Clear, Cool, Dry and Sunny

"Say that again." The Bishop commanded, disbelief in his voice.

"'63°F, Clear. Wind West at 0 mph. Humidity, 45%'" I repeated, reading from the report.

"It's supposed to be a mosquito infested, water saturated, sun-broiled hell-hole this time of year. What's going on!" The Bishop looked around amazed.

"Galactic climate change." The Lizard stated as a matter of fact, bending to sniff a carissa blossom.

We both turned to her, smiled, and I added "Well, such an event calls for a galaxy sized beer!"

The Finger

"It's a long story," The Bishop replied to my inquiry.

"OK, but at least tell me if it involves any underaged boys," I requested...

Soon I understood what the label on the bottle meant.

Devilish Oxymoron

Normally I feel that The Bishop can be a bit painfully acerbic with his criticism, even when the criticism is due.



However, in this case, I think he hit the nail on the head with the witty analysis of the situation we found ourselves in.

Shade... Swedish Style

"I want something lighter, how about the ravioli?"
"Certainly. Since you aren't from here, you should know the ravioli shell is not pasta, but raw meat."
The Bishop paused, not knowing what to say.
I stepped in.
"I normally eat raw meat, but we had a tough night last... Can you bring us 'mac-n-cheese'?"
"Certainly"
"Wait!" The Bishop interjected. "What are the noodles made of?"

Swedish Shell Game

I glanced around the platform to ask one of the local citizens, but none could understand me, so I turned back to The Bishop who was examining the three receptacles.

"Is it like the two buttons, or the three shell?"

"I'm not sure," he replied, staring down into the one on the far right.

"Well, do we segregate our rubish according to shape? Round peg in the round hole?"

Bishop nodded, "Perhaps you are right."

"Thought so. Let me see what happens when I try to stuff your ticket into the round hole."

An expected furrowed-brow-stare turned my confusion into mirth.

Strange Ambassadors

"The ambassadors of this land seem... strange. They sing to us in our language, but it makes no sense" The Bishop observed.

"Yes," I agreed. "And who is 'Fernando'?"