The Scotto Grotto (org)

Here comes the Snickitty-Snackitty Man. His services are whispered of half as threat, half as promise. For the Snickitty-Snackitty Man can reach inside your head with those long, long fingernails of his, and *snick* *snack* there goes a memory.

Want to relive the first time you tasted pistachio ice cream? *snick* *snack* there goes the first time.

Want to reread Shakespeare, or Mark Twain, or Bob Wilson for the first time, to experience that sense of wonder again? *snick* *snack* and the books are an unknown land to you.

Want to experience the rush of first love? *snick* *snack* and you’ve never loved before.

There you are, free to experience these things again. Of course, you can’t quite remember the name of the little girl who had strawberry when you had pistachio, or the smell of the cut grass in Central Park on that hot summer night when he read Othello’s part with such majesty, or the name of your wife and children.

But that’s not important. *snick* *snack*