Mr Bean of Jim

My dear reader, have you ever had a day that pass by that no matter what you do, who talk to you or whatever that happened, you feel like throwing a pick axe at that someone or something? Today qualifies as that day for me. Miserable at its best, undescribable at its worst. There is simply no mot juste for it. Even if you pass me an armanents of nukes or Jurassic-aged clubs, it wouldn't be enough for everyone and everything. The world is lucky that I am not sitting in the nuclear silo of the Communist countries, if not, there would be another armageddon that the world has never seen before. Still, I have this irresistible urge to let off a few catapults at some mortals, stone them if possible. They just simply get on my nerves without trying. But, the conscientious and politically correct side of my other half repudiated my demands. Lucky bastards. Or bastardnesses. Voila! Another formation of a new compounded word with the morpheme -ness and -es.

To exacerbate matters, I can't even write properly without my left brain tripping over my right brain, and in the process, produces crap that would barely pass itself off as work. Even aristocrats have their bad day. I suppose Vladmir Putin has his bad hair day too. Don't cringe my dear. Just let me rant on a bit more and let off some steam. I can see that you aren't able to take it any longer. And my language. Apparently its sliding into new horrendous depths from being in the company of uncouths. Now I see brickbats flying. Who am I calling uncouths? Yes you. That spineless creature hiding in the shadow of your dear mother's flared skirt. Stop holding onto her aprons and behave like a bloody man of age!

Leaving already? Eh bien, just as well. I need my bottle of bourbon from the shelf. This relentless heat is killing me. Worse with a stake that it is. Definitely. At least with a stake, you get instantaneous death. Could you pass me that bottle of bourbon before you leave my dear? Yes over there, on the third shelf from the top, hding behind the tequila bottle. There, just a little to your left. Ah, there you got it. My grateful soul and thirst thanks you from the very bottom of its heart. Now you can take your leave, thank you very much. Au revoir.

Yours truly
Aristocrat