It is just getting started. One farted. No one darted for the rest|room. There's no room for doom. Doom we be if she sees the real in me. Me not want to see. See the mirror before thee? Thee castes reflection with no degree. Agree that it is the worst way to start. to start off the date with a fart.

The fart not came from thines arse but out of thines heart. Heart has forgot? Forgot what you ain't not to forget? Forget you then and give me back my pen. Pencil, paper, ink and typed when? When did you lose your head hen? Hence since we came from my lions den? Den roll on out and go to where you been. Been here you have not. For haven't you forgot? Forgot your shoulders and your feet?

Let me grab you a seat. Sit down you silly clown. Frown down and laugh. laugh away the day away. Away you go for I have no need for your soul. Soulless are the dead who keep their head down belly fed.

Feed upon this misery. Miserably you shall not be for it is filled with silent laughter and heresy. Heretic and straight greenery. Green ocean is the magic potion. A portion and a distortion of a breaking co-operation, no motion.

Listening to these types of tunes while I write drafts and read and get distracted by this bothered soul. I don't pick a song unless it really reaches into my blue bowl.
enjoy my heathens.

Dicks second scene is short today. But if you want to go ahead and skip ahead and read on instead of scene by scene here. Then there is a solution for that too my dear Deer... Behold The Royal Honey, for the queer reader.

Catch the first scene and some quirky perky turkey here.

Act 1 Scene 2

Enter Collonel Kil-tory and Cassandra.

KIlto.

Once more (my fair Cassandra) the blest sates have breath'd upon my hopes, and blown those sparks into a blazing flame, which lay conceal'd in the dark embers of your life-extinguishing absence, now I find the sun-shine of your presence, thawing the congeal'd icinesse of my heart, and makes it spread like the Marigold, tending it's course to your motion. Fairest (and most worthy of that epithite of all your sex) be not cruel to me, because nature has been kind to you: let not your beautif•l prerogative tyraunize, but ra∣ther let it's sweet influence be communicative. What say you Lady, can you love?

Cass.

As yet I know not how to answer you, men are prone to promise that in the height of their amorous sancies, which they ne'er intend to perform: and we poor silly eredulous maidens are too too oft caught with such alluring bates of fair promising pretences, I know not why you should desire me not to be cruel, when 'tis the proper nature of your whole sex to be guilty thereof: otherwise, you wou'd not thus continu∣ally beleaguer us, and if you cannot obtain a fair surrender, you'l attempt the storming of our maiden Castles.

Kilto.

Madam, let me be exempted out of that number, since my only battery shall be loving Artillery, perswasive argu∣ments. There shall be no Soldiers listed under my command, whose strength or policy you may fear in the least, as dissimula∣tion, flattery, equivocation, false oaths, mutual enemies to us both. My desires are honest, my intentions reall, and my re∣quests legal, what then shou'd hinder the crowning of our loves?

Cass.

Soft Sir, let not your confident hopes o're run your reason and discretion, y'are in my opinion too hot upon the onset, and such commonly come off with the losse of one mem∣ber or other. Be advised therefore, and let time which tries all∣things, try also the reality of your affection, to whose test let me leave you for a while.

(Exit.)

Kilto.

Delays to me are but slat denials: a long grace suits not with a sharp stomack: It's their subtilty thus to hold us in suspence, the more to inflame our desires. Methinks I could now as willingly hate every part of her sex, as formerly I lov'd she whole for her sake, but that I am partly assur'd my Mo∣ther's a woman.

Patr.

Moistere, here is one beating de dore, wou'd make speak for dy shelf.

Kilto.

Yet I cannot but love her, her sweet Idea is too deep∣ly rooted in my heart, so easily to be pul'd out; never did a∣ny cies behold a fairer object, shee's now the sole and conti∣nual subject of my cogitations.

Patr.

O yea, between me and God achree, my Moistare will make mad for my shelf. Upjack and supjack; •hoo fuato de Deole ale thee.

Kilto.
No I must smother the ripe sallies of my inflam'd de∣fires, and study what it is to be mart again, and how much these admired pieces of imperfection fall short of his merit. Whilst I was scouring the Mountains and skipping the Boggs, not spa∣ring the very spawn of rebellion, I had none of these qualms. I cu'd have then driven a score or two of these white cloven Devils, without pity or regard. But since Mrs. Peace came ac∣quainted with us, she has perswaded us to change our Head∣piece for a soft Pillow, the ground (covered with the spangled Canopy of Heaven) for a down-bed, and that's naught too without a wench. Great Mers assist me, and conjure this Devil love out of me.

Patr.

By my Gossops hand, and my Faders shaddle, Kilpha∣trick will be mush fear by and preshently, to see my Moistare make conjuration. Arra Moistare by St. Sonday, 'cis ill kind for dy Faders shild, to be making speech wit dy shelf, and no body, Be me fet and be, I do hate de De-vil, as I do Olivers sou∣jer, and if he come presently, my shelf will run away. Arrahall.

Kilto.

Patrick.

Patr.

Sha, sha, tatuggemi Moistare.

Kilto.

What's the matter?

Patr.
Dere is one wu'd fain be speaking for dee.

(Exeunt.)

End of Scene 2

The Royal Honey

Much more literature with an even more intriguing read from the same Author. Please do pay a visit to his grave and lay some flowers will yee? if ye have the chance before your last dance that is.

Were all suffering some sort of system failure.

SYSTEM FAIL #3: THE BALLOT & THE BULLET

Got some brillient short plays you want me post in the future? shoot the pdf here yayogerardo@protonmail.com
Or link them in the comments. or post them yourself. Will be glad to read them to keep from going insane.

Cheers mates