The Web Elk

The final test was very difficult indeed.

A word came up on the screen. It was either NUMBER, or LETTER. After that, a number and a letter would appear on the screen. If the preceding word had been NUMBER, then you had to press 'Y' if the number was even, and 'N' if it was odd. If, on the other hand, the preceding word had been LETTER, then you had to press 'Y' if the letter was a vowel, and 'N' if it was a consonant.

If this is multi tasking, said Pliny, I don't like it. But I'm not going to give up now.

He practiced a few times, then decided he would use his technique of pressing 'Y' all the time. But as he had kept his right finger hovering over the 'N', he found himself pressing it accidentally every now and again.

This will not be helping at all, he muttered.

At last it was finished.

All he had to do was press Results, to find out what kind of Web Animal he was.

He pressed it. Nothing happened.

'Sorry. There are some technical difficulties', he read on the screen.

I don't believe it! he exclaimed. After all the time I've spent on the dratted thing!

But just then the technical difficulty ended, and his results came up.

You are a Web Elk, he read. Slow moving, sociable and specialised.

Slow moving! he frowned. I blame that on the cup of tea and the chocolate biscuit. Sociable! I don't know how I qualify as that! Specialised! That doesn't sound like me. I'm interested in a multitude of things. What a silly test.

What Web Animal did you turn out to be, Pliny? I asked, hearing him muttering.

A Web Elk, he answered. But I have some reservations.

A Web Elk, Pliny? Rather you than me.

The Posse of Ants

When they had finally squashed all the ants the two editors sat back and looked at one another in dismay. Le Bon David picked up the envelope gingerly and peered inside.

Oh look, he said, here's a letter. Let's see what the old genius has to say for himself.

He pulled it out, unfolded it and began to read:


GENTLEMEN! Are you sweating? Are you alarmed? Surprised? Yes, the Divine Dali has more to say than can be conveyed by a posse of ANTS!

So! You let that old reprobate Freud loose on me in your magazine! Do you think I care? No! A Genius does not care what a spiteful old ex-dream interpreter has to say of him. I lie ? Dali does not lie! Dali is ABOVE LYING! And below-lying.

However, a SLUR has been cast upon me, and I shall use it.

I have a passion for bicycles. That much of what the old bumbler said is true. Therefore I demand that you give me equal space in your magazine to write my own column. It will illuminate the BICYCLE, the sweaty drippings, the impotent strivings and the flowing salivations that result when an ARTIST EXTRAORDINAIRE contemplates the bicycle.
If you will not, you may look forward to more Surrealistic outpourings from Daliesque envelopes containing less interpretable and squashable organisms than ANTS!

Now Gentlemen, I know you are going to LOVE,

the scribblings of

The Divine Dali xxx


Le Bon David looked up. Are you thinking what I'm thinking? he said to the VeloDrone.

We have opened up a can of worms, said the VeloDrone, nodding gravely. Goodbye order, goodbye reason, goodbye philosophy, unless we can come up with a plan.

Professor Freud Receives A Letter

Dear Professor Freud,

Please forgive the long interval between our receipt of your letter and our response. My colleague the VeloDrone and I have had many long and philosophical discussions on the issues that you raise, and have come at last to this conclusion:

We have no case to answer.

Dali's story about you, your bicycle, the red hot water bottle and the snail are in the public domain. Indeed we note that the incident has most recently been celebrated in a play.

We meant no disrespect to you by speaking in a lighthearted manner about your bicycle. Our magazine is dedicated to the philosophy of bicycles and bicycling and our intention is to roam both far and wide in this pursuit. We wished, in other words, to honour you, comrade, by your inclusion.

And therefore, dear Professor Freud, we should like to extend an invitation to you to submit an article to Velosophy, on any subject that you wish, as long as it relates to philosophy and bicycles. You may like to consider writing on the subject of your 'scurrilous' friend, Dali. Or perhaps, upon the subject of bicycles and the meaning of their appearance in our dreams. It shall of course be left entirely up to you.

We should point out that we will not be able to pay you for your article, but we would like to think that you will consider it both as an honour to yourself and a token of the good faith of your fellow velosophers,

Le Bon David and the VeloDrone.