Lord Cowmate Submits to Corncob Decoding
Fleshy
nodules covered the seat of the High Adviser’s chair. These could be disguised with a simple relish
of virtuals and farthrush, but anyone who had sat in the chair (and there were
many besides the twelve current and previous holders of the office of High
Adviser who had) knew their squirmy penetrations all too well to be
fooled. Dal Matian, the cashew’s son,
tried throwing a cotton handkerchief (smeared with Vaseline) over the seat the
neighboring arms of battered raccoon hide, but the resultant topography claimed
the lives of many guerilla troops that attempted to hide out among its
supposedly snow-covered hills.
.
