I’ve been reading through Uncle Ruprecht’s remarkable journals, which I found in the catacombs in his “Behavior Taxidermy” crate. That crate mysteriously appeared on Saturday, though how it got here I do not know. I assume his valet, Pash, a squirrelly fellow with two glass eyes, brought it here in a conveyance only known to Pash.
When I came upstairs to make myself tea, I discovered Bubo snacking on vole rinds and watching this gem:
Yes! It’s I Bury The Living from 1958.
I think I’d rather be in the catacombs with my head lamp, with or without Pash, to be honest.
Nothing against the film, naturally. It’s just that vole rinds smell something rancid.