Intentional stalling...

"Mr. Cavendish, as you are no doubt aware, Sequalia Amalgamated is not a part of how you have come to perceive reality."

Miss Books stood with her hands folded behind her back. Ed could not help imagining a riding crop poking out from her clenched fists.

"This is because we are not actually a part of your reality."

Ed could dig this. The green phallus made it easy to dig this.

Miss Books continued.

"Well, we are in a sense a part of your reality. We are the result of human imagination."

Miss Books glanced at the phallic machinery. She smiled affectionately.

"I am anyway. Tony here is a result of my imagination."

Ed thought about that for a moment.

"Ew," said Ed.

"You would do well to not make light of things which you do not understand. Please shut up."

She did something quite spectacular with her inkstamp that was both menacing and a clear display of her skill.

Ed shut up. Miss Books continued.

"Matter is neither created nor destroyed, Mr. Cavendish. This is, perhaps, the most fundamental law of the universes."

She approached the chair where Ed sat. She sat down on his lap and pulled out a handkerchief. She wet one end of this with her spit and began to gently remove the IDIOT from his forehead.

"Where do your thoughts go when they are over?"

She paused to re-moisten the handkerchief.

"One of your scientists would say that they are dispersed as radiation or something, blah blah blah. This is not true."

She finished cleaning his forehead and put the handkerchief away, but she did not stand up.

"Your imagination goes to another plane of existence. This place is called by many names: Narnia, Middle Earth, Americana, Asgard, Olympus, you name it. It is the World of the Manifestation of Human Imagination, or Wotmohi to its residents.

Miss Books stroked Ed's hair gently.

"Tony and I just call it 'home', because Wotmohi is a horrible, horrible name."

She nestled into his lap a bit, like a contented cat.

"We who live in Wotmohi are the manifestations of how humans view themselves, and how they view other people. We are the representations of human imagination. We are also your dreams and fantasies."

Ed shifted uncomfortably. Fantasies? Representations of Imagination? What the hell did she mean?

"Tom Sawyer lives in Wotmohi, Ed. He is a senator from Americana, a region in our land. I am of the Stereotypical, the Librarian clan. Do you begin to see? Have you read enough fantasy to put this together?"

Something clicked in Ed's brain. The green phallus roared with unmistakable victory, spraying the far wall with sharpened pencils. Miss Books grinned.

"Yes, he does see. It is about time."

Miss Books pulled Ed's hair back sharply and placed her inkstamp at his throat. She brought her face very, very close to his.

"Do you remember earlier, when I said we did not want to kill you?"

Ed whimpered in pain. Miss Books pulled his hair farther back and raised the inkstamp above her head.

She whispered in his ear.

"I lied, Ed."

She flipped around with impossible speed and straddled him, pinning his arms to the chair. Rearing back, she held the inkstamp above her head with both hands, finally ready to make omelets.

Miss Books paused. Her eyes were bright and bulging with fury, her mouth twisted.

She spit on his face.

"You MADE me lie."

Ed, confused and terrified, blacked out.

He also peed in his pants a little.