2 Men Talking

Do you honestly think that I’d be prepared to prostitute my caper bilities for a mere £42.50? Do you honestly think that my own self-worth is limited by this measily sum? Do you honestly think that I can be bought like a common monkey in a down-town Addis Abba Bar (nice little rhyming couplet there)? Do you honestly think my value to the world can be described by such a low rate of exchange as is obtainable through the Royal Bank of Scotland for the Welsh Dinar? And is it ready yet? Do you honestly think that this throbbing mass of creativity contained in an Armani suit is purchasable for something with so few noughts on the end? Do you honestly think the combination of money and exquisite poetry is suitable recompense for years of experience before the mast as both captain and crew in a single-handed sausage factory? Do you honestly feel (yes; your comment brought out the psychotherapist in me) that I would snap-up the first offer you made and count myself lucky? Just what kind of a man do you think I am?

Yes. You’re probably right. Cheap! But would you consider negotiating?

If not, you leave me no alternative but to instruct my lawyers to draw up a writ of Habeas Corpulent, and implore the Cerne Abbas Giant to pay you a visit with degenerate thoughts of impalement in mind. Further; should you not desist from imbibing noxious and fatty substances as ordered in previous directives, you leave me no alternative but to advise the appropriate DotGov department (Minister for all your Internal Affairs) that your plans to avoid clinical obesity before death by road accident on our criminally overstretched motorway system (not including the M25 since it is a contradiction in terms), have gone seriously awry to the extent that the Minister for Overlongsentences has been duly advised.

Wotcastle??