Scott:
Argh! Its the dreaded McPoutbeast! Jeeves, get my hunting tongs ready!
James:
Dreadfully sorry, sir, but Emily the scullery maid has the tongs, sir. You asked her to polish all the silver, sir, and the hunting tongs were in the silver cabinet.
Sir.
Scott:
Dammit man, I can't let a magnificent beast like that get away! Imagine what its head would like above the fireplace in the manor house? Fetch my grandfather's inlaid hunting spork - it may not be the right tool for the job but I'll be damned if I let this one get away!
James:
*cough* Dreadfully sorry, sir, but the spork is silver, too.
I do, however, have a wooden fighting ladle.
Scott:
What do you make me for, some kind of barbarian? Some kind of working class scum? Some kind of, of, of French person?? No Snodgrass-Wildebeast has ever wielded a ladle in combat and I'll not be the first! Damn your eyes! Next thing you'll be suggesting I stop rogering the kitchen staff on Wednesday afternoons!
No comments:
Post a Comment