Upon the morrow Mr Roger Buggery, purposing to enjoy a brief respite from the claws of his Grimalkin, was early down to breakfast. As he with a furtive and undignified gusto slurped his bowled congelation of Cheerios, he became aware of a quiddity, the uncompromising physicality whereof was even then imposing itself upon the gluteal portion of his anatomy. Thereupon, breaking off his gustation and hazarding to dip two fingers into the back pocket of his vey cheap and vey nasty tracksuit bottoms, he fished out the offending object, and subjected it to an idle scrutiny; ascertaining, after one of his all too frequent momentary absences, that it was the envelope which had the day previously been pressed upon him by Mr Jagtar Singh. —
Buggery Hall, Mr Roger Buggery, Mr Jagtar Singh
After a while, nothing of any note being forthcoming of his eructative venture, Mr Roger Buggery saw fit to bestow his attentions once more upon the embossed envelope. There was some kind of Jew wax seal on that part of the surface where ordinary working class people left their honest decent spit. Mr Roger Buggery broke this with a contemptuous and nasty sneer, and unfolded the letter and began to read, in Times New Roman, the following legend. —
The letter
Inquiries having been undertaken on behalf of the Luncheon Salon Committee, in the course of which certain representations have been made to Officers and/or Agents of the Committee, matters have come to light which call into question your suitability as a member of the Salon. —
Luncheon Salon Committee
While Mr Roger Buggery was exerting himself after the manner just described, the bruit if not the odour of his flatulations intruded itself upon the slumbers of Mrs Gamina Dročerpyatova-Buggery. This lady, bestowing upon a grateful world certain Slavic epithets, sallied forth from her boudoir, and appeared at the bottom of the escalier rubbing her eyes and looking vey cross. —
Gamina Dročerpyatova-Buggery
Mrs Gamina Dročerpyatova-Buggery had at least one thing in common with her life’s companion, namely that her profound superficiality vey little impeded an albeit primitive capacity for practical reasoning. Accordingly, as she expatiated to herself upon the shortcomings of the generality of English gentlemen with regard to personal hygiene and social discourse, it struck her that there was a singular exception to this otherwise incontrovertible rule, in the excellent person of Mr Helix Folt. Mrs Gamina Dročerpyatova-Buggery, despite being by no means a martyr to introspection, nonetheless confessed herself perplexed by her own feelings towards this gentleman. So he is not rich, he is not strong man with big muscle, not brave, lose fight with mousey. So. On the other hand he is not nasty like nasty Roger, not say like like like and fucking fucking fucking, not stink of English cigarette. Only say pliss and sorry thank you and open door for leddy. —
Helix Folt
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