The Story Begins

Thanks for joining me as we relive a golden era of storytelling from the early years of the Atomic Age.

I never was any good at this. — Ponyard Kipling

Like a Prof

“I used to be a grammarian like you,” Woolly Dormouse compared his present life, “until I took an adverb to the knee.”

Furious, Weddell Seal scribbled, and checked boxes. “I can’t believe how much trouble it is to prove who I am to get proof of who I am.”

“Those who can’t teach,” Beech Marten pointed out, “are often those who can’t learn either.”

Lowland Gorilla pushed her cart down the frozen food aisle. “I hate it when the doors fog over and I can’t see anything.”

Mountain Beaver read the report solemnly. “Unfurl the yellow flag and hoist it aloft. The ship is sick, and no port will have us make call.”

“They say familiarity breeds contempt,” reminded Pleasant Gerbil. “But I find some breeds I’m familiar with quite contemptible.”

“What now squeaky wheel?” Golden-capped Fruit Bat sneered at his defunct chariot by the side of the road. “The grease pot. It is dry.”