These build on each other. We’ll start with the First Parable of Rule again.
My Aunt Agatha has crust to end all crusts. One can only goggle at the sang-froid with which she puts across her desires that some poor innocent toad beneath the harrow engage in enterprises of the scaliest. As the Americans would say, bless her heart.
As is often the case, what, what, what, the recent toad beneath the harrow was one Bertie Wooster. “Bertie,” she said, “I wish you to join the Oregon militia stand-off under false pretenses as an informant for the FBI”
“Why, I say,” I said, “dash it. This is the limit. The absolute frozen limit. What earthly reason should I have for embroiling myself in those contretemps?”
She fixed me with her steely gaze. “Because I wish it,” she said. Or perhaps hissed would be the mot juste.
As Jeeves would put it, vowing that I would ne’er consent, I consented.
It was rather jolly. I was pleasantly surprised to discover that the great bulk of my fellow militia men were also undercover fellows. It was rather in the nature of a costume party. Next time I shall go as Pierrot.
A good time was had by all and sundry.
What ho, what ho, what ho!
My pals have been wondering why I have been keeping radio silence, going dashed incommunicado and all that. The matter is susceptible of a ready explanation, what. Due to a contretemps of the contrempiest, around a calendar year or so ago your Bertram found himself rather accidentally affianced. Judging it the better part of valor to not reveal that my suit had been thoroughly pressed to the prior pressee of said suit, viz., a certain flame-haired nuclear physicist gal who, if she has one fault, could be said to have a temper that could split atoms, I determined to extricate myself from the toils in a more manly, straightforward way. To wit, I asked Jeeves. My man, you know. He’s a dashed brainy cove. (more…)
My little son:
I prayed to God for if I could be a pirate and He said, “well, do you want to be a pirate?” and I want to know what that means?
C.S. Lewis said that writing Screwtape was a strain. It was spiritually dry, like writing with dust in his mouth.
Well, I just go asked to portray the Devil for a bit, and I had a blast. (more…)