The Monica Bird

Shoot the dictator and prevent the war? But the dictator is merely the tip of the whole festering boil of social pus from which dictators emerge; shoot one, and there’ll be another one along in a minute. Shoot him too? Why not shoot everyone and invade Poland? In fifty years’, thirty years’, ten years’ time the world will be very nearly back on its old course. History always has a great weight of inertia.

Let’s just say that if complete and utter chaos were lightning, then he’d be the sort to stand on a hilltop in a thunderstorm wearing wet copper armor and shouting ‘All gods are bastards.’

Ponder looked again at the single sentence Hex had written.
+++ Mine! Waaaah +++
‘I don’t actually think,’ he said, gloomily, ‘that I want to tell the Archchancellor that this machine
stops working if we take its fluffy teddy bear away. I just don’t think I want to live in that kind of
world.’
‘Er,’ said Mad Drongo, ‘you could always, you know, sort of say it needs to work with the FTB
enabled…
‘You think that’s better?’ said Ponder, reluctantly. It wasn’t as if it was even a very realistic
interpretation of a bear.
‘You mean, better than “fluffy teddy bear”?’
Ponder nodded. ‘It’s better,’ he said.

Ridcully tapped the nozzles.
Nothing happened. He looked at the controls again, and realized that he’d never pulled the little brass lever marked ‘Organ Interlock`.
He did so. This did not cause a torrent of pleasant bathtime accompaniment, however. There was merely a thud and a distant gurgling which grew in volume.
He gave up, and went back to soaping his chest.
‘——running of the deer, the playing of… huh? What—’
Later that day he had the bathroom nailed up again and a notice placed on the door, on which was written:
‘Not to be used in any circumstances. This is IMPORTANT.’
However, when Modo nailed the door up he didn’t hammer the nails in all the way but left just a bit sticking up so that his pliers would grip later on, when he was told to remove them. He never presumed and he never complained, he just had a good working knowledge of the wizardly mind. They never did find the soap.

Death helped himself to a biscuit from the tin. There were two full stockings hanging from the
mantelpiece. He prodded them with professional satisfaction, and then sat down again and
observed the nursery wallpaper. It seemed to be pictures of rabbits in waistcoats, among other fauna. He was not surprised. Death occasionally turned up in person even for rabbits, simply to see that the whole process was working properly. He’d never seen one wearing a waistcoat. He wouldn’t have expected waistcoats. At least, he wouldn’t have expected waistcoats if he hadn’t had some experience of the way humans portrayed the universe. As it was, it was only a blessing they hadn’t been given gold watches and top hats as well.
Humans liked dancing pigs, too. And lambs in hats. As far as Death was aware, the sole reason for any human association with pigs and lambs was as a prelude to chops and sausages. Quite why they should dress up for children’s wallpaper as well was a mystery. Hello, little folk, this is whatyou’re going to eat… He felt that if only he could find the key to it, he’d know a lot more about human beings. His gaze travelled to the door. Susan’s governess coat and hat were hanging on it. The coat was grey, and so was the hat. Grey and round and dull. Death didn’t know many things about the human psyche, but he did know protective coloration when he saw it. Dullness. Only humans could have invented it. What imaginations they had.