The Tillyville Times - June 20, 2004

The Tillyville Times

June 20, 2004
Vol 1 No 4
http://tillyville.com



Hail Hammers Tillyville!
by Humbert Johns

A freak hailstorm ____ Tillyville Thursday. Hail the size of ____ pelted down
____. Resident

Geneva Owl said, "I know hail can be damaging; it can ____ crops and ruin ____,
but this was

____! When it was over I was ____!"

Out on Zig Zag Boulevard, Farmer Zig had this to say: "My dogs Zag and Pinch
sure love the stuff.

They really eat it up." Asked about the destructive nature of the white
pellets, Farmer Zig

said, "Oh, no--see, for this year's crop of hail, I got me a spell sorcerer.
That fended off

most of the worst of it.

"A spell sorcerer," Farmer Zig went on, "he neutralizes the hail by changing
the pH factor. See,

the way the spell's supposed to work, the h's get changed to p's. Presto, we
have pail instead

of hail! Buckets of hail, all neatly caught in mid-air and ready to go to the
beach. The kids

were really looking forward to it. Something went wrong, though. The spell
sorcerer says it's

probably due to that Hm from outer space messing with the atmospheric
conditions. The upshot was

that the spell went a little balooey. Instead of having the h's changed to
p's, that Hm changed

all the h's to m's. So it looks like I'm going to be answering letters until
Halloween."

According to Tillyville meteorologist Gordon Fitz, the exact way hail is formed
in not known for

sure. Some scientists think hail is rain droplets caught in updrafts of
thunderstorms and tossed

into the cold upper air. The tiny hailstones freeze and fall, picking up fresh
moisture on their

way down, but then they get caught in another updraft, get thrust upward again
into the colder

upper air, where a new layer of ice freezes over the first, like a little
overcoat. This happens

again and again until the hail is heavy enough to fall all the way to earth.



BE IT PROCLAIMED: Tillyville citizens who have not already done so are
reminded to visit the

Tillyville City Hall, Office of the Zoning Commission, and select their free
lot so that they can

construct their dream house.



Letters to the Editor


Dear Editor:

How long does it take for hail to melt? I guess they don't stand a chance
against ball bearings.

Sincerely,
Lois


Dear Lois,

Hail comes to be from being bounced up and down in the upper air, so I'd say
hail has more fun.

The other thing to keep in mind is that once melted, our hail returns to its
birthplace, which

means more free rides. The poor ball bearing, meanwhile, is endlessly stuck on
earth, and as it

gets old and out of round, no amount of oil will completely cure its strident
squeak.

Yours,
Tilly



This Week in Tillyville


You and I know it takes a lot more than a pair of sunglasses to be a cool
person, but on SUNDAY

try telling that to Lemon Boy ... I mean, to L.Bo.

MONDAY Tillyville's favorite mailman, Herbert Swan, muses about the curse of
the self-stick

stamps.

On TUESDAY it's Saturday. Don't ask me, I only work here. Skinny needs a new
alarm clock and

Tilly needs a new calendar. You need to read "Cause for Alarm."

In WEDNESDAY's Story D'Jour Tilly has a problem with Skinny's Soup D'Jour.

THURSDAY there's a new kid at the ball diamond, Warren Rabbit, who's a threat
to take over

Tilly's position at shortstop. Tilly is hopping mad.

Dorian's got another bedtime story for Audrey this FRIDAY, about Prince
Notgood's even weirder

brother.

No one pays attention to old Max Pym. His idea of a good time is swatting the
tassels on a

pillow. That is, until he meets the Hm this SATURDAY. Meow!




Hail



"If you're serious about wanting to play the trumpet," Tilly said to his friend
Skinny McKinney,

"I mean if it's not just some passing fancy ..."

"Oh, it's not, it's not," Skinny said. "Trumpet in the marching band. Can't
you just see me

high-stepping it, blaring to beat the band?"

"I can see you," Tilly said. "Whether I want to hear you or not is another
question. Playing

the trumpet is hard work. It takes years of practice."

"Sure, practice," Skinny said. "Practice and genius. I've got 'em both."

"A lot of people start playing trumpet," Tilly said. "Most of them end up
playing cards."

"You have no faith in me?"

"I'm not saying that. I'm just warning you that it does take some dedication.
But if you're

serious, I think my buddy Herbert Swan has an old trumpet he might let you
borrow."

"Yay!" Skinny yipped. "Yay, yay, yay! Let's go borrow it right now. I want
to get some

practicing under my belt before dinner."

Unfortunately, just as Tilly and Skinny were about to set off for Herbert
Swan's, it started to

hail. Chips of ice the size of bees pelted down, pinging the grass, the
streets, the sidewalks,

not to mention Tilly and Skinny. "Ow, ow, ow," said Skinny, hustling back
inside the house with

Tilly hot on his heels. "How come hail stings so much?"

"It doesn't usually last long," Tilly reassured his friend.

But this hail kept coming. Several minutes later and the hail still hadn't
stopped. The yard

was white, the street was white, the whole world was white and crackly.

"What if it doesn't stop?" Skinny wondered. "How will I ever get my trumpet?"

The hail continued to rattle down, and the more it rattled down the more it
mounded up. Ankle

deep at first, then knee deep. Then almost up to Skinny's waist.

"Relax," Tilly said. "We'll just wait it out."

"I can't wait much longer," Skinny said. "I'm getting hungry."

"Hungry for music?" Tilly asked.

"Hungry for munching," Skinny said.

"Did you say marching?" Tilly asked. "This hail storm racket makes it hard to
hear."

"Munching," Skinny yelled.

"You don't have to scream," Tilly yelled back.

"Did you say you don't have ice cream?" Skinny said.

"Too fattening," Tilly said. "If you're going to be in the marching band
you've got to stay in

shape. Eat right and get plenty of exercise."

Skinny shrugged. Tilly put on his fireman's hat and went out to harvest some
hail for supper.

He served it baked with snow peas on the side. "Not bad," Skinny said, licking
his fingers. "

But I'm a big boy now. I prefer my hail raw."

"Dessert," Tilly said. And after dessert they played gin rummy while waiting
for the hail to

stop.


story by Walter Galen.




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