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September 11, 2007


Robbo the Llama Butcher

Father M spilled the beans to me at lunch yesterday. I think this is an excellent fit. Yip! Yip!


Sir Basil -- I am speechless. My thanks for such a gracious welcome. And thanks to you, too, Robbo. Cheers!


This is exciting news. A lively web site gets even more pizzazz. Welcome abord, Mr. Elk.


Having your superior spelling skills aboard will also be good. Click "Post" in haste; repent at leisure.

Old Dominion Tory

Welcome, Irish Elk. I am flattered to be in your august company.

Mrs. Peperium

Basil, you told me Irish Elk WAS a Irish Catholic priest in the pay of Tammany Hall, working in the basement of the National Archives with week-end access at Cooperstown.

He's not?

It's not nice to play with the minds of converts. We already have to the ride the short bus to Mass.


I look forward to reading your contributions, Mr. Elk.

When will your column title be unveiled in the sidebar list?

Robbo the Llama Butcher

I forgot to ask Father M, but is Irish Elk bringing along his sister Anne (Miss) to post about her theory of the brontosaurus, which is a theory which is hers and is her theory?


Dear Mr. Megaloceros,
So sorry to be missing your first post as I journey far and away. I am sure you, contrary to Seamus Heaney's description of you in "Bogland", are not "a crate full of air" and nonsense, but rich in substance. A kind welcome to the PP elite, as some call us (well, as I call us), and looking forward to your enlightenment.

Mrs. Peperium

You know, I am one of the few that has seen Irish Elk. He's under glass and shoved in a corner of the Peabody Museum in New Haven. Even so, he's a marvlous beast. Big, brawny, Irish and quite Homeric... Isn't that so, Elk?


I've heard him described by experts as of "arresting size and singular appearance." It's also said his head, big already, grew to such unwieldy proportions that he eventually became extinct. Can you confirm this, Mrs. P?

Mrs. Peperium

Not touching that one with a ten foot yak.


Ok, not his head--his antlers. I stand corrected.


Mrs P, that indeed was me in New Haven, over in the corner humming the Whiffenpoof Song.

Christine, as you say, the horns could be unwieldy, as this intrepid modern-day performance artist demonstrated while trying to belly up for a drink in Scandinavia:

But you could not beat the satellite reception.

Ahem, Robbo. Ask and you shall receive. Ahem.

And another thing, elk-wise:

"The elks on the other hand live up in the hills, and in the spring they come down for their annual convention. It is very interesting to watch them come down to the water-hole; and you should see them run when they find it is only water-hole. What they're looking for is a elk-a-hole."

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