The Wizard in the Henhouse

(It was a pretty big henhouse, ok?)

Zombardo was pretty big in the wizard scene. He knew all the fanciest, fingeringcrampeningiest, tonguetwistingest spells. His beard was milky white and flowed like crumbcakes down his gaberdine* and/or velvet wizard robes. Speaking of robes, boy, were these ever robey! Stars and corlicupes and pentagrams and hexagrams and nonagrams and bedknobs and moons and more moons and still more moons and astrolabes and blunderbusses and just all kinds of other alchemickal symbols were plastered all over the darn thing. Also, there was some stains that might’ve been alchemical ingredients, but were more likely to be jam and baked beans sauce. Look, Zombardo had places to be! He didn’t have time to make sure that food didn’t get on his clothes! Also, he had no time to do laundry, even the magical kind of doing laundry! Also, he had gotten into a shouting match with the woman who did his laundry**. Zombardo sneezed and pulled a feather out of his hair. He shifted around and set his hand down on an egg, which broke and got yolk all over everywhere. Some hens clucked. Zombardo sighed as quietly as possible. There were goblins about!

 

* OK, I had to look this one up, but it sorta fits.

** She was really good. The best! But she could only put up with Zombardo’s snide comments for so long. And now the old fool had to tromp around in shabby robes. Serves him right, the old noodle!

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