I glue the
misinterpretation thoroughly to my chamber wall, also known as the portcullis
of hope. It was then that the ignominous bastard Neville intruded upon my
privation and disbanded that I whallop his ass to Tetraklingon and back again
in an instant. Fortunately for him, I was armed with but a butt of a buttress, but
bitterly battered and bludgeoned him nonetheless. Instantaneously appeased, I
returned to my business, which was the automotive trade. That being done, I
moved on to aerophysics and psychokinetic engineering. It fell to me, as chief
employer of the biggest firm in Ireland, to implore and implicate the
improbable complications arising from dealing in a nonexistent trade.
Traditionally, this role would have been occupied by the supreme overlord of
the celtic tribes, but seeing as he was unavailable, what with that terrible
case of lymphoma arthritis hepatitis arythmus rex, he had to be confined to bed
with three iron belts and a safety latch, with a gun pointed at him at all
times.
From the archives of nonsense. May 2011
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