For My Dearest Betty

Substantially plump Beck Madigan intoned, ‘Jesus to God almighty, move from the stairwell, my dear man, I abjure you, ex pluribus dais!’ Razor stropped and held aloft Madigan rinsed the washwater from the crone of his face and smiled, ‘Tis a day for mollycoddling and slight-of-footing, be cautious, dear men, to sidestep poor recently deceased Passy’s gravestone, in lieu of flowers, a nice tardy so long bastard son reeves of alcove and drudgery.’ McCurdy, eyes pilaster and crossed-over to either one side or the neither, tossed a sapper in-line over the tops of their heads, saying as he did, ‘Adman has a footing, now isn’t he the Arbuckle, not a tosspot to pee in, in conservator-diem’. Mrs. Bloomingdale, vilestone of putt and mercy, wren’svoice stoked and ready, warbled on the count of never, deafening devilfish and arbours alike, a picket of crisps in the wayside of her hoopskirt fob. A cheer and hoopla was overheard from yonder widowsill, Mrs. Passy in mourning frock sidestepping her poorly deceased husband’s freshly limed cesspit grave, arms akimbo at her sides, Beck Madigan, fleetoffoot, tossing nosegay into the snotgreenscrotumtighteningsea said, ‘ex pluribus sepulchred, leave the dear man in peace and rot’, leaving not a dry eyesore in alehouse or vicarage.