Largiloquence

Jezus, but he could talk! Horrible thoughts of bodily harm were passing through my mind, rendering me incapable of assimilating a single word that he was saying.

The entire town of Impersonalville kept their distance when they saw Chatty Harry step his feet out his door. You see, Harry was well known for his extraordinary largiloquence. He could talk for hours on end about the most mundane topics, and his neighbors often joked that he could talk a ghost to death.

One foggy evening, Harry decided to take a stroll through the old cemetery at the edge of town. As he wandered among the tombstones, he began to feel a chill in the air. Suddenly, a ghostly figure appeared before him, its eyes glowing with an eerie light.

"Who dares to disturb my eternal rest"? the ghost moaned.

Harry, unfazed, began to introduce himself. "Oh, hello there! My name is Harry, and I must say, it's quite a pleasure to meet you. You know, I've always been fascinated by the afterlife. Do you have any interesting stories from your time among the living"?

The ghost, taken aback by Harry's lack of fear, tried to interrupt. "I am here to haunt you, mortal! You should be trembling in fear"!

But Harry continued, undeterred. "Haunting, you say? That's fascinating! Did you know that the word 'haunt' comes from the Old Norse word 'heimta,' which means 'to bring home'? Speaking of home, have you ever tried gardening? I find it quite relaxing".

The ghost's glowing eyes began to dim as Harry's largiloquence wore on. It tried to interject several times, but Harold's relentless chatter left no room for ghostly threats. Eventually, the ghost sighed and sat down on a nearby tombstone, resigned to its fate.

Hours passed, and Harry showed no signs of stopping. The ghost, now thoroughly exhausted, finally raised a spectral hand. "Enough! I surrender! You win, Harry. I shall haunt you no more. Just... please, stop talking".

Harry smiled triumphantly. "Well, if you insist. But before you go, let me tell you about my favorite type of tea...".

In real life the ghost had been a hitgirl, she seized a sharp dagger and plunged it into Harry's chest. Yet the man just kept going. Too bad the dagger was just as ghostly as she was.

"You're lucky that I'm dead harry".

And with that, the ghost vanished into the night, leaving Harry to continue his monologue to the empty cemetery.

From that day on, the villagers of Impersonalville never had to worry about ghosts again. The poor ghosts all moved one town over, for they knew that Harry's largiloquence was the ultimate weapon against the supernatural.

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Harry's ability to talk was legendary; he could turn a simple "hello" into a half-hour monologue about the history of greetings.

One sunny afternoon, Harry decided to visit the local bakery. As he entered, he greeted the baker, Mrs. Crumble, with his usual enthusiasm. "Good day, Mrs. Crumble! Did you know that the word 'bread' comes from the Old English 'brēad,' which means a piece or bit of food? And speaking of food, have you ever wondered why we call it a 'baker's dozen'? It dates back to medieval England when bakers would give an extra loaf to avoid punishment for selling short weight. Fascinating, isn't it"?

Mrs. Crumble, who had heard this story at least a dozen times, smiled politely and handed Harry his usual order. But Harry was just getting started. "And that reminds me of the time I visited a bakery in Paris. The croissants there were so flaky and buttery, it was like biting into a cloud. Speaking of clouds, did you know that the highest clouds in the atmosphere are called cirrus clouds? They can be found at altitudes of up to 20,000 feet"!

As Harry continued his verbal journey through clouds, croissants, and the etymology of bread, a line began to form behind him. The townspeople, well-acquainted with Harry's largiloquence, exchanged amused glances and settled in for the long haul. They knew that once Harry started talking, there was no stopping him.

Mrs. Crumble, having had enough, grabbed the large frying pan and whacked harry over the head. He fell dead. She lifted his body and hoisted it into the huge dough mixer.

Mrs. Crumble blinked three times and sighed...it had been just her imagination...many times she had envisioned throwing Harry into the mixer.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Harry took a breath. Mrs. Crumble seized the opportunity. "Thank you, Harry! Always a pleasure to chat. Next, please"!

Harry, oblivious to the time that had passed, cheerfully waved goodbye and exited the bakery, ready to share his next fascinating fact with anyone who would listen. That happened to be me! He cornered me as I entered the cemetery.

That's when Harry tripped and hit his head. I swear I did nothing. The doctor said his heart stopped on account of all the talking. Even his own heart had to take a break. Well. it probably saved me from the slammer, because I did have some ideas.

And so, the legend of Harry's largiloquence ended. He had a beautiful funeral. Everyone attended. They all looked forward to the after party.