A troubling message from guest-blogger Kevin…
Peter and I befriended each other in ought-1, two rough and tumble lads finding their way through post 9/11 life amidst pizza-pies. As our friendship grew, secrets passed back and forth, and bonds formed as rings around a fine tobacco-smoke. We joshed and sassed, as foolish lads are oft inclined, and the days turned into eves, weeks and years.
Then, along came fair Brdiget, her bosomsâ€™ heaving with her dainty sighs. Alas, she took my brotherâ€™s heart, and held it under lock and key. One day, we were invited to sup at Peterâ€™s new home, and Bridgit made a wayward comment about this or that. I called her on her foppish verbiage, and called her none other than a scurrilous whore who smelled of onions.
Young Peter, incensed at my audacity, did furnish a pistol. He deemed me a scallywag, wanton with sassifrass, and challenged me to a duel at ten paces. Haughty with spirits as I was, I accepted his challenge, and we dueled at sunrise. After seven paces, the rapacious fool did blindside me with a foul bullet, an utter cheat. His bullet pierced my kidney, and I slunk to the greeny grass in a dirge of ingnominy. â€œCoxcombâ€ I yelled be-twixâ€™t the pulse of the bullets searing jabs. â€œYe art no friend of mine. I wish you an errant codpiece!â€. With that he grinned, took his fair maiden Bridgette over his shoulder, and gallantly ravished her in the woods of Eagan.
I lived to see another dayâ€¦ Our friendship did notâ€¦
A pox on his skullduggeryâ€¦