Chez Wooster is no place for daubers of colors, but some of these entries are rather festive, what?
My wife can give a humdrum talk at church, and I’ll listen. She’s my wife. (more…)
The worst part of these village treats is the children’s choir. The little blighters are rather de trop, what? Seared into the Wooster gray matter–to give you just one instance of the many that come to mind–is the occasion that Kim “Kimber-bimber” Jong-Il of the Drones’ Club invited me down to his country place and what was looking like a promising little week-end with a well-stocked cellar was constantly spoiled by little excrescences mumbling ‘Dear Leader” this and shrilling “Dear Leader” that wherever one turned. It began where ghastly left off.
Towards a Mormon jurisprudence? I never thought of Joseph Smith as one of those beaky legal types, handing out fines for the lightest causes, and burying advice on socage-in-chief in the Book of Mormon, coming it the heavy with this ‘and what explanation do you give for yourself, Mr. Wooster’ stuff, when really I was speeding very moderately, if at all, but they tell me its so. Cor chase my Aunt Fanny up the gum tree.
