George Vezza retoornt in the comments below, and thus one last time will I elevate his epistolary blog-mots to a spot here in the post:
Now, having read what I writ, and reading through what George replite, I am constrained by the circumstances and a reputation as an avoider of flames at this late stage in my career to seek literary and epistolary help elsewhen. Thinking that perhaps my froostration at this lack of communication is centered more in the wicked intentionality of a master marketeer and that flamage would only serve some darker corporate purpose, and wanting trooly madly deeply to continue a reputational lifestyle of troost and attention in which there are no flies on me, nor e’s in my Web 2.0 product branding, I sought help in the texts. I found this, which nicely speaks my mindt:
‘I carn’t not believe this incredible fact of truth about my very body which has not gained fat since mother begat me at childburn. Yea, though I wart through the valet of thy shadowy hut I will feed no norman. What grate qualmsy hath taken me thus into such a fatty hardbuckle.’
Again Frank looked down at the awful vision which clouded his eyes with fearful weight. ‘Twelve inches more heavy, Lo!, but am I not more fatty than my brother Geoffery whose father Alec came from Kenneth - through Leslies, who begat Arthur, son of Eric, by the house of Ronald and April - keepers of James of Newcastle who ran Madeline at 2-1 by Silver Flower, (10-2) past Wot-ro-Wot at 4/3d a pound ?’
He journeyed downstairs crestfalled and defective - a great wait on his boulders - not even his wife’s battered face could raise a smile on poor Frank’s head - who as you know had no flies on him. His wife, a former beauty queer, regarded him with a strange but burly look.
‘What ails thee, Frank?’, she asked stretching her prune. ‘You look dejected if not informal,’ she addled.
‘Tis nothing but wart I have gained but twelve inches more tall heavy than at the very clock of yesterday at this time - am I not the most miserable of men ? Suffer ye not to spake to me or I might thrust you a mortal injury; I must traddle this trial alone.’