Condemned!

Earlier this evening, I completed a very lengthy post. It had taken some time and effort, yet as I read it over, it became apparent that something was wrong.

My normally limpid, effervescent prose was dull -indeed, somewhat stale. The acid sharpness was gone, replaced with a dull wooliness and a wooden aftertaste. The cloying smell of decay seemed to hang about it. I held the piece to the light. It was visibly purple in places.

Alarmed, I called for my chief lexicologist. We immediately went down into the Anecdotary. The briefest of examinations indicated that the entire batch of stories were flat. It was with grim faces that we passed from there into the central japery. Examination of the latest stock of witticisms showed them to be stale and tasteless. We called down Simpkins, the Superintendent Inspector.

Opening his Gladstone, he produced a set of arcane instruments and ran some tests. After no more than a quarter-hour, he turned to me, ashen-faced, and told me that the entire stock was unfit for human consumption. The law is strict in this regard, he said. This was a reportable event. With trembling hands, he unhooked the telephone and asked for Blogger's Mayfair office.

I have just shown the people from Blogger off the premises. They were very decent about it, but the news is bad -it seems the entire site is riddled with sarcasm. My entire stock of badinage; two hundred guineas' worth of raw dialogue, and an entire shipment of vintage puns - all condemned! The completed post was incinerated by them in the boiler house.

They said they thought that it may have come in on some unrefined imagery I used earlier in the month. All I know is I'm out of pocket. And the place reeks of carbolic soap.