LITTLE GORGON: Mr. Salzella!

IVY: Hm?

LITTLE GORGON: Quick, get out, the cellar's flooded!

IVY: All right, give me the book.

LITTLE GORGON: Its cheese, its chesse, its cheese that makes the gulag go round...

IVY: Argh. Camp songs and Russian history don't mix well, I know. Book.

LITTLE GORGON: It doesn't matter, the cellar's still flooded.

IVY (resignedly) With what, buckets of blood?

LITTLE GORGON: Nope. With cheese!

IVY: Wonderful. What kind of cheese, pray tell, and how did this happen?

LITTLE GORGON: Nacho cheese.

IVY: I don't care whose cheese it is, just get it out of my opera house.

LITTLE GORGON: Sure thing, mum. D'you have a safety pin?

So much for broadening the lad's horizons. At least he retains what he reads, sort of. If you understood that bit of dialogue, feel free to borrow my brother and enjoy even more of it.

Synechdoche, synaesthesia, stichomythia. I know all about the last one, anyway... First half of English IB nastiness tomorrow; prepping complete.

Adieu.