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Fantascience Digest, v. 1, issue 1, November-December 1937
Page 4
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I8d cleaned my typewriter. Consequently, it was with a considerable shook that I noticed a tiny bald head protruding from the innards of the machine, and I though for a moment it was a bug of some sort. It wasn't though. I stopped typing my yarn, "The Inside Out Galaxy," which was to tell about the desperate attempt of Professor Pezzle to save the earth from the attack of marauding vacuum-men--and I stared at the bald head. It rose higher and a tiny, whitebearded face was peering at me from the keys. "Hello, fathead," it said in a squeaky voice. "I'm Professor Pezzle." I had always expected something like this- ever since the night, after ten hours of typing, I had seen my typewriter abruptly recede into the fourth dimension. I leaned back in
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I8d cleaned my typewriter. Consequently, it was with a considerable shook that I noticed a tiny bald head protruding from the innards of the machine, and I though for a moment it was a bug of some sort. It wasn't though. I stopped typing my yarn, "The Inside Out Galaxy," which was to tell about the desperate attempt of Professor Pezzle to save the earth from the attack of marauding vacuum-men--and I stared at the bald head. It rose higher and a tiny, whitebearded face was peering at me from the keys. "Hello, fathead," it said in a squeaky voice. "I'm Professor Pezzle." I had always expected something like this- ever since the night, after ten hours of typing, I had seen my typewriter abruptly recede into the fourth dimension. I leaned back in
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