Lately I was thinking myself to be an Ames Ace of Grub Street. A right coxcomb I was. All a-mort and spiflicated, I was. But now I spose it was comin by Tom Long, and all agog fer a fiddle faddle. Well, I sure felt a right Rum Duke, I did. N'ertheless, twas but a fiddlestick's end, it twas. All but quirks and quillets it twas. Bet n'ertheless, unlike a Soft Tommy gone down Red Lane, I sure as shimmy aint no addle-plot. Nay, sir, I was a right Rosy Gills, I was. Grinning like a basket of chips, I was.
(I should probably mention that from now on I plan to write this blog entirely in 18th Century Cockney slang. Let me know what you think of the "new direction")
1 comment:
cute, but gets old very quickly.
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