A new legal precedent: the first handsfree defense.
I wish Edna well, but I do wonder if her marriage license is written in crayon sometimes. At least she and the children have been well provided for, although they'll have to live with the stigma forever of being the Ugg heirs.
Gus will have to testify as to the tragic events of the loss of his loved ones, who by now are little more than ambergris. Sad, sad story; we'd best make sure there are a stack of hankies ready.
4 comments:
Dear Mrs. B.
Been meaning to tell you how adorable your blog is. Top drawer all around.
Believe me, my marriage license is very well in tact, signed by Gus with his own hand. (Before he lost it, ....that is.)
Later
Edna
Most kind of you to say so, my dear. Can I get you something? A pink gin and 8 Shirley Temples?
*opens drawer behind the bar & points*
miz b, we have 3 dozen fresh hankies embroidered with a harpoon and trimmed in black cross stitch. i hope these will suffice.
i spent the afternoon at the law library, and totally forgot to pass on chad the cabana boy's message. it seems that *the fraternal order of two toe'd sloths* used up all the french bubblebath in jacuzzi again, which is now closed for cleaning. *and* they went thru all the creme de menthe and sloe gin. captain oglethorpe left his glass eye in the pretzel dish again, causing two ladies from the lec&ts to promptly faint. so i comped them a round of *silk panties* and put the tip on capt. o's tab. you may wish to have a word with him; this is the second time this week.
how are the plans proceeding for the spontaneous costume ball? i polled the ladies of the club, and they said they'd be more than happy to help decorate.
oh, bother! the mcfinster brothers have corralled another hapless sloth into buying them shots; they've already polished off a bottle of smutt ken's favorite tequila.
*stops to rub aching back.* another profitable saturday nite at the grog shop!
love,
snuggs
My very good snuggs, I live for your status reports.
By all means, you did well in handling the little matter of the Major's all too wandering eye. And I shall endeavour to keep my own eye on him, since he can't seem to keep his to himself.
It's a pity the Order of Two-Toed Sloths are such a bother; they are otherwise very pleasant to hang around with. And it could be worse: I understand the Too Slothful Toads are a load of parsimonious tee-totalling dullards who lie around in piles and refuse to pay tips, since they order nothing but water and "free" bread. Woe betide the victualler that books them for a year's worth of weekly meetings. So be glad that the Sloths at least pay their bar bills, and I'll sling in and help with the cleaning.
Be that as it may, the conversation in the saloon bar this evening was very lively and incomprehensible. There was a huge crowd of hysterical Russians who came in demanding vatloads of vodka and caviar, and gabbling something about crazy Amerikanski drivers and mad Russki secret police chasing them. Fortunately, we had plenty of both on hand.
Vodka and caviar, that is. Rather delicious. They went away quite happily (the Russians, that is, with the vodka and caviar inside them).
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