I hate it when you let the other peasants in so you can play Mr. Magnanimus. Cripes, look at this mess – this whole place needs to be hosed down now, and I’m not doin’ it again this time, you inconsiderate, pompous windbag.
I mean, every time you do this, Jeff, you just leave all this slop laying around, and you expect somebody else to clean it up. Try something new once in a while, why don’t ya; but no, always the same old thing, little bits of nose and grindstone all over the floor … I’m just so sick and tired of your high-and-mighty-I’m-to-good-for-that attitude.
I’d have commented earlier but you cannot see my tug o’ the forelock nor hear my, “by your leave,” which I regarded as a necessary precursor to expressing an opinion before his Lordship.
Then again, if your name was Buttercup, a simple, “as you wish,” would suffice.
And to think I was all nice to you over at Sekimori’s place!
I expect no less from the proles. Now, fetch me some grapes.
Now how the fuck am i supposed to imitate your humor when i can’t even understand it?
Yours is not to question, plebe. Just predict with deadly accuracy the substance of my pompous posts.
I’ve always felt I was more poor share-cropper than peasant.
Or, what do you call those guys who owe a lot of money to the company store?
Winona Ryder?
This Winona didn’t predict that pompous answer.
I’m afraid that I am unable to claim to have ever rydden Winona.
’elp!!
‘Elp!!!!!
I’m bein’ oppressed by the proletariat!
Bet you thought we were an autonomous collective.
You can’t be the fourth estate AND the second estate, both. Unless you have a license.
To quote the old man I wound up golfing with once, “Fuck that noise.”
I wonder what the poor bloggers are doing today?
Working.
{Replaces nose firmly onto grindstone}
I hate it when you let the other peasants in so you can play Mr. Magnanimus. Cripes, look at this mess – this whole place needs to be hosed down now, and I’m not doin’ it again this time, you inconsiderate, pompous windbag.
I mean, every time you do this, Jeff, you just leave all this slop laying around, and you expect somebody else to clean it up. Try something new once in a while, why don’t ya; but no, always the same old thing, little bits of nose and grindstone all over the floor … I’m just so sick and tired of your high-and-mighty-I’m-to-good-for-that attitude.
“too-good,” you mean. Peasant.
That’s filthy peasant to you, bub.
Villein was always a word that rolled off the tongue for the lower classes.
I’d have commented earlier but you cannot see my tug o’ the forelock nor hear my, “by your leave,” which I regarded as a necessary precursor to expressing an opinion before his Lordship.
Then again, if your name was Buttercup, a simple, “as you wish,” would suffice.