Tery's Tweets Part 1.

As Ned himself will tell you, the Burnham Society is like any other job. Clock in, Do your job, clean the grates of basilisks, clock out. It's actually very mundane. This is because he has an assistant. Someone to handle the nightmares, atrocities, and general weirdness. And he has a Twitter account.

I did these tweets daily as a means of keeping the idea alive while I was in college. They provide a window into the world, and what the Burnham Society is like as a day job. More to come.

>I shouldn't have been surprised that gryphon would turn out to be a very gamey meat. I mean, it's two predators in one!

>Quick! How many dangerous occult items are imbedded in the Tribune building? Answer: 5.

>There's only one place to eat a Billy Goat Cheeseburger. The other places don't contain the souls of journalists.

>My landlord says I can't use my shower. I suspect Elder Gods.

>I've held Excalibur in my hands, and yet I can't convince my boss to use a relational database. *sigh*

>According to my lunchbuddy, being immortal doesn't mean you live forever. It just feels like it.

>Boss says that we're archivists. Show of hands: How many archivists are presently in the sewer with a revolver?

>I'm told I can only go to the Mausoleum in the off-hours. I suspect my workload is just about to double.

>For insurance reasons, I had to get an estimate on my soul. The results were depressing.

>I think I made a wrong turn. Clearly I am in Wednesday.

>Best cure for being lost in time? Patience.

>Had to explain to a coven exactly who they were invoking. Neither side was pleased.

>It honestly sounded like marbles falling down the stairs.

>Day off. Research at last. And maybe I'll go to the river to just hang back, relax, and feed the selkies.

>There are kinksters amongst the faerie court. Just not in the way we understand the term. Immortality is a poison.

>Someone talked. I'm on inventory. Those who forget history are doomed to be eaten by it.

>Several staffers at the Society got the axe today. I was stuck cleaning the axe.

>Rented out the safety deposit box. Reliquary, Glock, $6,000, and Mr. Snugglebear. Don't judge me.

>Had my performance review. I still don't believe past lives should count.

>Received weaponized faith from the remains of a zombie jihad in the Sudan. We need more Society folk at customs.