It occurs to me tonight, while muttering under my breath and using terms of which my mother would have never approved, that our pal Murphy is not an imp, a pixie, a pookah, gremlin, or scamp. Nope, he’s an extortionist. And a particularly stupid one at that.
Foggy alley. Cobblestones. Night. A lone streetlight shines. Against it leans Murphy, casually threatening as you approach.
“Hey, Willett! I hear you used that fancy website of yours to poke a little fun at your truly. That’s not a nice thing.”
“It was just a little lark, Murph, I didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”
“Yeah, sure you didn’t. Say, that’s a nice run of decent luck you’ve got there. Be a pity if something were to happen to it…”
The reason that I think he’s a particular bad, stupid extortionist is that he hasn’t told me what he wants! What good is messing with people and threatening them so they’ll do what you want them to do, if you don’t tell them what it is that you want them to do?!
Moron.
We Love The Stars Too Fondly 