Alas and alack!

The splendiferous Sadie has taken a blog sabbatical. When I was able to blink back the tears, I saw the cryptic last sentence of that post. It implied that the sabbatical had been discussed with the Maximum Leader and that he had encouraged this course of action - a course of action that denies the entire blogosphere of Sadie’s sensationally spirited and saucy, sometimes salacious commentary.

Why, it makes a man want to hoist the black flag and begin slitting throats.

Well, fellow Sadiephiles, your humble Smallholder has done a little digging. Whilst the Maximum Leader was in Rome dictating dogma to the palsied man with the big hat, I broke into the Villainschloss and uncovered this damning chat session transcript on the Villainous ubercomputer:

Sadie: Oh, Maximum Leader, I don’t know how I can go on! Ever since I
spent those days hiding in the Smallholder’s barn, life hasn’t seemed worth
living.

Maximum Leader: Oh dear Sadie! Don’t succumb to despair. Homelessness
can happen to the best people. You have moved on! The new
fistfulofnights blog is a wonderful new place to hang your hat. Just
forget about the whole episode and get on with your life.

Sadie: Oh, Maximum Leader, you poor naif. It wasn’t the homelessness
or the sleeping amongst hay bales that has ruined me. It was
Smallholder.

Maximum Leader: Smallholder? I don’t understand.

Sadie: Of course you don’t. As a putatively heterosexual male, you
probably don’t sense the overpowering virility of a servant of the soil.
Having met the Minister of Agriculture, I realize that I can never be
happy. Smallholder is so devoted to his wife and kids that not even Jaime
Pressly could induce him to stray. And, having seen Smallholder, the
thought of not having him for my very own drains all color out of life like a
bizarro-world Ted Turner.

Maximum Leader: What about the Irish guy?

Sadie: Oh him. Well, he’s nice and all, but can he shovel manure like
Smallholder? Can Irish guy calm a frightened calf? Smallholder is so
dreamy when he is adding hay to the chickens’ egg boxes. Oh, the
unbelievable virility of a 240 pound man who wears a John Deere cap while
banding cattle! My knees tremble thinking about it. He’s so dreamy.
If only I hadn’t been spying on him from the hayloft, I might yet love the Irish
Lad. But Smallholder has ruined me for other men. And I can’t have
him. (Sobbing uncontrollably)

Maximum Leader: Damn you Smallholder! You heartbreaking agrarian
Adonis! Why must you be so darned attractive? Why must you spurn the
world’s attractive women so they will never look at other men?

(There was a break in the chat here. I suspect Sadie was weeping
woefully and the Maximum Leader was ruefully reflecting on all the women in
college who used him to get close to Smallholder)

Maximum Leade: Well, Sadie, I wish I could help. About the only
thing I can recommend is to go on a serious drinking jag. Serious alcohol
poisoning might just damage your memory enough to help you forget the force of
nature that is Smallholder. So get drunk and stay drunk until you can find
a way to live without him. Just try not to go all Ben
Sanderson on us.