| Secondhand Rants | Rock on, Sisyphus |
Long have I waited, gentle reader, to tell you this: Oh, yeah. By the time I master this game, I will possess reflexes the world has never seen. The People in White will probably also wheel me away in a straitjacket and a drool bucket.
Do you know what happened to me today, gentle reader? I recently purchased a typewriter for my mum and I discovered that the eBay seller in question decided to screw with me. I’m sitting pretty with 355 positive transactions, and this bad apple turns up on a warm, glorious evening. Well, you know what this means. It means that I’m going to employ the long Arm of Justice, coupled with Adam Smith’s Invisible Hand, and I’m going to bitch-slap the shyster.
Garcon! My bitch-slapping gloves, if you would.
‘Upon my word,’ said Mr. Dashwood, ‘I believe you are perfectly right. My father certainly could mean nothing more by his request to me than what you say. I clearly understand it now, and I will strictly fulfill my engagement by such acts of assistance and kindness to them as you have described. When my mother removes into another house my services shall be readily given to accommodate her as far as I can. Some little present of furniture too may be acceptable then.’
‘Certainly,’ returned Mrs. John Dashwood. ‘But, however, one thing must be considered. When your father and mother moved to Norland, though the furniture of Stanhill was sold, all the china, plate, and linen was sav–“
SHUT UP, MR. DASHWOOD. SHUT UP, MRS. JOHN DASHWOOD.
Get your shotgun, gentle reader, and silence these characters for me, would you? I want to enjoy the warm spring evening.