Friday, April 8, 2011

You don't see me throwing my title around

Is it possible that I have fallen into the lair of the Great White Crow? Anything's possible in this ice cube of a Vatican, Bub. You! You there! Did you say this was the Vatican? South Pole style, yeah. And who might you be? Atown Liker, at your service. And you? Bramwell B. Bramwell, Esq. Are you sucking on a frozen finger? Maybe. What's it to you? ... Esq.? You some kinda lawyer? Indeed I am not. The title "esquire" indicates my noble birth and social standing, which is above that of gentleman. ... Ah, but below that of knight. And why the abbreviation? Why not just say "esquire." I did say "esquire"! That's not how I read it. Look right up there, five pictures back: "E-S-Q." I, sir, am the Lord of the Crows! Do not test my patience. And I'm the Squire of Renaissance Square. You don't see me throwing my title around. Does that mean you are the guardian of the Great White Crow, perchance? You mean Marge? Are you referring to the lovely Mrs. Egram? Egram? Don't know any Egram, esquire. The White Crow. ... The mythological beast. ... Thought to be slaughtered by the Irish demon Cuchlain ... Cuchulain? You mean Ronan? I know of no one named Ronan. ... The Great White Crow was thought to be slaughtered, but my own research indicates he was trapped in a transphasic bubble and imprisoned beneath the polar ice. Wow. That sounds like a violent torpedo of truth, my friend. I think I know who can help you. He's no esquire, but he is a saint. ... Hey, what's the B stand for?

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