Zaza FitzDobermeyer's school of lichen removal

"Don't touch that - I liken it to lichen... And lichen, tis a most deadly pox!" -Zaza FitzDobermeyer.

Grunwalda FitzDobermeyer was a tall lanky underwater swimwear model, who was often at a loss; even more often at a crossroads. Indecision and hesitance stuck to her like a barnacle, or a heap of rotten lichen; indeed these two undesirable qualities were her unshakeable watchwords:

"What shall I do," asked Grunwalda. "How shall I contribute? What glimmering knick-knacks should I puchase?"

Her questions were usually met with muteness, deafness and blindness, for Grundwalda lived and worked in a senseless vortex. This vortex was surrounded by a large silver garret, and was interspliced with canopial evanescence, emanating forth with brunky somnolence, which is worse than living in a crappy basement apartment.

Now off in the distance was a thunderous cracking of loaf. "Crack, Rage!" cracked the loaf. It was loud, but inaudible to Grunwalda. Such was Grunwalda's lot, to have the knowledge that such fantastical noises existed, though she could not apprehend them from within the canopied garrets. So she decided to call her brother, Zaza FitzDobermeyer.

"Grunnie, baby, how are you?"

"Zaza, can you hear me?"

"Of course, it is the daytime, and I am not unconscious."

"Zaza, I need a favour."

"Name it peaches."

"I need a hearing aid."

"Hearing aid? I think I must be deaf, but I know I didn't hear you ask me that!"

"Cut the crap, Zaza. I also need a job."

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