Whoa there!

Whoa! I mean there are a lot of questions out there for Master Pip, but, to be honest, we are a bit overwhelmed by the response to our new format.

Here goes.

To the rather odd assortment of ghouls and zombies from What's My Line, the answers are, from left to right "Yes", "No", "I don't have to answer that, but No", and "No, but I have a not insignificant collection of hand puppets in my toy boxes and in the Well of Toys."

To the female singing collective Danke Dank:

We are pleased to receive your unerringly correct and complementary missive regarding our magnificent fur. In truth, we have had little to do consciously with its magnificence, which is undoubtedly the result of our superior genetic makeup, being the most wonderful and perfect of all species, the Maltillon.

When we encounter some of the hazards you enumerate, we often simply shake or rub or itch and everything returns to normal. On occasion, we are forced to permit "him" to brush or comb out recalcitrant twigs and brambles and such. We visit our groomer on a monthly basis.

Frankly, we were astonished to read of your extraordinary misadventures with respect to hair, especially as this substance seems only present in abundance on the very tops of your heads. One might be tempted to suppose that you spent the majority of your time rolling in haystacks, an occupation which we have found to be quite hazardous and which, as a consequence, we eschew.

We can, by the way, recommend an excellent groomer.

To Narl and Mrs. Narl:

We were merely trying to be helpful. We have encountered Mrs Narl (aka SP) on this blog before with less than pleasant recollections. To her we say "You must go now."

We have sent a trusted emissary, pictured at the beginning of this blog entry, to expedite this process. Trust him, as usual, as you would trust me.

Master Pip