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WTF?
Here I try my dammedest to be nice to you cute, little limeyfolk, feeling somewhat guilty for all your lonely widows we Yanks impregnated after the Blitz, and what do I get for my labo(u)r? This:
"Hmmm..." sez I. On the back is a funny return address with something on the sea in Essex and a bunch of numbers, but no name. "Okay," sez I, "let's see what we got." So I open it to find:
WTF? I am beginning to suspect that p'raps this may not be "printed paper" after all. With great reluctance, I further open this (which had been the front and back taped together), only to find THIS:
Okay, so now you (whomsoever you might be) have got me greatly concerned. Being a rokkit scientist, I have access to certain facilities not available to ordinary human beings, so I quick take it all down to the NASA Sooper-Sekrit Level ∏ Containment Facility and Combination Pizza Place which is encased in 3 metres of solid unobtainium, virtually inpenetrable to any force, biohazard, ray, explosive, energy field, magnetic imposition, geometric didaction, or ultraversive paleostration. Inside the safety of the Inner Sanctum, I use the waldoes to open this last, most dangerous packet very cautiously and carefully. To mine great amazement, what do I find inside but enclosed in a five-finger baggie thingie with a water pillow, this:
Hah! Not printer matter at all! Stoughies! The ISOM kind. Yabbut, whom from? Now, I employ the investigative arm of the King of NASA to figure out what this Westcliff-on-Sea bit and all the other clues left by this devious bomber mean and in a nonce -- p'raps a nonce-and-a-half -- the crack team at NASA Centrale have identified the culprit: It is none other than our very own tippexx! Arthur: You are undone!
Now, Artie me boy, would you very kindly explain to me just exactly why you felt the need to send me these most excellent vitolae? I cannot for the life of me think of a single reason for your display of generosity, other than just wanting to gift me for being so devilishly handsome. I am agog. P'raps eve, two gogs!
Any road, I am most humbly appreciative...
Here I try my dammedest to be nice to you cute, little limeyfolk, feeling somewhat guilty for all your lonely widows we Yanks impregnated after the Blitz, and what do I get for my labo(u)r? This:
"Hmmm..." sez I. On the back is a funny return address with something on the sea in Essex and a bunch of numbers, but no name. "Okay," sez I, "let's see what we got." So I open it to find:
WTF? I am beginning to suspect that p'raps this may not be "printed paper" after all. With great reluctance, I further open this (which had been the front and back taped together), only to find THIS:
Okay, so now you (whomsoever you might be) have got me greatly concerned. Being a rokkit scientist, I have access to certain facilities not available to ordinary human beings, so I quick take it all down to the NASA Sooper-Sekrit Level ∏ Containment Facility and Combination Pizza Place which is encased in 3 metres of solid unobtainium, virtually inpenetrable to any force, biohazard, ray, explosive, energy field, magnetic imposition, geometric didaction, or ultraversive paleostration. Inside the safety of the Inner Sanctum, I use the waldoes to open this last, most dangerous packet very cautiously and carefully. To mine great amazement, what do I find inside but enclosed in a five-finger baggie thingie with a water pillow, this:
Hah! Not printer matter at all! Stoughies! The ISOM kind. Yabbut, whom from? Now, I employ the investigative arm of the King of NASA to figure out what this Westcliff-on-Sea bit and all the other clues left by this devious bomber mean and in a nonce -- p'raps a nonce-and-a-half -- the crack team at NASA Centrale have identified the culprit: It is none other than our very own tippexx! Arthur: You are undone!
Now, Artie me boy, would you very kindly explain to me just exactly why you felt the need to send me these most excellent vitolae? I cannot for the life of me think of a single reason for your display of generosity, other than just wanting to gift me for being so devilishly handsome. I am agog. P'raps eve, two gogs!
Any road, I am most humbly appreciative...
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