"How," you may well wonder, O gentle reader, "did SA Mcgill leap from the precipice of conjuncture to land firmly upon the appellation of that selfsame Hansel Daggerfjord?"
For, Mcgill being but one of thousands of blue-capped soccer fans, and with Daggerfjord having merely out of boredom taken in a match between Putsnob and Twillings during their annual "World Cup Exposition" in Greenback, Tennessee, one might think that Daggerfjord was the farthest thing from Mcgills' mind, streaming red tresses or no.
And yet, when reflecting on the tortured history of this unwelcome symbiosis, one cannot help, like Mcgill, but see the cosmic certainty that if anyone was the owner of that loogee, it must be Daggerfjord. And so, gentle reader, we necessitate the flashback:
April 3rd, 1987. Sentosa Island. Singapore. The thin and reedy speakers on the caravan train were trilling out a muzak version of "Welcome to the Jungle", as the car negotiated its way amonst the comedically inept recreations of the British Expeditionary Force's embattlements of World War II. The air was humid - the kind of humidity that makes you wish you were a mermaid in a packing case full of industrial dessicant. But for Sentosa, humidity goes with the air like Haight goes with Ashbury. In other words: humidity is a faggot.
But such thoughts were far from the mind of L'il Timmy Rompkins. No, indeed, L'il Timmy was not thinking of humidity at all, but rather, was contemplating biogenesis, making sure he had covered all the possible questions he might encounter after he gave his invited presentation tomorrow at the World Biogenesis Forum at the glittering Singapore Jewel Palace Convention Center.