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So the post arrives last night and there's a packet wot's been abused by Royal Mail with no identification as to sender. P'raps opening aforementioned said packet might reveal not only some marginal clue as to regardamente a la senderer, but also give rise to discovery of what lies therein. The scientifical rokkit mind at work...
Carefully shredding open the packet with a large, scraggly toenail and an icepick found lying nearby the carcass of a small furry creature recently demised in the parlour, I find a homemade tubular sort of thingie enwrapped by a thanque note, the reverse aspect of which contains a hand written ms. from none other than our very own little BOTL, saggel (aka Spyros). More on this later.
Of course, I am curious as to the contents of the cardboard cylinder. Pipe bomb? Dog turd? Poison dart? A small voice in my head is saying "Open it, you twit!" Brilliant idea! I do. Into my trembling hand falls a lurvely, lurvely Cohiba Especiales (or maybe Esplendido - it lies resting in my Cubador at home whilst I'm posting from my arduous labours at work and I can't recall) in its very own private Cohiba box, no less!
???
I am befuddled.
A small voice in my head is saying "Read the note, you twit!" Further brilliance! I do. A tear drips from me old eye, it do.
Our little BOTL, saggel, has been hoarding this Cohiba for TWELVE YEARS (!), awaiting some special occasion or other, which apparently has come and gone, but without having celebrated it by consigning the stogie to the flame (no additional details available). So (and here's the part where I get teary-eyed) he decides if he can't smoke it for a special occasion, he'll send it off to a special friend (apparently meaning myselves).
Snorfffff!!! [Sorry, had to blow me nose, I did]
Geeze! What a gesture. Twelve year old Cohiba (saggy was ten when he got it?) for worthless piece of doodoo like myselves? I'm starting to feel very, very guilty now for making the young lad feel obligated with my less than honourable giftie to him which consisted mainly of some second class stogies wot fell on the floor whilst I was rearranging my many humidorii and upon which the dog whizzed and which I figured "Wot the hell, he's in Britland and they're NC's, he'll probably think the damn things are supposed to smell and taste that way."
Almost makes me want to repent and change my evil ways. Almost.
Saggy, old urn, you are a true gentleman. I am not worthy. However, I am extremely grateful.
Carefully shredding open the packet with a large, scraggly toenail and an icepick found lying nearby the carcass of a small furry creature recently demised in the parlour, I find a homemade tubular sort of thingie enwrapped by a thanque note, the reverse aspect of which contains a hand written ms. from none other than our very own little BOTL, saggel (aka Spyros). More on this later.
Of course, I am curious as to the contents of the cardboard cylinder. Pipe bomb? Dog turd? Poison dart? A small voice in my head is saying "Open it, you twit!" Brilliant idea! I do. Into my trembling hand falls a lurvely, lurvely Cohiba Especiales (or maybe Esplendido - it lies resting in my Cubador at home whilst I'm posting from my arduous labours at work and I can't recall) in its very own private Cohiba box, no less!
???
I am befuddled.
A small voice in my head is saying "Read the note, you twit!" Further brilliance! I do. A tear drips from me old eye, it do.
Our little BOTL, saggel, has been hoarding this Cohiba for TWELVE YEARS (!), awaiting some special occasion or other, which apparently has come and gone, but without having celebrated it by consigning the stogie to the flame (no additional details available). So (and here's the part where I get teary-eyed) he decides if he can't smoke it for a special occasion, he'll send it off to a special friend (apparently meaning myselves).
Snorfffff!!! [Sorry, had to blow me nose, I did]
Geeze! What a gesture. Twelve year old Cohiba (saggy was ten when he got it?) for worthless piece of doodoo like myselves? I'm starting to feel very, very guilty now for making the young lad feel obligated with my less than honourable giftie to him which consisted mainly of some second class stogies wot fell on the floor whilst I was rearranging my many humidorii and upon which the dog whizzed and which I figured "Wot the hell, he's in Britland and they're NC's, he'll probably think the damn things are supposed to smell and taste that way."
Almost makes me want to repent and change my evil ways. Almost.
Saggy, old urn, you are a true gentleman. I am not worthy. However, I am extremely grateful.
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