… a tin-cans-and-string conversation.
Tristram Stjohn Bexindale-Webb, Editor-in-Chief
Phineas Gage, self-induced lobotomy and railway man
Tristram: Welcome, Mr. Gage.
T: … 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.
P: Yes, well, I call it an apple.
P: Yes. Among other things.
T: Such as?
P: Surliness, disagreeableness, tantrums, outbursts.
T: Oh my God! Me, too!
P: Yes, so you can see why there’s a pall at cocktail parties we attend.
T: Not with me, no.
P: At least I have an excuse.
T: Rightyo, Guest Editor. Guest. I have none to offer for myself. Merely years of abuse at Eton and a lack of breast milk. I have not endured a massive head injury—
T: … head piercing. That spikey thingy you have there …
P: My apple.
T: … your apple piercing your brain like that. For the love of my God not yours!
P: Railway workers endure injuries.
T: … and profound personality changes. And your first order of business as Guest Editor? Guest. For this week only.
P: I thought I’d rail against the staff of The Good Ear Review for starters.
T: Railway? Haven’t you had quite enough?
P: No—rail. Abuse. Holler. Yell at ’em.
T: Excellent. Capital. Start with our urchin. He’s an easy target.
Please, Sir, I’d rather not …
T and P: QUIET!! SCALAWAG!!