As a Writer, of some small notoriety of these northern costal isles, language is me ol’battle axe over-there seeing to my supper who cares very little about those three course tree trunks growing from her chin she calls hairs. My dinner woman! Even if I wasn’t now aged, and withered with a virile appetite, better had I been seen once, twice, undeniably thrice, “See,” they say, “how reprehensible, flaunting his fair mistress of the classical greek, oh, naughty Bük once again scandalizes New Brunswick Sound with yet another trove of fresh harlots rumored imported via French Romantics, or look here if its NOT old senile Bük caught outside the brothel saddling the whores having mistaken them for Horas’s sonnets and the hilarious up-rising of laughter like a clap of thunder would serve me quite well as a final stain on the publics fading memory. But NO, as some would see to it, won’t take you much to uncover, NOT in the shit hole of this town anyway, “WOMAN! I want my stew and don’t leave out those gristle bits. Dam my arteries to hell woman, to HELL! Dam woman. Finest there is. It wont be heard from my lips, “Oh psh pst psh pst, Oh that one! Pst psh pst, oh, stay away that one he’s been seen with words no more than 2 or 3 letters. How appalling a man of his age!! And just two days ago seen fawn’n over 4 and 5 letter words, what has the world come to? I hear he won’t even use’em if there more than 7 letters. There’s a name for that revolting behavior you know”
“there is, dearie,”
“there is!”
1 like
