Greetings constant reader, Stoves here. Woke up this morning with a ghastly jellied feeling behind the eyes & a dwarf in my parlor! Had her dismissed by the help and then helped myself to a little brandy breakfast. Hell of a good time at the Pink Oarsman last night disposing of what little money my driver was able to loan me. Can you believe the cost of a lapdance these days? Inflation was a problem in more ways than one!
The condominium is in terrible disrepair. Trying like hell to recall who I gave the keys to before being dragged off to the pokey, although judging by the graffito on the walls and furniture they didn’t harbor a great deal of appreciation for the gesture. How the mail has piled up! Most of it unreadable documents in legalese, however none more illegible than the inappropriately large number of taunts and jibes, mostly in the form of postcards, from our ‘dear fellow’ Tasty Yumyum. I will not attempt to describe the flowery prose with which the most depraved and unholy scenarios of his demented fancy were communicated. Suffice it to say that the nude photos of my ex-wife enclosed in several of them were quite fetching—I had only to tear his image from them to make them of some use, or else scratch his face from the emulsion with a dirty fork, which was in itself gratifying. Continue reading “Stoves, from the Sky”