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.