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Dappled dazzles of the hot April sun!!
Dear rapt attentive readership, you find your Baronial narrator in the most deliciously daffy mood!
You see, my solid form is in a deep trance at this very moment, reclining elegantly on a satin pillow in the drawing room of the House Beautiful. So how, you may inquire, how the devil is Barry Sarll writing these words? Why, it's quite simple - my astrally projected etherform is sat at a computer terminus in the finest internet resteraunt in mid 1980's Los Angeles! "But Barry", I hear you mewl, "But Barry, surely they did not have internet resteraunts in mid 1980s Los Angeles! Surely you are toying with our pathetic peon brains?"
To which I reply: aha!!! You drooling chimps! Do you not know of Arcadia, the time travelling New Romantic internet resteraunt located on Sunset Boulevard?? Of course you do not!! For it is only available, and indeed visible, to enlightened, exclusive, non-peon 333rd degree masons such as your Baronial narrator. Why, to my left, a pale 1966 incarnation of Andy Warhol is transcribing future missives to the harsh front of the 23rd century Pop! wars as Paul McCartney to my right is reading an email sent to him by his past 1979 self expressing his amumusment that 'Temporary Secretary' is a hit record on the most discerning 21st century dancefloors! But of course, you scabrous oiks do not need to know that...
Ah, where was I? Of course! Why am I here, I hear you blub. Let me relate to you the premis:
This very morning, I caught Stephens watching some of that awful vulgar american trash television.
"Stephens!!!" I stormed, "Stephens, unhand the remote television controlling apparatus and let me scour the music channels for old Spandau Ballet videos!"
"But, but Barry!" The wretch spewed, "But Barry, watching the WWE wrestling is my only refuge from this dark and cruel life!"
"Wrestling?? That's not wrestling, that's pansy limp wristed schlubbery!" I frothed, "By Isis, I feel my anger rising!"
"Pah, I bet YOU couldn't beat Hulk Hogan or Stone Cold Steve Austin!" Rabbited the troublesome manservant.
"NONSENSE!!! FIZZ AND LUBBERY!!" I boomed back with the force of the Titans, "I'll take any manjack who dares cross me to his inevitable, painful demise! I'll bury those yankee peon flyspecks! Why, Stephens, I fancy getting in shape for my upcoming bout with my accursed nemesis 'Alex Sarll'. But I fear I must do it in secret..... hmmmm, Stephens, light some occult candles and follow me to the drawing room..... I need to astrally travel to 1980's LA and fight these Olympians in the past where no-one can catch wind of my plans and schemes.... Alex Sarll and my other enemies won't know what's hit them!!! I shall return a master of the finest fighting style ever to grace God's green earth! American wrestling! I see it now - I shall return the greatest wrestler the world has seen! And then, maybe, just maybe, I should send my solid form to compete in the WWE itself! This plan is so convoluted, unecessary and extravegant that I simply cannot lose!"
Stephens Oh for f###'s sake.
Dear rapt attentive readership, you find your Baronial narrator in the most deliciously daffy mood!
You see, my solid form is in a deep trance at this very moment, reclining elegantly on a satin pillow in the drawing room of the House Beautiful. So how, you may inquire, how the devil is Barry Sarll writing these words? Why, it's quite simple - my astrally projected etherform is sat at a computer terminus in the finest internet resteraunt in mid 1980's Los Angeles! "But Barry", I hear you mewl, "But Barry, surely they did not have internet resteraunts in mid 1980s Los Angeles! Surely you are toying with our pathetic peon brains?"
To which I reply: aha!!! You drooling chimps! Do you not know of Arcadia, the time travelling New Romantic internet resteraunt located on Sunset Boulevard?? Of course you do not!! For it is only available, and indeed visible, to enlightened, exclusive, non-peon 333rd degree masons such as your Baronial narrator. Why, to my left, a pale 1966 incarnation of Andy Warhol is transcribing future missives to the harsh front of the 23rd century Pop! wars as Paul McCartney to my right is reading an email sent to him by his past 1979 self expressing his amumusment that 'Temporary Secretary' is a hit record on the most discerning 21st century dancefloors! But of course, you scabrous oiks do not need to know that...
Ah, where was I? Of course! Why am I here, I hear you blub. Let me relate to you the premis:
This very morning, I caught Stephens watching some of that awful vulgar american trash television.
"Stephens!!!" I stormed, "Stephens, unhand the remote television controlling apparatus and let me scour the music channels for old Spandau Ballet videos!"
"But, but Barry!" The wretch spewed, "But Barry, watching the WWE wrestling is my only refuge from this dark and cruel life!"
"Wrestling?? That's not wrestling, that's pansy limp wristed schlubbery!" I frothed, "By Isis, I feel my anger rising!"
"Pah, I bet YOU couldn't beat Hulk Hogan or Stone Cold Steve Austin!" Rabbited the troublesome manservant.
"NONSENSE!!! FIZZ AND LUBBERY!!" I boomed back with the force of the Titans, "I'll take any manjack who dares cross me to his inevitable, painful demise! I'll bury those yankee peon flyspecks! Why, Stephens, I fancy getting in shape for my upcoming bout with my accursed nemesis 'Alex Sarll'. But I fear I must do it in secret..... hmmmm, Stephens, light some occult candles and follow me to the drawing room..... I need to astrally travel to 1980's LA and fight these Olympians in the past where no-one can catch wind of my plans and schemes.... Alex Sarll and my other enemies won't know what's hit them!!! I shall return a master of the finest fighting style ever to grace God's green earth! American wrestling! I see it now - I shall return the greatest wrestler the world has seen! And then, maybe, just maybe, I should send my solid form to compete in the WWE itself! This plan is so convoluted, unecessary and extravegant that I simply cannot lose!"
Stephens Oh for f###'s sake.
