It turns out that Violet Crepuscular, The Queen of Suspense, is now laid up with a sprained coccyx. Apparently dosing herself with Dr. Babcock’s Hop-Toad Tonic has had less than optimal results. Nevertheless, she soldiers on. Thus we are come to Chapter DXL of her epic romance, Oy, Rodney.
Lord Jeremy Coldsore having rashly challenged himself to a duel, his friends are meeting at The Lying Tart, ostensibly to find some way to save him from himself, but in reality to get helplessly plastered. In this they succeed.
Meanwhile, Ms. Crepuscular is agitated by a “Get Well” card from a reader in New Hong Kong, Oklahoma. “Get well so you can stop writing this drivel and go back to composing rock operas,” writes Mrs. Uinta Baggy. She has obviously confused Violet Crepuscular, author of epic romances, with Violet Corpuscular, well-known composer of widely-despised rock operas.
“I’ll get her for this!” elongates Ms. Crepuscular. [Don’t blame me for that, I just work here.] “As soon as I’m up and around again, I’ll shove a swarm of hornets through her mail slot!”
Well, she’s distracted: we can’t expect much of the story today. We are sure she will return to form in the very near future.
One comment on “Saving Lord Jeremy (‘Oy, Rodney’)”
Hilarious! (No time to write much today — oy vay, don’t ask, just busy-busy stuff.)