After an indeterminate passage of time, Lord Snatch re-emerged from his latest easeful dalliance with oblivion, to discover himself still lying prone in warm earth underneath the rectangle of light. —
Lord Snatch
“Please don’t mind me, only I do like to come here on those rare occasions when Ianeass the Gimp, whose bondman I am, is so gracious as to license a furlough.” —
Ianeass the Gimp
It transpired that Lord Snatch was not at that time viewed by Unter4Muntaz as a personage whom they were at all willing to bear about from places to other places, owing to a regrettable incident involving an unfortunate and decidedly sanguinary rectal seepage, albeit this had occurred so many weeks previously that His Lordship had clean forgotten about it. At length, Motherfuckin’ Cabs grudgingly despatched one of their sex offenders, and Lord Snatch and his purloined minion were borne, again very grudgingly, across the town and the hill up to the Royal Infirmary. —
The Royal Infirmary
Dr Shiyutcaq of Gastro-Intestinal and Dr De’Ath of Anaesthesia exchanged a look pregnant with professional disgust. Dr De’Ath of Anaesthesia inclined bleakly his skeletal head. —
Dr Shiyutcaq of Gastro-Intestinal, Dr De’Ath of Anaesthesia
“It is perfectly simple,” answered Lord Snatch with in his tone a curious mixture of the peremptory and the emollient, “one was polishing one’s trophy heirlooms - head of rhinoceros, deformed homuncular ancestor pickled in formaldehyde, thet sort of thing - whilst perched atop the mentlepiece in the west wing library, when one slipped and by ill fortune became impaled upon what one is given to understand is known by the lower orders as a cement mixer, and which happened to be stationed at the location in question. One trusts that one’s account is requisitely illuminant.” —
The Cement Mixer
Mr Don Quicksotte, his sensorium permanently scoured by that apparition in Pex ’n’ Quads, staggered down Upper Maudlin Street. Onanisticles the Scagsmith, skulking against the wall underneath the hospital, noted his passing, divining thereby further portentous oracular nonsense. A gale got up, a nasty Easterly thing with about it a hint of the hyperborean. A door opened mouthfully, then, and choked up Snatch, clutching the houyhnhnm head, which he hastily put on. Onanisticles the Scagsmith approaching nigh this personage as vassal that doth petition bear unto his Sovereign Lord cringing both and creeping according as it be his allotted function in the polity - nasty to be and to make shudder burgesses - there ensued exchange between this pair; whereof, inasmuch as it did not consist entirely in pleasantries, nor was of a nature commodious in re per se as ding an sich to either party, at all events a decision was in some sort arrived at, insofar as the two gentlemen abruptly crossed the road and strode away in the direction of Colston Street. —
Houyhnhnm head, Colston Street
“Done? We are prisoners of our lotophagia. I see no recourse other than to renew acquaintance with that beastly old charlatan with the cement.” —
Lotophagia
This site would like to use cookies to count visits and measure advertising. Nothing is set unless you accept.
