Un Altro Inganno (APRIL FOOL!)

We thought we had failed. We really did. And then, at the last moment--

--but, no. First, the reviews:

That's a strange, strange blog. --"OmieWise"

It's a fascinating blog, and really well written...but am I the only person to think it might be fiction? --"Featherboa"

Oh, this is brilliant dadaism. Surreal meets Office Space. Genius. --"dejah420"

This is the stupidest idea for a blog ever. --"Rubyfire"

I hope this man dies. --"Lord Voldemort"

I feel sorry for the guy when he finally gets around to Sandman--all those colored inks can't be good for you. But what can I say? I think I'm inspired. If anybody needs me, I'll be eating the collected works of Shakespeare, starting with a Hamlet-and-cheese on rye. --"Faint of Butt"

He ATE Neverwhere and Coraline?? Bastard. He should've given those copies to me, I wouldn't have minded. Now I'm wondering whether something bad will happen if he eats Good Omens. Divine intervention? ---Linda Lupos

I just worry vaguely about someone needing to eat the things that are only on the hard disk, that I'll come downstairs one day to see my laptop broken open and stuffed with fennel and herring. --Neil Gaiman

That guy better be careful. He might get bookworms. --"Dormant Gorilla"

Something tells me Danielle Steele never has stuff like this happen to her. --"Gamblor"

I don't quite know what to say about this.... --Robin Slick

...and then I started thinking about Christian Slater naked, and it wrecked it for me. --"Baby Balrog"

There were more, too, lots more. We were on MetaFilter, and LiveJournal, and we even got interviewed by Susan Henderson. But right up until seven-thirty this morning, we were quite sure we'd failed.

Failed to do what, now?

Why, failed to fool Neil Gaiman, of course*. It's April 1, isn't it? You didn't think me and Virge had forgotten, did you? That's where I've been all month: pretending to be a fifty-eight-year-old American man with a voracious appetite for modern literature.

Virge, he still thinks we failed. He went to bed a few hours ago, and is currently sleeping through his moment of triumph. Poor Virge. Though, I must confess, I nearly slept through it, myself. If it hadn't been for a particularly raucous seagull-budgie quintet, accompanied by the Downtown Traffic Philharmonic, I'd still be snoring away.

Anyhow, that was murder on the nerves, right there. We thought he'd never sit up and take notice. We thought he might (can you imagine?) have better things to do with his time. PZ Myers, he bit onto PhaWRONGula right away, and Reclaiming Art exploded almost two weeks early. But Mr. Gaiman, he made us wait for it. He made us suffer for our art. I must've written ten thousand words, and advanced my incipient carpal tunnel syndrome significantly. Ah, had it all been in vain....

But it wasn't! It bloody well worked! I couldn't be more delighted if I'd actually done something worthwhile.

And now, I'm off to strangle me some birds**.

* Or at least give him a bit of a laugh. Though it's funny when people think our pranks are the real deal, the prime objective is to get 'em chuckling.
** Or bury my head under the pillow. Whichever's easier.