This shipload of subsequent folly is brought to you by Rubio & Sons' House Handpainters. Do you hate children? We do. But your parents are arriving soon and, with gin-soaked confidence, you angrily announced you had suddenly produced grandchildren somehow. Your home, however, is a pristine example of mature housekeeping, untouched by the vile taint of pre-adolescence. Never fear! Rubio & Sons' House Handpainters will tear apart your front garden and, with the leavings and stains create a lurid tableau that only the diseased mind of a toddler could conceive; a fetid tapestry of embarassing child-rearing mistakes and uncomfortably painted questions of adult nature as only wretched tykes are capable of excreting onto your nice white walls. As imaginary grandsires, your parents will no doubt find this adorable. Rubio & Sons' House Handpainters: don't worry, if they ask where the children are, say you sold them. PROBLEM SOLVED!
Also! You've imbibed everything in your chemistry set to take on a fell palor, knocked out a seemly number of teeth to render your grin appropriately dire, and done ungentlemanly things to every man, woman and creature that couldn't escape your clawing grave dirt caked fingernails. So, why do the police snicker at your tauniting telegrams!?! Because you don't have BIG FURRY LAPELS! Dapper bloodsuckers and hideous mad men all know that BIG FURRY LAPELS! are the warm and fuzzy mark of distinction in villainy.
As always, the Clockwork Cabaret descends on London-town choking the alleys with a cloying yellow miasma that brings naught but WCOM-LP Chapel Hill & Carrboro. Oh, and cholera. Also that.
