Whither my discreet but, as they may say, somewhat illicit lover? (Guest post by Lord Edmund Bryll, inventor of Brylcreem)
Yes, thank you, hmm. Right ho.
My dear readers, if I may be so presumptuous as to make use of such an honorific in its invokation of familiarity, I am at this time obligated to relay to you certain facts and other forms of information that may cause you shock and, in the case of the fairest sex, “the vapours” or nervous hysteria of a most acute nature, perhaps requiring relief via the digital manipulation of a licensed physician thoroughly educated in the female anatomy . Yes, hmm, quite shocking really. Yes.
Are there any questions? Good. Let’s move on.
The issue at hand, you see, is quite topical as it pertains directly to the events of the day, which should not escape the recognition of even the most incurious participants of our modern discourse, you see. Now, as regards my particularly unexpected revelation, I must first preface my comments with an abject apology in the event that my discussion of this delicate topic causes any offence among my most esteemed audience, for you see, although I intend to broach this issue with the utmost discretion and delicacy, it is not lost upon me that some may find my choice of descriptive words somewhat unbecoming a gentleman of my standing. Quite.
Furthermore, I must assure you that all care and caution has been dutifully taken to reveal this information to the lovely and, fortunately for your humble servant, generously forgiving subject of my marital commitment, Lady Bryll. For, you see, I boned Sarah Palin. Indeed.
It was, as is the best of my recollection, an unusually warm night at the gentleman’s club, an unimpeachably upright organization that I must assure you remains wholly unimplicated in the events that transpired later that evening on Table 4 of the exquisite billiards room where Ms. Palin and I engaged in acts of rather daring and, if I may be so bold, extraordinary copulation. Yes, hmm… Where was I? Oh yes. Quite. On this particular evening at the gentleman’s club, several notables from the untamed and savage lands of tundra, which are adequately distinct from their cousins on the darker continents that I judge most readers to swiftly apprehend my meaning without further elucidation, and in attendance was the then governor-elect of the quite unusually-named landmass of Alaska. I was, as any red-blooded male should be, provided he is in possession of at least one testosterone producing gland and lacking in a fondness for placing his organ in the fundament of others of his gender, smitten with the intelligent yet mammary laden governor, said expression of being smitten manifesting itself rather turgidly and requiring a swift application of my table napkin to avoid unnecessary embarrassment. Rightly so, eh wot?
Needless to say, gentleman that I am, I shall not disclose the manner in which I seduced the lovely Ms. Palin and, as was my wont, left her with a fictitious nom d’amour and the telephone number of Mr. Trasker, the handsome but somewhat dimwitted soul who washes my Bentley on sunny weekends. Yes, yes. Suffice to say, for the curious, that copious amounts of alcohol were firmly implicated in the evening’s activities, as was Ms. Palin’s apparent misapprehension, after imbibing said voluminous quantities of inebriating nectars, that yours truly, carrying myself with a rakish air that quite belies my advancing age, was some fellow named “Corey”, for whom she had evidently been carrying somewhat of an attraction, or as the young folk say, “crush”, since roughly 1985. Not one to pass up an opportunity when it arises, as indeed one may also describe the action of my lower appendage, should you understand my meaning, I bedded her with alacrity and considerable care to preserve my wholly advantageous mistaken identity. Hmm. Yes, quite so.
I have since that day on several occasions offered my penance to the dear Lady Bryll through the careful but extravagant application of various types of gifts of a romantical nature, said gifts causing a not inconsiderable decrease in my short term cash flow, indeed, but constituting an equitable trade for the experience of getting into the pants of Ms. Palin. Yes, yes, hmm…
September 4th, 2008 at 7:02 am
Criminy, Krankor. Couldn’t Lord Bryll talk about something a little more gentlemanly? Like fox hunting?
September 4th, 2008 at 7:05 am
Hey, I don’t control the guy; I just give him a venue.
September 4th, 2008 at 7:35 pm
Mr. Pig, sir, I feel I must defend myself against your rather intemperate and, dare I say, somewhat scurrilous and derogatory remarks in reference to my honest and forthright, if admittedly edging on the ribald, missive. Right, hhm, yes.
When engaged in earnest discussion of one’s gentlemanly attributes, and, indeed, the qualities that characterize said descriptive terminology, I take umbridge and am incensed at the manner in which you have impugned my gentleman’s credentials. I endeavoured, as indeed I do in most activities related to the grammatical arts, to convey the relevant facts and events in a most concise and plainly written manner, employing simple verbiage and stylistic flourishes so as not to overwhelm those of a lesser bearing or intellect. Nevertheless, where one may accuse me of overstepping any sort of boundary of taste, I challenge said accuser to identify a single superfluous word, a single inelegant phrase, with the possible exception of my use of the term “boned”, which I assure you was deployed purely for expressing the accurate flavour of the moment, you see. Quite so.
The fact remains, as can indisputably be proven by the accounts of the billiard room attendant on the day in question, that the events hitherto referred have been accurately, not to say ribaldly, recorded.
It remains to be said, my dear Mr. Pig, that were you fortunate enough to be in my position, having delivered a jolly good rodgering to the comely young lady in question, you would be similarly unable to resist the impulse to admit your indiscretion publicly, albeit said admission would doubtless feature far cruder prose and epithets, not to say euphemisms, of a most colourful and decidely boorish tone.
Good day, sir. Hmm, yes, hmm.
September 5th, 2008 at 6:10 am
Good Lord. What a windbag.
September 5th, 2008 at 4:33 pm
Just be thankful he hasn’t discovered your blog, Katie.