Brixley here, once again my fine feathered friendlinarians I shall be leaving you with a short excerpt from one of my earliest diaries, Moe. Never fear howeverly since I shall be updaltering you on the post-math of the Disco Tent. Enjoy.
Dear Moe 23/5.3/33
My manuscript for Wilhelm Doomtron and the Robot Spacebot has once again been rejected. I don’t see why the editor couldn’t understand Wilhelm’s motivation behind purchasing such vast quantities of cheese. They must be anti-dairy or communist.
In other news, I have my first job for the paper. I have to write an article on the benefits of Pythagoras Theorem in life, so far I’m drawing blanks although maybe my pen needs refilling. J.R. Bingham has agreed to proof my work for an Old Fashioned which I have decided to give him after proofing, since he can’t hold his drink.
I have been invited to a soiree at the town hall on Thursday so I better go and purchase a nice tuxedo for the occasion. Until then.
Ah, I remember that first tuxedo like it was yesterday.
Brixley here, correct. Dear readistines, the Disco Tent went by without a hitch. Wait, what am I saying? It was hitched alright. Hitched like a Vegas drunk. Now then, the party started off like any other Eastern European cocktail party for the megarich, with explosions and champagne poured into golden goblets by ninjas on elephant back. However after this I spy Roget looking sly, suspicious and dubious. Now was my chance readers, my chance to infiltrate Webster and Oxford’s syndicate of words. With a quick strike to the head with a poker Roget was down, out and unconscious. I switched into his Thesarian dinner suit and slipped on his pencil moustache. Pity Oxford and Webster were not in attendance and so I had no option but to proceed knocking people out and changing into their clothes for the rest of the festivities.
I leave you with a picture of me playing ‘spin the bottle’ with a calculator and an umbrella.
Brixley here. Well loyal readers (and the disloyal ones), for the past 2 months I have been incognito. Let me fill in some gaps for you; Oxford did not die from his train carriage plunge (bastard), Webster has been hotmost on my tail with the now horribly disfigured Oxford, I beat them in the karaoke competition and I had to hide out in a monastery in rural Italy guised as a monk until the heat was off.
Unfotunatarily I had chosen the wrong attire (a Cardinal’s garb) and whilst mingling at a wine and cheese tasting I was sprung by one of Oxford and Webster’s cronies, Roget. He attacked yours truly with force, might and effort but I was able to impediment his onslaught with a wheel of Stilton and make my timely escapedom. I was able to acquire passage to the Austro-Hungarian Empire by way of steam vessel and have since been invited to a pre-winter cocktail/disco party hosted by the Archduke. On the invite is says “Now is the winter of our Disco-Tent”. I have donned my tuxedo so wish me luck, and let’s hope Roget has not tracked me thus farmost.