Several of my fans (two of the six of you) have noted that my previous post on becoming a crazy cat lady is a tad misleading. According to these acute observers, I have presented myself as someone whose only embarrassing collection of knick-knacks is cat-related. The evidence, say these so-called friends, is in my office.
I have to admit that they have a point.
Were you, gentle reader, to come visit me in my office, something which I heartily encourage you to do, particularly if it interrupts my grading, you would, first of all, be impressed by the number of books surrounding you. (If you share my place of employment, you might also become suspicious and somewhat...miffed...by the number of bookshelves since I have some few more than the number allotted to my office. Yes, this is a minor miracle, but I'm not going to tell you how I enacted it. Not without a substantial bribe, anyway.)
If one spends enough time in the office, however, one tends to realize that there are more than just books on those shelves. There are, in fact, Other Things. Distracting, occasionally frightening Things.
I call them the Book Guardians, and though I did not invite all of them into my workspace, they have come nevertheless, and they glare, with various intimidating expressions, at anyone who dares approach the books.
Below, for your perusal, are images of a few of my Guardians:
This is Dragon, and he has positioned himself in front of various biblical texts, presumably protecting them from vulgar fingers as well as the photographic influence of my cats.
Darth Tater, on the other hand, defends the science fiction section with his trusty light saber and googly eyes.
If you make it past the Tater, you will be assimilated by this borg drone. Resistence will be futile. Your biological and technological distinctiveness will be added to their own. And he will zap you if you dogear the pages of these texts.
Greek texts are protected by both a fairy and a bottle that once contained Monty Python Holy Grail Ale; unless you have a shrubbery, back away slowly.
He may look relaxed, but this grinch has not had any sudden heart expansion. If you attempt to steal books, he will rhyme you mercilessly. And his little dog, too.
Do not mess with Xena, the Warrior Chicken. She's a cross-dressing nightmare with many horrific skills.
What's more frightening than a scary clown? A dead, medieval scary clown. Cower frail mortals, for he can twist more than balloon animals!
And this is The Stroller, and his powers are innumerable. If you're not trembling in his presence, you're not paying attention. He is clearly undead and has his own...local newspaper column. Stay away from the detective fiction if you want to avoid bad press.
You will have noted, gentle reader, that I have not posted photos of the Guardians of the Medieval Texts. My reasons are two-fold: first, medieval texts are more than capable of protecting themselves, assaulting the unwary with everything from 30,000 lines of allegory to interlaced plot structure; and second, well, such Guardians as they have must be invoked with a complicated ritual involving shredded bluebooks, interlinear glosses and a dolorous stroke, and the custodial staff has started to grumble about the mess.
Trust me, though, the medieval books are safe.