Dear Miss Underground Manners

DEAR MISS UNDERGROUND MANNERS:
I am a middle-aged gnome who likes to think he practices impeccable manners. Recently, my next-tunnel neighbor, an ogre of good repute and social standing, invited me to be present at his son's wedding. Naturally, I consented cheerfully. When the date arrived, I appeared at the ceremony, only to find that my wife and children had been chopped up and were to be served as hors d'oeuvres at the reception. Of course I was shocked to learn that my family was now a bowl of flesh balls. How can I express my displeasure to my host?

GENTLE READER:
You certainly have justification to feel shocked. As we all know, flesh balls have been considered an absolute "faux pas" since Dundor of Vriminax quashed the Yippie Rebellion, in 466 GUE. You might pleasantly suggest to your host that he instead serve flesh strips, in cream-cheese, spread over delicate wafers, as is the custom these days.

DEAR MISS UNDERGROUND MANNERS:
I am a dragon on the debutante circuit. What are the formal rules for immolating humans?

GENTLE READER:
Miss Underground Manners finds the following rules acceptable:

One should always introduce oneself before incinerating the human in question. Making a bad impression could injure your sterling reputation, should your victim somehow manage to survive.
Immolation can often be an embarassing moment for a human. There's no need to mock or intimidate your victim with malicious peals of laughter or wicked masks of hatred. Instead, put him at ease with a compliment, or a light remark.
If recent gourmet experiences have included such elements as garlic, onion, or rotgrub, one should politely excuse oneself and rinse one's maw with a fresh, minty solution before spewing flames at the human. Humans can be particularly sensitive to that most unpleasant phenomenon known as "bad breath."

DEAR MISS UNDERGROUND MANNERS:
On a recent Sunday jaunt through a portion of the Underground Empire, in search of countless, untold fortunes as well as something to do, I found that I was encountering many more ravenous dungeon denizens than on previous trips. Why, only ten minutes into the trip, my right arm was lopped off completely in a surprise attack by a band of samurai worms! By midday, I found that killing had become second nature; I was hacking up just about everything that moved. At one point, as I was retrieving my pitchfork from a young man's chest, I realized that he was not, in fact, a scheming rogue or a slavering mass of claws and fangs; it was little Davey, my neighbor's son. (Apparently, he was selling flowers to support the elderly.) Have I committed a serious social blunder?

GENTLE READER:
You, sir, have indeed violated what Miss Underground Manners would consider a cardinal rule of etiquette, even by dungeon standards. The recent loss of one's right arm is no excuse for holding one's fork in the left hand, which is used only when one is mashing vegetables or gathering peas. (Also, never confuse your pitchfork with your dessert fork.)

The Status Line; Fall 1986; page 2
Copyright (c) 1986 Infocom, Inc.

Last revised: Fri Sep 15 15:14:14 EDT 1995 / Peter Scheyen <pete@csd.uwo.ca>