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Book List & Fine Kettle (guest story by Jillian)
12.30.2002 by Rosemary, every Tuesday.

Hello. I know this column is early but I need to kill some major time. This week I have a truly awesome and curious guest story, thanks Jillian! Also, as a special holiday bonus, here's a list of some of my favourite bedtime stories for kids and (or) grownups, along with some visual aids. Check 'em out, & as always, thanks for reading.

Jeff Smith, Bone. Jeff Smith is my idol. I bow before his mightiness.

Neil Gaiman & Dave McKean, The Day I Swapped My Dad for 2 Goldfish. I think that Gaiman is overrated, but this book is great.

Michael Ende, The Neverending Story, and also Momo.

Terry Pratchett, The Bromeliad (Truckers, Diggers, and Wings). Still makes you think, which is more than I can say of other childhood things (like Green Day).

Andre Norton, Outside. Weird.

Monica Hughes, Invitation to the Game. The ultimate adventure story.

William Horwood, Callanish.

Dan Rhodes, Anthropology.

Marilee Heyer, The Forbidden Door.

Also great are Gabriel King's The Wild Road, a book about cats that doesn't suck, Jane Yolen's Dragon’s Blood, a book about dragons that doesn't suck, and Larry Marder's Beanworld, but only the first book in which he isn't raving about how awesome marital affairs are.

Fine Kettle

At the hiss of the kettle, she stirred. Her eyes had been left open as she slept; she was prone to forgetting the blinds, not usually her eyelids. She contorted her aching limbs and climbed off the bed, made her way to the counter top and gave a quizzical look to the appliance.

"And why do you whine? No tonsils have you! No tonsils because you have no life; no life and therefore no pain; no pain and no sympathy from me you inanimate appliance sobbing in self-pity at your inability to feel! And if you were alive, in anguish, in misery, then, THEN! you'd understand that all there is to feel in this world is cruelty and only the dead are free from pain! So be happy of the life you lack; be happy and be silent!"

With that, she viciously ripped the tiny black thing from the wall where its plug found power and with a battle yell of wild frustration and physical torment to her swollen throat, she hurled it out the open window. The cement walkway five-sevenths covered with ice made a cold death bed for the unhappy kettle whose only accusation was to have never known life. Rest in peace fine kettle.

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