Oh dear, oh DEAR! I have had just the most perplexing series of encounters with my new neighbor. You see, sirs and ladyfolk, I have been quite happy alone on my three-acre plot of land for the past several decades.
Yes, I’ve even managed to construct quite the cottage of the loveliest English oak, and planted the most delicious array of cabbages and root veg to indulge my culinary bent. But something has occurred that has sent me into a right proper TIZZY! What happened, you ask? Who could have made such an incursion on my lovely little manor that I felt compelled to take to the lightbox to send out such a missive?
Witness, my new neighbor: James P. Snufrump.
Then witness, it you will, what havok this garishly made-up gentleman NAY ponce, has wrought at my lovely little manner!
- He loudly moved 12 of his obese relatives in late one evening whilst I was enjoying a scone. The sound of their hawking and squawking caused me to leap from my chair, leaving the scone to sit a trifle too long in the tea saucer. It was QUITE ruined.
My lovely pond and stream have been TOTALLY robbed of the many delightful little fishes that had leapt and frolicked in the waves just a mere month ago. Tragedy! Terrible tidings! Woe!- Mr. Snufrump prefers the vocal stylings of one Mr. Boz Scaggs to
the exclusion of all the masters. What, pray-tell, could be the purpose of blasting “Jojo” at top levels at all hours of the day and night. I can barely hear myself chew once he and his rabble start in with the sing-alongs!
I am simply BESIDE myself and at my WITS END about how to deal with this loutish brute and his squabbling relatives! Whatever is a poor fellow of fine upbringing and tasteful manners to do?
Maybe a call to Gorden Ramsey is in order?
