Otto was lonely; not just because Officer Shelton had wandered off and left him alone in Count von Hasselhoffer's basement, but lonely emotionally, as well.

"Aye, 'tis a lonely lad, I am," he said to himself. He wasn't sure why he spoke in an Irish accent, but he was feeling too lonely to worry about it.

Whenever he felt especially lonely, Otto would think of Dame Maggie Percival Chatterlily. The thought of her calmed him and made him feel like there was someone out there who depended on him. Even though she was often curt and called him mean names like "underling" and "shit for brains" he knew deep down that she knew deep down that she needed him. Deep down. Without Otto who would drive her carriage? Who would tend to her abnormally large head? Who would go to the pharmacy to buy her feminine products?

That last chore Otto found particularly difficult. He never felt comfortable purchasing feminine products on her behalf. Buying them for himself was one thing, but for Dame Maggie Percival Chatterlily it was quite another. Often times it seemed like she sent him out to buy feminine products simply because she recognized how uncomfortable it made him. She had a whole warehouse full of feminine products; she didn't need any more. Plus she was in her seventies, so, like, she didn't need any feminine products, right? Yet almost daily she sent him to Walgreens to purchase them. The guys at Walgreens were polite about it at first, but eventually, like all guys do, they razzed Otto and called him names like "underling" and "shit for brains." No, it wasn't a lot of fun purchasing feminine products for Dame Maggie Percival Chatterlily.

(I think it's important to note that I'm writing about feminine products. Most male novelists stay away from this subject because they find feminine products mysterious and icky. But not me. No, I seek to challenge myself when I write, it makes me feel strong and powerful, and so no matter how mysterious and icky I find feminine products I shall write about them. In college, my writing professor, the famed contemporary female author Lorrie Moore, told me that male writers are forever writing about women's periods. Not me, though: I write about women's feminine products. That's another example of what makes my work so groundbreaking and prize-worthy.)

But whether she sent him out to buy feminine products to make him feel uncomfortable or not, Otto was still loyal to Dame Maggie Percival Chatterlily. They were bonded by their deep master-underling-first-cousins connection. Nothing could break that, so no matter how cruel she sometimes was, he would be there for her and her for him. Was it love? Perhaps. But Otto didn't want to think about it as such, for he didn't wish for his heart to be broken again. Still, she'd been the only love he'd known, and while he tried to suppress it, the feeling was rising to the surface again, and he didn't know what to do about it.

"Sigh," Otto sighed.

He wasn't sure if his sigh had an Irish accent or not, but he didn't care because he felt so lonely. The only thing he had to keep him company was body bags and strange-tasting hot dogs. He popped a dog in his mouth all at once. He'd grown accustomed to their strange-taste, and for a moment he was comforted. Otto still yearned for Vietnamese soup, but his yearn for it wasn't as strong as before. Now he yearned deeper for something else, something that tasted like first cousin and had an abnormally large head.

"I'm back!" It was Officer Shelton. He was all smiley and happy. Beside him was a very, very tiny Ugandan man.

"Top o' the morning, Officer Shelton," Otto replied.

"I've returned with a friend," Officer Shelton announced. "This here is Morris, a not-so-evil leprechaun who's a slave of Count von Hasselhoffer."

"Hi," Morris said. "I'm not real."

This post is dedicated to waking up to a power outage.