Wooffle ooffle!

    Arthur quoth "Nevermore," letting the raven. Have it, have at it, or whatever. Sufficient to say that the carpet-cleaner was full of feathers. Wooffle offooffle mphf," she said, which probably (within the usual limitations) meant "Colder now, isn't it [The Weather]. I can feel it in me legs." Which was what she usually said, featherlessly. Today was special — featherful, in fact.

    Arthur proposed, confident that the carpet cleaner would be unable to reply. She nodded, spewing feathers. "I want to be a citizen of the universe, you see," he confided.

    "Quartz," said Donkey Hoatee. "Pity the board isn't big enough for 'Jabberwocky'." Then, pointing at Hannibal, "He shot the pope. He must be a witch." "Which?" queried Arthur, then, "Would I be a citizen of the universe if I married him?" "No, just a lot more porous!" Hannibal assured him.

    Snacho Panzer appeared, along with some cracks in the fabric of the multi-storey carpark. "You can't park that here!" said everyone, "it will put caterpillar tracks on the carpet!" ("Green," thought a passing caterpillar.) An evil chuckle proceeded from the tank. It was the narratorial voice. "Revenge is golden syrup," it said. "You told me you were the author!"

    "No, I'm Arthur," said Arthur.

    "Surrealist hack! Pseud! Witch! Green! Jabberwocky! Wooffle ooffle!" they all said, almost in harmony.

    "Anyway," Arthur concluded, "I'm going to be real."

    "Ark Ark," said the seal.

    "You're all really tiresome!" said the narratorial voice.