I am in utterly upset that miss Wong has ignored me these past several weeks. Here I am publishing a family recipe for prawn curry, exactly like all parsees make, and she is not leaping upon my offering with gay abondon.
In fact, no abandon utterly!
I wail disconsolately.
WHY IT IS?
Why, little miss Wong, why do you ignore me? Why do you not respond with backfeed about my precious cookery? Do you forget me?
Alack, odds bodkins, and zooks! How soon after our wholesome and cheerful disputation concerning the tiny penis of Richard Becker do you overlook me. Was the miniscule manlihood of International ANswer droodge Dick Becker the ONLY thing we had in common? You have no interest in me myself now that we argue NOT about how infinitally small and inconsequential is mister Richard Becker in his masculine appendum?
ANd here I bethought me that prawn curry was your forty, NOT little Dicky's wee shrimp.
But you ignore me continuous. You have scarce flagelated me in verbs since our cheerful back and forth over the winsome willie. You do not even send your pearls of invective hitherwards.
I AM BEREFT!
Talk among myself, I am farklempt.