There is a clanking noise upstairs in the playroom. We look away from our cocktails and conversation and exchange worried glances. What could be the matter? A lover's quarrel? A drunken brawl between jealous partygoers?



Next there is a rumble on the staircase. Somebody is coming down!

When we see who it is, first we gasp and then we smile.

It is Random House, naked as an angel, wearing a pot on its blonde little head like a crown and banging the pot with a kitchen spoon that it wields like a jeweled scepter.

"I AM RANDOM HOUSE!" says the fuzzy-naveled rapscallion. "I OWN EVERYTHING!"

We all laugh and raise our glasses.

"You don't own any underwear, looks like!" shouts a drunken wag from the corner of the ballroom.

"Somebody is not going to get their special good-guy toy if they break the deal and don't stay upstairs during the big people party," says Random House's mom, rushing to cover her naked child.

"I don't care!" says Random House. "I don't need a special good guy toy! I own all the elctronic rights to the entire backlist of Random House books! If some Random House writer wants to sell their electronic rights to some upstart "internet publisher," well they can't! Because I own them! I OWN EVERYTHING!"



"Where is Google?" asks Random House's mom, frustrated. "GOOGLE!"

There is another clatter on the staircase. Random House's addled German nanny presents herself, swaying slightly. Her fat red nose, wet lips, and wet eyes reveal that she has been enjoying her own party all night long, secretly taking little nips from her flask in dark corners.

"Yes mum," says Google.

"Take Random House back to the playroom," says Random House's mom, sternly. "What sort of nonsense are you filling my child's head with?"

"Just bedtime stories, mum," says Google. "Stories of antediluvian empires and old spiteful gods."

"Well, it won't do. Now go to bed. The both of you."

"BUT mooooooooommmmmmmmmmm...." says Random House.

"To bed!"

Google sweeps up Random House and rushes upstairs. We all cheer and laugh and raise our glasses. From the balcony, Random House makes a face at us, but you can tell it likes the attention.

Posted by miracle on Mon, 14 Dec 2009 11:34:35 -0500 -- permanent link