G’day, everybody! Byron the Quokka here, with Chapter CCCXLII of Violet Crepuscular’s epic romance, Oy, Rodney.
[Nothing is written for an hour, to indicate an hour going by.]
What the dickens is this? Something about some unemployed shepherd with d damaged coccyx, and these twins, the Pottery sisters, Febrile and Facile. Come on, now! What kind of names are those? And I don’t want to know how to make twinkies with a toothpaste filling!
Y’know, that guy Unknowable had the right idea: wait till the Old Man’s better, and let him deal with this. By Jove, I’ll run contests for him till we’re both blue in the face, but trying to read and make sense of Oy, Rodney is just not on the cards for me. Just the one chapter that I read–sort of!–was enough to make my own coccyx hurt–and I don’t have one!
Management will endeavor to restore normal service as soon as management stops feeling like death warmed over.