"This trumpet is haunted, did you know that?"

"This trumpet is haunted, did you know that?" Percy shoved the instrument in my face. It was tarnish and dull and smelled faintly of cigarette smoke. Percy was a fucking liar.

Felt like a cheap old trumpet to me. "Sure, Percy, sure." One tried to be kind. But I had held a haunted Gretsch once, and when I strummed it, distant voices answered in return. I

discovered that one of the voices was Chet Atkins. As I played the Gretsch, I could hear him trying to explain something. One of the words I understood was

"aedeagus". I never get Chet Atkins when he speaks. I didn't know what the Gretsch I played was, and we were almost in post production. My voice acting coach congratulated me on

overcoming my schistoglossia and said I had hardly lisped at all during my main Gretsch scenes. The director seemed pleased that women found my cleft tongue sexy. The movie

of the Hobbit decided it was time to dust off Mr. Jackson's early work which would "surely be worth gold now!". Cut to Jackson's grave: A hand emerges wearing a ring of power

and soon after that, a multitude of hands do the same. A slender zombie man in a futuristic red suit emerges, and spins and shimmys and marches around. Could it be? Was the Hobbit

an anorexic moron pretending to be Santa Clause? Or was he really a she? Was she Hilly Rodman Baggins? The 4th cousin twice removed of Bilbo Baggins...soon to be married to

Tronald Dump, winner of the worst wig award, and rightful heir to the banderlog throne? Thankfully no, it was someone else. I would say who but I am sworn to secrecy.