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Meet Charlotte Branney. She’s scrappy, bounding in energy, and is fully quasi-illiterate. She is able to crawl under men’s legs and slip her hands into their pockets, retrieving the finest of treasures. Knowing the alphabet up to the letter “D,” Charlotte may be useful in obtaining office supplies at a very low cost to us. [...]

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I, as editor-in-chief of this webby-sited literary journal, question those who so favour the All Hallow’s Eve celebration. Do they need to somehow make merry the macabre due to their own inner psychopathelogical tendencies? Do these poor unfortunate creatures need to “dress up” in demented “finery” to “convey” their spirit “for” this bizarre and unnatural [...]

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F. Scott Fitzgerald, writing between Highballs “And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.” I wrote that. From my novel Gatsby: Among Ash-Heaps and Millionaires, The Great. [...]

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Was it Chaucer who said, “Whan that Aprille with his shoures sote / The droghte of Marche hath perced to the rote” which, loosely translated from Ye Olde Englishie, means “April follows March in the Gregorian calendar as established in 1582.” Clinical, yes. But you could see that Chaucer was indeed psyched by the season we [...]

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Beware, beware! Take shelter! We are hurling toward the bleak mid-winter. Yes, we are. Now that Christian Christmas season is at a close and the New Year rings loud with its bells and cacophony. It is indeed mid-winter-esque, as you can plainly see. But it need not be bleak! No! I’m sorry—I was loud. (sotto) [...]

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It is that time of year where madness ensues.  The wild pulsating rhythm of harps and fiddles that drives the dance floor utterly mental.  The snuff.  The mistletoe.  Wassail.  Punch mixture.  Handkerchiefs.  Mental. Since 1835, Fezziwig’s holiday all-nighters have brought merry.  And have turned all unassuming party guests from this: to this: The Good Ear Review [...]

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Good afternoon. I died today. Tea? It was in a small room in Paris. I lay consumptive. Or some such. I scolded myself for my weakness in absinthe, which I believe may have pushed me over the edge in being more than usually accessible to colds and Whoopsie (a whooping form of dropsy).  I could only [...]

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There is reason to dance—heat from hot, hot summer is at its end and Autumn begins anew … like something new all over again. A wonderful time of year where all beautiful things die by turning a glorious colour of fire and red … bits that were once green shall perish! Tree leaves will fall [...]

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Hello to you.  Hello.  My name is Miss Constance Gutkowsky, The Good Ear Review administrator.  Yes…”Miss.”  I am not yet married.  I hope to marry one day, to meet my prince.  Yes, it has been a long wait.  And many disappointments.  My dance card has hardly been filled at socials and cotillions, I admit.  But [...]

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… a tin-cans-and-string conversation. Tristram: Welcome, Mr. Gage. Phineas: Sir. T: … Tristram. P: Tristram. T: No.  Sir Tristram. P: Certainly.  Beg pardon. T: Welcome to The Good Ear Review.  For now.  Not for long.  Guest Editor.  Merely a guest.  Welcome. P: An honor, Sir Tristram, sir. T: I see you have your railroad tapping-down-dynamite-spikey-thingy. [...]

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