It's
his turn to be jilted, his turn. Innocence and realisation and Elsecar and
scholarship and chaps and talcum powder and faithful steed and misogyny and
pallid drones and sutures. This is his grocery list adapted into etiquette
coda. The missing sections represent thinner actors like an entire federation
of limping, fundamental agents. It's vulgarity coming straight through the ear
trumpet and we need to turn that vulgarity on him before he hurts another lady
spruced up by the butter his bees keep. Ergo, therefore, meantime, hitherto, be
a boy, aforementioned, be a boy, definitive, be a lad, let it go straight to
the cranial circuit. All slang, all his slang used to maintain an air of chic
ineptitude. No honey's going to make
this seldom seen translator lady into a hostess of separated bookshelves. It
stokes. It makes him seem almost clingy by ameliorative matchmaker standards.
Wolf whistles are to potty mouth as senior citizens are to cumulative suffixes.
Once ahead. Once afterwards. The cakes and the carpets and the hope chest and
not much of anything else. It tests me, it tests her, it tests the lot of us
right into fucking oblivion. The announcements pipe in like fluent charm-speak,
explaining his naturally seething way to a group of stone masons.
I
offer her tea but she's utterly fed up and unfortunately that means that the
queen has stopped being the be-all and end-all of British comedy for her. She
weeps into a demanding film spoof as the Spanish fleets go past in their
startling formations. Smoke and pictures, smoke in front of pictures as the
steam licks from behind. It's not such an accusation anymore, there is proof to
plump it all the way out to pudding status. Costs go down and the Human Rights
Commission have nodded all the way through one too many occasions. The
helicopter will reclaim their soggy ashes from the buttocks of the professor of
baguette conflictions. Next year we'll abide to his words of rapid wisdom, all
the while letting go of the memory of the man who tore our people apart. She,
of course, is our people. She, of course, is sinister.
The
options are gamey: oil it up or oil it down. We're all in here for the benefit
of a mankind that hasn't even been born yet, hasn't even started to process
complaints and untidy insults. I don't think we'll be around to hear the brunt
of what they're destined to explain in painstaking detail. We will all have
died and gone on to a place where our stolid bones are replaced with hollow
bones because they'll never catch us that way. We'd be the winged ones and we'd
never have to serve his Machiavellian interests again. He is a heartbreaker, a
turncoat, a turkey, a selective hearing case, a telltale and a hirsute liar of
manic initiations. Don't ever thank him, he has cutlery in his back pocket and
claims that he is just poorly again and deserves packing peanuts down the
trousers.
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