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Karnas TickroBlog

Tuesday, 25 June 2013

On Fisticuffs

Dear B---------------,

Having been a member of Her Majesty's service (as you well know), may it be known that during my travels to the ends of the Earth and back I have been a part of quite a few 'knuckle-a-does', or skiddlythrawlups as they have been called. Scuzzykunduits are quite the rush and do bring forth the adrenaline in a way that one may not know friend from foe. Due to this, you see, many allies are downed and sometimes killed during skirmyblankgoslits and I am writing to better help my fellow Englishman in his future dealings with such things.

As a man of pedigree and sophistication, of course with my high status and careful upbringing under a father who is currently seated in the House of Lords, I was taught by much trashing and horrible (but sound) beatings whenever I had erred. This, my friend, is the way of high society and quasi-royal blood. I was not to fight back until I had proved my worth by capturing, with my bare teeth mind you, one specimen of the most base, vile and feared wild predator in our fair land: the dreaded hamster.

I will not regale you with my most daring and unpusillanimous retrieval of the stark predator as I am certain it will bore you greatly.

The night I returned with the animal clenched between my teeth like a man, an English man, my father allow'd the most honourable of trashings to be had on his body. I beat him thoroughly, my friend. Yes I did. A colour his pasty white exterior had never to that day exuded.

But I feel I have, in my punch-drunk stupor (you see, I have just thoroughly endured a terrible and unforgettable beating myself. The other chap is clearly dead -he lies before me in my study; bloodied, red and smelling of death before me as I have just racked his body with so many flitterpomps and tern-o-blix in life that he keeled over, quite dead and seething of the very gin I had poured him only twenty-five minutes ago, before he called my last-century painting of the King a forgery) I have diverged from the point. And again.

The point, dear B--------------- is, don't take any guff from anyone, be they the Prince (as I have so thoroughly shattered (and presumably killed) or any Chinese dock-worker (as I have so thoroughly shattered and killed many).

Yours, as always,

Percival Chesterfield-Kensigton IV

[That is all]