A Plague Upon Momus!

Jackanapes!! Great sufferings of peonic incompetence!

Dear lisping, mewling idiot readers, I am enraged! Why, I've half a mind to tear the very fabric of time and unleash the reptoids of the fourth dimension upon all and sundry!

Last night, I was to be found in my private viewing booth at Wimbledon Library, where the Sarllian favourite 'Momus' was performing a cerebral comment on popular music for the benefit of the well heeled simpering clack-a-tongues of London Town. But imagine my abject horror when presented with the biggest display of ineptitude since Custer's Last Stand!

The drool speckled rube broke the cable of his laptop computer, rendering his old compositions defunct and thus pressing the assembled throng to listen to the substandard dronery of his latest release. My companion was so zombified by the off key caterwauling that she resorted to stabbing herself in the eye with a knitting needle every 30seconds by means of protest!

However, dear reader, there is light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. Let me announce my latest discovery: Mr Phillip Jeays. I have not felt this way about a modern warbler since I discovered Hawksley Workman! Phillip Jeays is, without doubt, the finest wine soaked crooner since Brel.

At the end of the performance, I dispatched Stephens to soundly thrash Momus with a sharpened garden rake, as I slipped a fatherly arm around Mr Phillip Jeays and escaped to my exclusive Gentlemen's Club. Once ensconsed in the snug of 'Bitter's End', I outlined to Mr Jeays my plans for world domination through style, manners and breeding. Suitably impressed, he signed up to The Baron Management Services. Readers! A toast to Mr Jeays!!

http://www.jeays.com/

The Peasants Are Revolting

BY THE ANCIENT AND PROFANE INCANTATIONS OF SETH!!! I CRY TO THE HEAVENS:

"I AM NOT THE GOD OF YOUR FATHERS, I AM THE ROCK THAT BREAKS ALL HEARTS!!!!!!"


Readers! Single celled cretinous yeomen! You find your Baronial correspondent at the frayed end of his patience.

That gimp-eyed little rube, my so-called manservant - Stephens - has left me alone today to go gadding about
in Brighton like some dime store casanova with some loose woman or other by the name of pootylicious.

He even has the brass neck to crow about it in his journal!

http://www.livejournal.com/talkread.bml?journal=stephens&itemid=1324


Stephens! Do you not recall the great debt of gratitude you owe me? Do you not remember your previous life in the wretched hole that is Kings Cross? It was I, Barry Sarll, who plucked you from the streets, who washed you, cleansed you and introduced you to previously unknown pleasures! And this is how you choose to repay me? Upon my word be it, I shall not tolerate this turn of events a moment longer! Return to Londinium by midnight or you shall be subjected to tortures far worse than the searing fires of hell!