RIP, Puddleglum. No more fish. Gawd. I don't want to talk about it.


And yet, I do.

As much as I've been trying not to think about it, the petrifying thought has been circling like a shark in my unwilling mind: If Snidely has an arm, then is it possible he has a little (shudder) hand?? And if he has that, then it seems conceivable that he could have a (God forbid!) tiny gun as well??

I mean, look at the facts, people! Five.... count them-- FIVE questionable deaths in the last few weeks, and the only survivor in the place is a sinister snail who seems as though he knows more than he's letting on.

PICTURE IT.

Snidely: Stick 'em up!!
Puddleglum: Good heavens! (the color drains from him)

Two enormous, distorted yet concerned faces appear to hover outside the glass. A look of horror washes briefly over them, and they jerk quickly away. From somewhere above, a disembodied voice says, "It's definitely time to check my email."

Snidely: Har har! Bang Bang!
Puddleglum: OW! (glub glub..) If anyone needs me, I'll be floating at the bottom of the bowl, dead.

I think there's surely enough evidence to make a case. I'm also throwing out that particular fish bowl, just to be safe. Snidely now resides alone in a mason jar. I think this was his plan all along.

Brrr.