The Second Opinion

I feel the umph to connotate thusly: second opinions occasionally come in trout. Often, in fact, when you throw your hook into the fields, and thrash about with the pole madly, you encounter, upon hook's retrieval, a second-opinion bearing trout of such flustered attire that you may be forced to rethink your request.

However, once the request is dispatched, it is frequently difficult to retract.


I've taken the liberty of the haberdasher, sending mine own telegram across the hump to Mr. Arsnip, who often knows of the comings and goings of your aunt. Here, my missive:

Mr. Arsnip, do you know about why that one guy's aunt might be wanting his immediate presence? Mallic Toot

The response was quicker than I'd dared hope, and follows:

Mallic, you are a jar. Possibly a cabinet door. That one person's inestimable aunt requests his presence because she's had her hair trimmed. Gumtort

I was then, obviously, punchy. Being utterly unsure about whether or not you would want a furtherly proper second opinion, I scratched my chest hairs. I then scribbled off this scribble for to be quickly relayed to your door:

Bertie. Does a second opinion count if it involves a hair cut? Mallic

A reply was not forthcoming (perhaps my mechanical delivery boy was delayed at the stump) so I took matters into my own enviable knuckles and splattered the following in the general direction of Mr. Arsnip.

Mr. Arsnip. Do you wish me to believe that Bertie's aunt received a haircut? That makes me hungry. Please contend. Mallic

I was opening the door to deliver the message myself to the place where one delivers those things to be splattered outward when a gentleman clad in full Gwar-attire handed me a sword, upon the blade of which was inscribed the following response:

Mallic you dumbnut. Get yourself to Bertie's and drag him bodily to his aunt's. Her hair is already beginning to grow again. I grow tired of your pie. Gumtort

I hung the sword on my bottom, thinking it to be of sufficiently decorative quality for such a display, and then pondered for a long time what I should do with the message which had already been, apparently, responded to but which I had yet to send.

After a snack of Court Marigold Bree and Plutarch Smiley Wash, I decided to fax the thing to Bill Gates. I received a second second opinion, contained in a trout:

Valued Customer: We are continuing to develop a patch for your very dilemma. The Aunt-Got-A-Haircut version of Windows Service Release 26.445 should be available, for approximately $1,200 (or free if you agree to exclusively display the Windows logo on your car's rear-windshield) in 2 to 3 months. Until then, we suggest that you reboot your friend and his aunt. Bill