reached home at dawn. At two in the afternoon I was dragged out of the hay bodily, and gently persuaded by mother, with the aid of an iron frying pan, to shave off "that horrible looking spinach", and pointed in the general direction of Proctor & Gamble's laboratory. P. S.--That was the night i took a bite from an Erlenmeyer flask and squirted acid on a cheese sandwich. It seems that there were also some very peculiar answers to my analyses. But...I don't...remember...hahumm...muchzzzz...about...it. . .zzzzzzzzzzzz. . . . . . The End TO BOOK REVIEWS (concluded from page 16) story is. However, at that moment the clock strikes, and because he has an appointment with his aunt, the group breaks up. The next day they convene again-- minus Dr. Finchatton. The Croquet Player listens attentively, although not without some unwillingness, while the psychiatrist explains the whole situation for him. The book is easy to read; there isn't a whole lot of wordage; there is very little plot. There is hardly any setting, although plenty of atmosphere. Although the book can be read quickly, it should be read lightly; one should let the horror soak in. Abnormal situations occur throughout. Philosophy comes in at the end. So if you read it, let the horror enfold you like the dripping blackness of night, go slow at the end and get "behind" the words; then you will enjoy it. The End
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SPACEWAYS 11 THE LOG OF THE FOOFOO SPECIAL tiful edifices, as Milty became tourist guide and explained all satisfactorily. A few hours later, Philly crept up and gradually surrounded us like a colossal, dirty amoeba, and we dropped Milty at his parents' home. After raiding the Rothman ice box, we went to the Madle abode for a repeat performance. Bob proudly displayed a dozen pieces of mail, accumulated during his absence, and was roundly jeered as a has-been by Julie and me, who knew we would have a small mountain to cope with when we returned. Bob's parents wanted us to stay, but we decided to push on. Rusty was to stay permanently and find a job in Philly. The FooFoo Special seemed strangely light and peppy with the back seat empty and half the luggage gone. We zipped over the ninety miles between Philly and New York in exactly two hours and reached Brooklyn a half hour later. Julie woke up his wife and he and I had a snack before Iw as bedded down on the living room couch and they retired. July 13th--In spite of my request to get me up early, they let me sleep until ten, for which I was duly grateful. After careful instruction on how to solve the labyrinth of Brooklyn, I was on my way, and for a wonder found my way to the Merritt parkway without a hitch. About noontime I stopped at a filling station and phoned Trudy Kuslan that I would shortly drop in on her, and not to be startled at my appearance. Brother Lou was there, with whom i exchanged greetings, and he decided to put off his departure for college until I arrived. A half-hour later I was in West Haven, and when Trudy saw me she let out a squawk of anguish and nearly swooned in spite of my warning. Lou stayed long enough to persuade her to speak to me, and then was off in the Empress of FooFoo. She finally got used to the chin whiskers, and we gabbed all afternoon and evening, in between listening to Gilbert & Sullivan (not Joe & Walt) (ik!) and classical (ah!) recordings. The Kuslans are greatly attached to the music and lyrics of G & S and all visitors are tied in their chairs and forced to listen to whole performances of The Mikado, H. M. S. Pinafore, and whatnot. I agreed to listen peaceably, and so was not confined. I left about eleven and reached home at dawn. At two in the afternoon I was dragged out of the hay bodily, and gently persuaded by mother, with the aid of an iron frying pan, to shave off "that horrible looking spinach", and pointed in the general direction of Proctor & Gamble's laboratory. P. S.--That was the night i took a bite from an Erlenmeyer flask and squirted acid on a cheese sandwich. It seems that there were also some very peculiar answers to my analyses. But...I don't...remember...hahumm...muchzzzz...about...it. . .zzzzzzzzzzzz. . . . . . The End TO BOOK REVIEWS (concluded from page 16) story is. However, at that moment the clock strikes, and because he has an appointment with his aunt, the group breaks up. The next day they convene again-- minus Dr. Finchatton. The Croquet Player listens attentively, although not without some unwillingness, while the psychiatrist explains the whole situation for him. The book is easy to read; there isn't a whole lot of wordage; there is very little plot. There is hardly any setting, although plenty of atmosphere. Although the book can be read quickly, it should be read lightly; one should let the horror soak in. Abnormal situations occur throughout. Philosophy comes in at the end. So if you read it, let the horror enfold you like the dripping blackness of night, go slow at the end and get "behind" the words; then you will enjoy it. The End
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