Jim the Snail
I had forgotten all about this story. Nate, thanks for the reminder! Okay folks, I offer this for your amusement. Nate Matias, a citizen of PA and a good buddy, IMed me on a frosty night in very late January, and we wound up "alternately writing paragraphs of a fake children's story" because he had been all day studying parliamentary procedures (icky) and I was in one of my blue funk moods... and so of course we had to be creative, because there wasn't a chance of being rational.
I cannot remember, for the life of me, who wrote which sentences. Therefore I give it to you entire, with our comments in brackets just to prove that we really wrote it in a live session.
Once upon a time, there was a snail named Jim. Jim was afraid of crickets. He didn't like dew.
And he positively dreaded frost.
(there. Your turn)
Now, Jim lived in a beautiful forest, full of silvery aspens, thick, leafy underbrush, and lots of other friendly woodland insects. At night, when the other snails would crawl to
bed underneath a stone, Jim would sneak out and watch the stars twinkle through the leaves.
He would listen to the owls sing and play, and he would also hear the squeals of the mice the birds of prey ate for their nighttime snack.
(your turn)
This always frightened Jim, for he was smaller than a mouse, and he did not know whether or not owls liked to eat snails. Nevertheless, when he saw the stars shining or heard the stream murmer far off, he would long to be off exploring. But ever so slowly, his eyes would get heavy, and before he could think too much about travel, he would crawl under the cover of a
fallen leaf, and fall asleep. Every morning, Jim slithered to the forest mushroom patch, his bright spiral shell bobbing merrily on his back. For Jim, the patch was like a forest itself.
The mushrooms towered high above him, puffing spores into the gentle breeze, spreading out their umbrella heads like the patio of an Italian restaurant. Which fit the mood nicely, since he was on his way for breakfast.
(your turn)
(what do snails eat?)
(young plant shoots, bark, and decaying stuff. The same thing
mushrooms eat)
(They have a tongue-like thing called a radula to chew)
(it's made out of chitin. They also eat diatoms and bacteria off rocks)
Jim enjoyed the early morning hours of quiet browsing among tender greens and microscopic bacteriae. If the morning was frosty, his radula often became unbearably cold, but in the summer it was quite pleasant, and only the sensation of wet dew disturbed his munching. For such a very slimy creature, Jim was inordinately displeased by dampness.
(done)
But Jim wasn't the only one out for breakfast on days like this. Beetles were on the prowl. Snakes, and even occasional turtles came to the mushroom patch to eat -- not mushrooms, but snails! But even these weren't the only animals looking for a meal. Mostly, Jim liked the birds. And the birds liked Jim. When snakes and other small animals came prowling for a tasty snack of snail, Whaaam!, a bird would swoop out of the sky and snatch it up. And so it was, that in this particular day in June, when the sun was smiling, Jim found himself talking with a falcon who was resting on his rock.
(your turn)
"My, what a curvy beak you have." Jim began, politely. This is the only proper way to begin a conversation with a falcon.
(lol)
He continued with the formulaic addresses. "O you guardian of the skies, keeper of the lives of snails, benefactor and patron without peer... I trust that you are in health?"
(done)
The falcon raised his chest a little more and tucked his coattails out. Falcons like to look dignified, you see. "Why, erm, ahh, yes, my good fellow," replied the falcon, mumbling a
bit. "What a capital day, arrumph, I say. Capital. In fact, it quite reminds me of, what was it? Ahh yes, '49. Now that was a year of good omen, if I do say so myself. Right good, I say." Jim coughed politely.
"Ahh yes, quite so, quite so, my gastropodic friend."
Jim coughed again, a little more loudly.
"What I meant to tell you, James. It is James, is it not? Yes, well, James, what I thought you might want to know is...."
(your turn)
Jim ventured to interrupt the falcon, though his voice was high and squeaky with nervousness, not at all important, as he wanted it to sound. "It's 'Jim', Sir... just Jim, O destroyer of snakes and predators..."
(done)
"Jim, James, Hieronymous, what does it matter, man? These snails, always coming up with some new confounded way of addressing themselves. But Jim thou call'st thyself, and Jim thou
shalt be," said the Falcon, and began his story. Now Jim, who never really payed much attention in school, who would rather stare out of the opening than slither his sums, quickly lost
track of the falcon's story. Which was fine, because the falcon lost track too. And when the falcon finally finished with a, "And that was how they won the cup in the summer of '74." and flew away, the only thing Jim remembered was a vision of a dry, dew-free bed of stones and bright shells by the creek on "the other side of the mushroom patch," which the Falcon had been talking about somewhere in the muddle of the summer of '74.
(your turn)
Jim was dazzled by this vision; it positively took his breath away. He lay there gasping on the grass for several minutes.
(lol)
(asthmatic?)
So great was his delight and astonishment that he did not notice the diamond-bright drop of dew trembling on the edge of a leaf just above his head... But when it fell--smack!--onto his forehead, the unpleasant shock brought him back down to earth. "I hate this!" He cried, passionately. "I hate living in a place where dew falls on your head and owls prowl around at night, and where you can't see the stars properly!" Jim huddled himself up and sniffled. "I wish I could get to the
stream," he said, having no idea of how very wet a thing is a stream... he thought only of the lovely streambanks with lichen growing all over them, and of the break in the trees through which he would be able, surely, to see the stars...
To be continued, as soon as Nate finished with his graduation and I get a handle on my summer schedule.
I cannot remember, for the life of me, who wrote which sentences. Therefore I give it to you entire, with our comments in brackets just to prove that we really wrote it in a live session.
Once upon a time, there was a snail named Jim. Jim was afraid of crickets. He didn't like dew.
And he positively dreaded frost.
(there. Your turn)
Now, Jim lived in a beautiful forest, full of silvery aspens, thick, leafy underbrush, and lots of other friendly woodland insects. At night, when the other snails would crawl to
bed underneath a stone, Jim would sneak out and watch the stars twinkle through the leaves.
He would listen to the owls sing and play, and he would also hear the squeals of the mice the birds of prey ate for their nighttime snack.
(your turn)
This always frightened Jim, for he was smaller than a mouse, and he did not know whether or not owls liked to eat snails. Nevertheless, when he saw the stars shining or heard the stream murmer far off, he would long to be off exploring. But ever so slowly, his eyes would get heavy, and before he could think too much about travel, he would crawl under the cover of a
fallen leaf, and fall asleep. Every morning, Jim slithered to the forest mushroom patch, his bright spiral shell bobbing merrily on his back. For Jim, the patch was like a forest itself.
The mushrooms towered high above him, puffing spores into the gentle breeze, spreading out their umbrella heads like the patio of an Italian restaurant. Which fit the mood nicely, since he was on his way for breakfast.
(your turn)
(what do snails eat?)
(young plant shoots, bark, and decaying stuff. The same thing
mushrooms eat)
(They have a tongue-like thing called a radula to chew)
(it's made out of chitin. They also eat diatoms and bacteria off rocks)
Jim enjoyed the early morning hours of quiet browsing among tender greens and microscopic bacteriae. If the morning was frosty, his radula often became unbearably cold, but in the summer it was quite pleasant, and only the sensation of wet dew disturbed his munching. For such a very slimy creature, Jim was inordinately displeased by dampness.
(done)
But Jim wasn't the only one out for breakfast on days like this. Beetles were on the prowl. Snakes, and even occasional turtles came to the mushroom patch to eat -- not mushrooms, but snails! But even these weren't the only animals looking for a meal. Mostly, Jim liked the birds. And the birds liked Jim. When snakes and other small animals came prowling for a tasty snack of snail, Whaaam!, a bird would swoop out of the sky and snatch it up. And so it was, that in this particular day in June, when the sun was smiling, Jim found himself talking with a falcon who was resting on his rock.
(your turn)
"My, what a curvy beak you have." Jim began, politely. This is the only proper way to begin a conversation with a falcon.
(lol)
He continued with the formulaic addresses. "O you guardian of the skies, keeper of the lives of snails, benefactor and patron without peer... I trust that you are in health?"
(done)
The falcon raised his chest a little more and tucked his coattails out. Falcons like to look dignified, you see. "Why, erm, ahh, yes, my good fellow," replied the falcon, mumbling a
bit. "What a capital day, arrumph, I say. Capital. In fact, it quite reminds me of, what was it? Ahh yes, '49. Now that was a year of good omen, if I do say so myself. Right good, I say." Jim coughed politely.
"Ahh yes, quite so, quite so, my gastropodic friend."
Jim coughed again, a little more loudly.
"What I meant to tell you, James. It is James, is it not? Yes, well, James, what I thought you might want to know is...."
(your turn)
Jim ventured to interrupt the falcon, though his voice was high and squeaky with nervousness, not at all important, as he wanted it to sound. "It's 'Jim', Sir... just Jim, O destroyer of snakes and predators..."
(done)
"Jim, James, Hieronymous, what does it matter, man? These snails, always coming up with some new confounded way of addressing themselves. But Jim thou call'st thyself, and Jim thou
shalt be," said the Falcon, and began his story. Now Jim, who never really payed much attention in school, who would rather stare out of the opening than slither his sums, quickly lost
track of the falcon's story. Which was fine, because the falcon lost track too. And when the falcon finally finished with a, "And that was how they won the cup in the summer of '74." and flew away, the only thing Jim remembered was a vision of a dry, dew-free bed of stones and bright shells by the creek on "the other side of the mushroom patch," which the Falcon had been talking about somewhere in the muddle of the summer of '74.
(your turn)
Jim was dazzled by this vision; it positively took his breath away. He lay there gasping on the grass for several minutes.
(lol)
(asthmatic?)
So great was his delight and astonishment that he did not notice the diamond-bright drop of dew trembling on the edge of a leaf just above his head... But when it fell--smack!--onto his forehead, the unpleasant shock brought him back down to earth. "I hate this!" He cried, passionately. "I hate living in a place where dew falls on your head and owls prowl around at night, and where you can't see the stars properly!" Jim huddled himself up and sniffled. "I wish I could get to the
stream," he said, having no idea of how very wet a thing is a stream... he thought only of the lovely streambanks with lichen growing all over them, and of the break in the trees through which he would be able, surely, to see the stars...
To be continued, as soon as Nate finished with his graduation and I get a handle on my summer schedule.
posted by Praelucor at 3:34 PM
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