DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Necromancer, v. 1, issue 1, July 1947

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Necromancer, v. 1, issue 1, July 1947

Page 16

as I had so often in the past, about whether or not he had eyes. 

"Where are your eyes, little Fella?" I asked. "How can you see through all of that camouflage?"

AND THEN IT HAPPENED.

Now, I'm not one to be easily shocked. As a matter of fact, I've always felt that sooner or later I would experience an extraordinary occurance. One gets tired of simply reading about unusual phenomena in the 'zines. So, when he said:---

"Aye, I've got eyes, aw richt, and if some o'yo Homo Saps had been borrn wi'canine orbs, the wurrld wud be a much better place in which t'live!"

--I pride myself that I took it in stride. True, I was taken aback momentarily, but didn't change expression.

"Do you mean to say that you would like to see the world go to the dogs, my little man?" I inquired.

"Aye, as one o'my esteemed countrymen said, 'it would be a far, far better thing to do' -- and don't call me your little man!"

"You've misquoted, and anyway Charles Dickens was an Englishman," I admonished having now recovered from my initial surprise. 

"Nay, laddie, that's just Limey propaganda!" he returned.

Well, I let that pass. There was no sense in getting his Celtic dander up and having to subsequently limp to the bathroom for the iodine -- and anyway I hate to owe myself money.

"I didn't know you could talk, my furry friend! You've been holding out on me!" I exclaimed. 

His indicative tail twitched in exasperation. He was beginning to get hot under his dog-collar.

"In the name o'Robbio Bruco I swear if ye dinna stop talkin' as if ye own me, I'll ha'e to tak' anither wee nip, and THIS time it wulni' be Bourrbon! I'm an individual! A' you humans seem to get the idea that we belong t'ye simply because we happen t'tak a-likin' t'ye an' follow ye about. It insi' fittin' not proporr that one livin' thing should be owned by anither!"

"Oh I'm sorry, old man. I had no idea you felt that way. It seems to me, though, that you get your food and Bourbon without working for it, and that should give me at least the privilege of being the boss."

"I am habitually lookin' cute, am I not?" he queried. 

I had to admit it.

"Do I no tak' care o' yer wife while yer awa'gallivantin' around the radical road?"

"Well - yes, but ---"

"Aye, as is typical o' yet kind, yer only thinkin' o' what ye can get oot o' the ither fellow. Have ye niver thought o' what wud happen if the wurrld did go to the dogs?"

I poured us another shot and reached triumphantly over to a nearby bookcase and yanked out my copy of that fine fantasy THE ORDEAL OF OLIVER AIREDALE, by D.D. Carlisle.

"Have you read this?" I demanded. "In this book ---"

"Aye, ah'ye read it," he interrupted "and ye'll please note that it was written by anither countryman o' mine -- aye, the wurrld is well represented in Scotsmen! Have ye read it, laddie?"

"Aye, - or -- ah - I mean, yes, I have

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as I had so often in the past, about whether or not he had eyes. "Where are your eyes, little Fella?" I asked. "How can you see through all of that camouflage?" AND THEN IT HAPPENED. Now, I'm not one to be easily shocked. As a matter of fact, I've always felt that sooner or later I would experience an extraordinary occurance. One gets tired of simply reading about unusual phenomena in the 'zines. So, when he said:--- "Aye, I've got eyes, aw richt, and if some o'yo Homo Saps had been borrn wi'canine orbs, the wurrld wud be a much better place in which t'live!" --I pride myself that I took it in stride. True, I was taken aback momentarily, but didn't change expression. "Do you mean to say that you would like to see the world go to the dogs, my little man?" I inquired. "Aye, as one o'my esteemed countrymen said, 'it would be a far, far better thing to do' -- and don't call me your little man!" "You've misquoted, and anyway Charles Dickens was an Englishman," I admonished having now recovered from my initial surprise. "Nay, laddie, that's just Limey propaganda!" he returned. Well, I let that pass. There was no sense in getting his Celtic dander up and having to subsequently limp to the bathroom for the iodine -- and anyway I hate to owe myself money. "I didn't know you could talk, my furry friend! You've been holding out on me!" I exclaimed. His indicative tail twitched in exasperation. He was beginning to get hot under his dog-collar. "In the name o'Robbio Bruco I swear if ye dinna stop talkin' as if ye own me, I'll ha'e to tak' anither wee nip, and THIS time it wulni' be Bourrbon! I'm an individual! A' you humans seem to get the idea that we belong t'ye simply because we happen t'tak a-likin' t'ye an' follow ye about. It insi' fittin' not proporr that one livin' thing should be owned by anither!" "Oh I'm sorry, old man. I had no idea you felt that way. It seems to me, though, that you get your food and Bourbon without working for it, and that should give me at least the privilege of being the boss." "I am habitually lookin' cute, am I not?" he queried. I had to admit it. "Do I no tak' care o' yer wife while yer awa'gallivantin' around the radical road?" "Well - yes, but ---" "Aye, as is typical o' yet kind, yer only thinkin' o' what ye can get oot o' the ither fellow. Have ye niver thought o' what wud happen if the wurrld did go to the dogs?" I poured us another shot and reached triumphantly over to a nearby bookcase and yanked out my copy of that fine fantasy THE ORDEAL OF OLIVER AIREDALE, by D.D. Carlisle. "Have you read this?" I demanded. "In this book ---" "Aye, ah'ye read it," he interrupted "and ye'll please note that it was written by anither countryman o' mine -- aye, the wurrld is well represented in Scotsmen! Have ye read it, laddie?" "Aye, - or -- ah - I mean, yes, I have PAGE 16