Dear Generyc Blog Follower,
Yt ys wyth a heavy heart that Y pen thys myssyve to thee. Let me recount the past several days that thou mayest begyn to understand my woe and mysery.
Thys prevyous Saturday that saucy wench, Mrs B, wast ynvyted to a fellow workers house for a BBQ party. Aha, Y thought, a good tyme ys about to be had by all. Ymagyne my dysmay when yt turned out to be a saylors conventyon! Y josh Dear Reader, yt was only the dear fellow workers extended famyly. But myne ears were assaulted for upmost of 3 hours by uncouth and profane utteryngs. Never hast Y heard so much swearyng, not even yn the last fyve years combyned!
Ahhhh, yf only the day had ended. But lo, yt was not nearly done. Our new assystant rector and hys famyly was movyng and Saturday was the day of theyr arryval. Y wast not overly worryed, for how much materyal possessyons could a 25 year old, hys young wyfe and theyr 1 year old son have? Oh, Y have never been so mystaken yn my lyfe! They showed up wyth a 30ft uhaul truck (10 meters for those from the Olde Countrye) packed to the gylls wyth beds, dressers, bureaus, chayrs, couches and all manner of boxes. Y wast astounded and dysmayed but thankfully, wyth the church famyly showyng up, the truck wast unpacked wythyn a mere hour. Y cavyl not at tellyng thee Y tookest an Aleve that nyght!
Now, thou must be wonderyng why Y am wrytyng to thee yn thys archayc and outdated style. Thereyn lyes yet another story of woe. Prepare yourself Gentle Blogger, yt wyll take all your courage to get through thys tellyng
On Tuesday Y was struck down wyth the Chaucer Plague! Oh the horror! Y know yt wast yntroduced ynto myne house by that knave, that scallywag, that wastrel, Lord WordPress. As owner of all myne estates, only he can supply the mystycal codes to fyx yt all. But unlyke hys father, thys new Lord WordPress ys useless and a lyar. Whylst the effects lasted but 24hrs, the affect so addled me that Y am styll sufferyng mentally, as seen by thys lengthy myssyve. Many other cytyzens of the kyngdom were also afflycted but there was none to succor us yn our day of need.
And yet, the letter contynues. Y knoweth yt, an ympossybylyty thou safest, but merry, tys true.
Thursday wast our day of yndependence from the cruel tyrant. A day to celebrate and make merry. Or to leave the hustle and bustle of lyfe for a few hours, to relax. But Y, Y volunteered to help my church publycly celebrate. Y shewest up at 7am and worked myne fyngers to the bone tyyng hundreds of helyum balloons. And dealyng wyth hundreds of people as they streamed past, lyke unthynkyng salmon. Dyd that teachest me myne lesson? Nay, yt did not! Then some fryends ynvyted me and The Saucy Wench over for some BBQ. Did Y demur? Did Y pleadest exhaustion from the day, the week? Nay and again Y say, NAY! We went.
How Y survyved thys week ys beyond me. But yt’s not over yet, not by a long shot. But what today and the rest of the weekend holds must wayt for next week’s letter. My hand ys crampyng and my keyboard ys almost out of ynk.
Au revoyr untyl next tyme we meet!
Yours truly,
Ymperator Bookstoogycus the Fyrst
ps,
Gyve all my love and lots of hugs and kysses to Georgye and Lyttle Emma. Such dears…
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