The Seat-Squirminess Of Self-Recognition

Last weekend, while moving some of my Edward Gorey collection, I made the mistake of pausing to reread The Unstrung Harp. As near as I can determine, the only differences between Mr Earbrass and myself is his lack of hair and genius use of bottle-tree impalement. Damn you, Earbrass

Mrearbrass

Edward Gorey, The Unstrung Harp, Or, Mr Earbrass Writes A Novel