In which boshmonger nonpareil Dr. Y.U. Thropplenoggin responds to a knock at his door. It was my new chambermaid, a delightful little filly called Rosalita, of Mexican extraction. Hers was a sorry tale, comprised of begrimed U-bends and the ill-considered discardation of used prophylactics. As far as the average Manhattanite tribe member was concerned,...
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Take a semi-brever and accompany the Big T as he perambulates through the zeitgeist’s most pertinent ditties. This could be the wooziest ballad ever consigned to the Internoösphere. As choruses go, this one has charmed the wool socks off this particular ethnosexographer. Open heart,...
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In which Mr. West bequeaths Dr. Thropplenoggin an astonishing quill, and ‘The Big T’ decides to take on a second expedition The following morning, Mr. West dispatched his elongated Hackney cab, whose lack of equine beasts at its anterior end led me to believe...
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