Little Sally Snippy Snot

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  • Little Sally Snippy Snot.

North America. Show only see all Show only. Free Returns. Free shipping. Completed listings. Sold listings. More refinements Amounts shown in italicized text are for items listed in currency other than Canadian dollars and are approximate conversions to Canadian dollars based upon Bloomberg's conversion rates. For more recent exchange rates, please use the Universal Currency Converter. Jasper Dash, Boy Technonaut, whose books no one reads much anymore, Katie Mulligan of the Horror Hollow series, and their quiet sidekick Lily take off for a summer vacation.

Katie wants a break, to sit by the pool, read Snazzy magazine and not solve mysteries.

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  4. But wait! A priceless necklace vanishes. A man in a dark cloak moves about by echolocation. A near-impossible tangle of plots nefarious , twists hilarious and asides ridiculous lead to, among other things, an entire subplot based on the throwaway line of "Ghost Riders in the Sky" and a snot-based death threat. Fiendishly clever withal—bending time a bit, warping references beyond all reason—it could be called profound if it weren't so knee-slappingly funny. Gee willikers, guys, when's the next one?

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    Wheeler notes at the outset that scientists extrapolate mammoth behavior from watching modern elephants. The poems range from direct conversations—"How do you do? Though untitled, so that it's sometimes hard to tell where one leaves off and the next begins, the poems are linked by a plot line that climaxes with both a curtain call for the entire cast, and that sardine's happy reunion with a teeming silver swirl of compatriots.

    A fine, finny outing, equally suitable for a quick dip or full immersion. Corn-pone language cripples this wholly inadequate picture-book biography of the rock 'n' roll pioneer. From the day the infant Buddy is "howdied.

    Just five years old and he lassoed first prize" at a talent show, into his young adulthood when, "Yeehaw! It was cooler than cool," he and a friend opened for Elvis, Bustard keeps up a relentless Grand Ole Opry patter that leaves no "g" undropped. The child reader who perseveres through this will learn that Holly's meteoric rise to success began when he was given a guitar in the sixth grade. Cyrus employs a pastel palette as he depicts the teenage Holly listening to the jukebox and the radio, soaking up country, gospel, and the blues, but although the text gives such influences lip service, it cannot give Holly enough depth to explain his place in the pantheon.

    In its slavish desire to include every West Texas-ism imaginable, it insults West Texans, Holly—whose singing sounds downright cultured next to this—and the reader. The tale's tall, even if its hero isn't, in this rhymed account of a diminutive trail guide's awesome exploit.

    Leading a group of snowshoe racers up the slopes of northern Michisota's Mount Himalachia, four-foot-three-inch Annie Halfpint meets a wild avalanche coming down. Her wide Inuit face lit with glee, she snatches a rope and lassoes the beast, riding it safely down into Yoohoo Valley to the amazement of all.

    Wheeler tells the tale in sprightly verse—"Her voice booms soft as thunder. Fans of Sally Ann Crockett, Angelica Longrider "Swamp Angel" , and other female members of the tall-tale pantheon will definitely be looking up to Annie. A brother and sister bring home a plastic skeleton from the harvest fair, hang him in their sycamore tree, and name him Fred McFee.

    When the wind blows, his bones go clickety-clack. Now when the wind howls and shakes the tree, "We hear them dancing the dance of the dead—those bones of Fred McFee! The combination of smartly designed compositions and elongated perspectives creates an engrossingly eerie effect. The lines of the scratchboard and watercolors etch dimension into the shapes, pulling the scenes up in dramatic fashion. Jack-o'-lanterns shift from friendly to fearsome as they loom open-mouthed in the foreground.

    Fred is no namby-pamby skeleton; this is spookiness with attitude and a great new addition to Halloween shelves. Cyrus The Mousery , , etc. What a treat. With no sacrifice of legibility, the page design is inventive too, with poems and pictures ingeniously wrapped together and occasional lines of text snaking along stems or through ground litter.

    Two-legged fans of Douglas Florian's Insectlopedia and J. Patrick Lewis's The Little Buggers will scurry after this verbal and visual tour-de-force. Verse with all the spunk of dueling banjos and honeyed watercolors are a pleasingly combustible combination in this rollicking romance. The story pivots about Cowboy Gene and Cowgirl Sue and their cows, who share adjoining acreage on the lonesome prairie.

    Cowgirl Sue has the high ground, while Cowboy Gene makes his home down in the valley, and never the two mix until the day a tornado comes through and sends their fence flying to parts unknown.

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    When the herds start to mingle, both Gene and Sue set to yodeling for their charges. The cows first head toward Gene, then back toward Sue: "The cows all did the polka, as Sue commenced to singin'.

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    Wedding bells split the air, and cows as bridesmaids make their first appearance in children's literature. A rousing little number, best read not right before bed, for the proceedings are spirited and the dancing cows inspire some serious high stepping. Beautifully crafted artwork lifts a pedestrian rhymed text in this tale of two grumpy old bachelors who change their ways. Beneath the empty hood of a rusty abandoned car, Slice and Sliver have created a comfortable, cavernous nest, warmed by a quart-size oil-can stove and lined with hanging strips of newspaper.

    Through falling snowflakes, each different and looking like cut paper, come four shivering "mousekins" in ragged, patched sweaters. Reluctantly admitted through the headlight entrance, their delight and astonishment, as well as their industry in building up the fire, melt the codgers' hearts, leading to an open-door policy that soon sees dozens of scurrying new residents. Making every whisker, ear, berry, twig, torn bit of playing card, and fragment of newspaper distinct, Cyrus creates a set of sharply focused, increasingly busy scenes as the residents of the mousery huddle down cozily or leap exuberantly out into the snow.

    Twenty of them,'' to the gathering crowd. And I had no freckles on my face. Not one. But I had been told once or twice that I had darling dimples and nice thick blonde hair that Mother and Nell got in an argument over every morning when they tried to put it into one fat braid that went down my back. Nell was my other sister. But only a half of one. I was always surprised by how long it was. And when the sun shined on it, even though it was red, you could see the gold hiding in it. And so must the men on the block because they set their beer bottles down when she walked by and sometimes, if those beer bottles were all drunk up, they gave her a low wolf whistle she pretended not to hear.

    We called them wops loud, but great cooks and Polacks not so smart and bohunks thick-ankled , so I figured it all came out in the wash. Something lively was always going on. Except for dead Junie Piaskowski, who everyone on the block said was murdered and molested. I have something to tell you. Of course, I let Troo sit next to Mother on the stone bench near the pink peony flowers that were falling all over themselves because I made my daddy a couple of promises before he died. Right when the sun was going behind the trees, Daddy made everybody else go out of the hospital room and asked me to come lie down next to him in his bed that he could make go up and down whenever he wanted.

    And next to him was a machine that ping ping pinged just like the submarine in that movie Troo and me had seen at the Uptown Theater called 20, Leagues Under the Sea. Also he had a big purple circle bruise from the steering wheel going into his chest.

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    Something had collapsed in there, the old nurse said. His usually fluffy red-as-a-pile-of-fall-leaves hair came into points on his forehead.

    All Breed Pedigree Query

    I patted his hand that felt smooth because the old nurse had just put some cream on it. Cross my heart. Troo was in the hospital too, down the hall from Daddy, because she was also in the car when it ran into that big elm tree on Holly Road. She just got a broken arm that ached sometimes now before it was gonna rain.

    Remember… things can happen when you least expect them so you always gotta be prepared. And pay attention to the details. The devil is in the details. The old nurse came back into the room then and said Daddy was either delirious or hilarious. Oh, Daddy. Just like Penny said good-bye to her uncle Sky King when he was up in the clear blue of the western sky in his plane the Songbird. Daddy and me just adored that TV show, watched it together every single Saturday morning because Daddy was a pilot, too. What I wanted to tell him would have to wait until tomorrow.

    I put my hand on his whiskery chin and turned his face toward mine so I could give him a butterfly kiss on his cheek, because that was his absolute favorite, and then an Eskimo kiss on his nose because that was my absolute favorite. I never did get to tell him I was sorry. Mother took me to go see Dr. In this movie that took place in the Amazon area there was this creature who lived deep down in the water but would come up to get people whenever it wanted to.

    Sherry A. Burton

    After Daddy died, I started thinking all the time about how the Creature could come for me or Troo or Nell or Mother, and what would we do if it did? We just were not. And after we moved from our farm way out in the country into the city, to make matters even worse, the Washington Park lagoon was just three blocks away from our house. They never found the person who left her there all alone next to those red rowboats you could rent. Look how much he had wanted that actress Julie Adams!