Hello Dearies!

Lady Potamus here!

Exciting news from the world of film! Guy Pearce stars in "The Time Machine," opening this weekend. Well, this puts me in mind of a little experience I had a few years back with none other than H. G. Wells.

Well, I was touring England in the fall of '42 in support of our boys "over there." My host was Sir Charlie Chaplin, before he was actually knighted by the Queen. Anyhow, I knew I would have no chance with the great silent film star, since I was already a little long in the tooth for Mr. Chaplin, who liked his girls like he liked his chin: hairless and covered with his own drool.

However, while we were traveling, who should wander into our floor show but Mr. Wells himself. He was near the end of a long life and had seen better days. Indeed, he was an angry man. I remarked that he was bitter, to which he replied:

"Come taste how bitter I am."

Well, I needed no more invitation than that! I walked right over and licked him on the face. Not just one lick! No! I licked his face like he was a science fiction writing popsickle.

Sir Charles was stunned, as was Mr. Wells. They attempted to pry me off, but I had already started planting a full suction hickey on the great writer's neck, which made it virtually impossible to remove me without pulling off a huge chunk of flesh from the old bloke.

To make a long story short, Mr. Wells was so inspired by my tongue work that he wrote his last great work of science fiction, "Voyage to the Center of my Pants," after our encounter.

Ah, literature!

Hope you're enjoying a good, stiff drink!

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