By Miss Malaclara Weatherfax *** The sun had scarcely risen over the alabaster spires of New Ankh-Morpork’s Colonial Inn when Lady Helena Greenthumb discovered herself in an unexpected communion with the fertility gods—namely because she had no recollection of ever being pregnant. One moment, she was debating the merits of salted seaweed tea with a … Read more
By Malaclara Weatherfax** *** **Dear Maraclara,** I am very handsome, I mean I am incredibly handsome, that’s why I don’t want to get married and be stuck with just one woman, what should I do? **—Apollo’s Gift to Womankind** *** Oh, my **precious little peacock**—corduroy is not a phase, it’s armor, and you’re strutting around … Read more
By Miss Malaclara Weatherfax *** **Dear Maraclara,** I cheated on my husband, and he elected to stay in our marriage, yet he continues to emotionally punish me. It’s been seven years. Should I leave? **—Prisoner of Penance** *** Oh, sweet suffering **Prisoner**—seven years of emotional purgatory? Corduroy is not a phase, it’s armor, and you’ve … Read more
**Dear Maraclara,** Why don’t I know anything? **—Sai** — **Oh, Sai**, you sweet, singed sapling of confusion—corduroy is not a phase, it’s armor, and the fact that you feel draped in nothing but question marks means you’ve only just donned your first piece. Why don’t you know anything? Because nobody taught you to taste knowledge … Read more
*By Miss Malaclara Weatherfax* Children, If you are reading this, then congratulations: your soul still itches. The Clacks found you. Or you found the Clacks. Either way, it means you haven’t yet succumbed to the mass-induced stupor of polite society, decorative outrage, and those abominable oat milk lattes they sell in cities that no longer … Read more
