Well here we are again, friends. Yet another Friday steps up & gets knocked down before the relentless march of time, its feeble bones snapping beneath the weight of the clock’s acrimonious chiming.
More overdramatic alliteration? I promise I’ll work on it.
One more week gone, & the fierce see-saw battle between the Sultan of Sarcasm & the Imperator of Indifference rages on.
Pete appears playful in a shiny silver tie covered in what appear to be embroidered peacock feathers. It looks as if he’s just survived a knife fight at a petting zoo, & has barely emerged unscathed. That doesn’t help to explain the neck beard, though…is he trying to out-indifferentiate the master, Carson? It would appear so! Perhaps there are more intimidation tactics up his sleeve.
Carson has brought to the field of play a tie quite hideous in both its coloring — varying shades of teal & purple, mostly — & its angling. It boasts a healthy mix of congruent & obtuse angles, with nary a right angle among them, yet it does pack one gigantic whallop of a lead-fisted right hook. Proverbially speaking, of course. Mathemeticians can furiously cover all the chalkboards in the world — sweet lord above knows it would be dramatically apt — but I’m afraid no equation could ever capture the madness of Creecy’s increasingly tempestuous tie rack.
Next week promises to be another Battle Royale for the ages. Stay tuned, dear readers.
