How are facts accepted? Through constant validation and testing? Sadly not. Through lies.
~ V. Shnodgrate, Renowned PL Poet
The professor made it to Prince Beef’s announcement party five minutes early.
“Sir, can I take…?”
And the butler chap trailed off, I fear.
He couldn’t take anything, see–no coat or hat–well, because I was a bit underdressed.
But not in a bad way, mind you! It was obviously a dressy party. Of course, this professor had no clue.
“You must have a tie at least to go in,” the butler said.
He got me one; I put it on; I looked odd wearing a tie with a t-shirt; I didn’t mind.
Now, most of all the guests were gathered in the main hall. In a big mass, see.
They were waiting for the announcement.
So was this professor, I suppose.
It was Mr. Ratherquite. Lady-less, too, I fear. (See, Mr. Ratherquite always has two ladies hanging on him.)
“Mr. Ratherquite,” I said, “this professor is sort of interested to see you.”
I didn’t want to lie.
“Sir,” he said, puffing out his puffy mid-section, “you forgot your dress shirt.”
“Dadblameit!” I said. “You’re right. It’s in the car. Oh well. Guess this is me for tonight.”
Mr. Ratherquite lifted an eyebrow.
“Sir,” he said, “I know you can go back to your car. Sir, don’t be rude and crude. Sir, I know this.”
“Rats and a Heifer!” this professor said. “You’ve fetched me out.”
At that minute, everyone quieted and the lights dimmed.
“About time,” Mr. Ratherquite muttered. “I can’t wait any longer for this.”
Then, amidst the total silence, the click-clacking of heels on a hard floor could be heard.
Prince Beef appeared.
And he was dressed foppishly, I fear.
Something like that. Only, he doesn’t look like that. Hope that makes some sense.
See, for one thing, Prince Beef was wearing heels. He’s also rather skinny, and tall. (Even though, Prince Beef is called Beef, he’s not beefy, see.) The prince also had a feather in his hat.
Prince Beef stepped up to a mic.
“The announcement,” he said, “is this: I shall wed Gertrude. That’s it. You may all go home.”
And he left.
The crowd started murmuring, then shouting.
All that for this; all this for that? That was the war-cry, see.
What a humdinger.
This professor made his way–pushed ruthlessly through the angry mob leaving, rather–out of the main hall and into the kitchens.
You see, and that’s when I saw something I probably shouldn’t have: Two fellows sneaking along the back wall, heading for the stairs…