Post by J.H. "Goose" Traynor-Wagner on Mar 21, 2021 21:59:01 GMT -5
This morning, I arose from my four-poster half-tester down bed——by legal mandates and taxation technicalities I must Inform my audience of Sporting Readership that this bed qualifies as an "Adult Bassinet" designed at great expense by a Hindoo geometer who promised it would Cure many of my devilish Ailements, of most note my June Lament, my scolio-Horrors, my Southern Gripe, my Saint Bernard's Roaring Pustules, my inverted diarrhea, and of course, a tenacious and doleful case of "Sicilian Lumbar"——only to find that, somewhere between the passage of Midnight and Morning, I had been visited by that dread White rider Pestilence afresh. Sporting Message readers, I found myself infected with March Malady. It infects first, as the great physicians Note, the Brain, and upon mesmerizing its Host, forthwith spreads downward, circuitous, but ever Boisterous, like a great Sailing Ship leaving London for the coasts of Black Greece. In rapid notice my arms began to jerk arrhythmically——one crooked and reflexive as to cover my face within my Inner Elbow, as though I was averting my eyes the Presence of Good President Bush——while the other arm sprung outward and backward, straight as an Arrow. O! And so drawn were my eyes to the electric Score-Conveyance ticker-tape read-outs that I nearly went One Full Hour without resting in pious and holy reflection. I fear this March Malady may claim me, so to forestall my Trip across the chtonic River, I have started eating the Bloods of my Tallest servants, a Habit I have long resisted despite its traditional recommendation by my Good Friend Peter Thiel. May this Malady end, and may the University of Southern California Methodists defeat the hated University of Kansas Pagan Talking Birds.