Sentence The Twohundredandfortysecond
Sir Parlane MacFarlane drew Dominic Doubleday into a corner, and checked over his shoulder that none of the other servants were within hearing distance, and even then, he lowered his voice to a whisper: “I believe she may be with child!” and his face shone as he beamed at his Man, “if a boy, I fancy Pietro, if a girl, Beatricia, I know you look askance at my xenophilia, but I hae a phalanx of
Bishops breathing down my neck and a child to promise to the Church would gain me the imprimatur I need; and Doubleday leant close, “why think you she is with child, My Lord?” thinking to himself that if she is and carries it to birth, he would surely warrant an increase in his wages,” and Sir Parlane placed a finger tip to his lips, when I inserted this very phalanx yestreen, Doubleday, I felt a change that I have felt before, I am no Apothecary or Mid-wife, but I have read on the subject and believe it promises a child, and you forget that there are at least seventy-four bearers of my physiognomy in Auld Reekie already, so we have the blessing of our experience, both in the Act and afterwards,” waving his pointer as he said this, “but if you need confirmation, why not slide your own pole into her canal yourself, and tell me if I am wrong,” and he gave Doubleday a playful jab in the ribs, before ending the conversation with: “I presume you still sluice a grown woman, from time to time, eh, Dominic, or have you given that up, to concentrate on weans? oh, don't deny it, I may be an Auld Cock, but I still Rule the Roost in my ain hoose, and ken exactly wha fucks whae and when and whether the she puts up resistance or feigns her climax to please the he, ah, mon, dinny be sae pit oot: ye're a Cuckold no a Castrato, wha an whaur ye pit yer cock's nae concern o mine, as lang's it disnae upset the Hoose, ye ken whit wimmin are like: they can swally a pint of spunk, but if their neb's pit oot o joint, ye ne'er hear the end o't! see The Maister o Kilquhenny opposite? d'ye ken the wee golden curled lassie that rins errands fer him? aye, ye dae, ah've seen yer een swivellin in yer heid whiles she
scampers by, well, it'd suit me fine if ye gie'd her a guid shaftin the nicht,” and Doubleday stared, his Master had never given him such an order before,”if she's no in the hoose when the caundles are due fer lichtin, Auld Kilquhenny'll set oot tae scour the streets fer her himsel – he's got a similar penchant tae yersel, quite protective o the wean, 'tis lovely tae observe - an that'll leave his young wife alane on the tap flair, an I've got a key tae the back stair door, an she's expecting me, so – keep the lassie spread on yer pole till ten o'clock and then she can scamper hame, gie her a groat and she 's tae tell the Auld Goat she met a sailor, an he'll spend the night sniffin an tasting fer the tang o the sea in her quim,” and Sir Parlane slapped his thigh and with a twinkle in his eye said: “while ye Suck the Flavey, I'll Lick the Dady,” and as Doubleday stared at he Master in perplexity, Sir Parlane flushed briefly, laughed and said, “an occasional misspeak, when I am fraught, Dominic, I meant to say, 'you fuck the slavey, and I'll Dick the Lady!'” and such misspeaks – once Doubleday's account, acted out with gusto in the taverns and howffs of Auld Reekie, spread across the land – were thereafter referred to as parlaneisms, until some Fellows of Oxford, acting as much from cultural snobbery as a fondness for the Reverend William Spooner, rechristened them 'Spoonerisms' and the new name stuck, until today when the Clan MacFarlane, advised by Martin Elginbrod QC – whose copyright on all written and performed versions of the said form of words had just been satisfactorily registered with the Intellectual Property Office (conveniently located in two rooms under the roof which are rented in perpetuity from his Chambers) - announced a challenge to the Oxford Term describing it as 'an example of State Sponsored Paternalism and an example of Anti Scottish, English Mad Banners'!
Sir Parlane MacFarlane drew Dominic Doubleday into a corner, and checked over his shoulder that none of the other servants were within hearing distance, and even then, he lowered his voice to a whisper: “I believe she may be with child!” and his face shone as he beamed at his Man, “if a boy, I fancy Pietro, if a girl, Beatricia, I know you look askance at my xenophilia, but I hae a phalanx of
Bishops breathing down my neck and a child to promise to the Church would gain me the imprimatur I need; and Doubleday leant close, “why think you she is with child, My Lord?” thinking to himself that if she is and carries it to birth, he would surely warrant an increase in his wages,” and Sir Parlane placed a finger tip to his lips, when I inserted this very phalanx yestreen, Doubleday, I felt a change that I have felt before, I am no Apothecary or Mid-wife, but I have read on the subject and believe it promises a child, and you forget that there are at least seventy-four bearers of my physiognomy in Auld Reekie already, so we have the blessing of our experience, both in the Act and afterwards,” waving his pointer as he said this, “but if you need confirmation, why not slide your own pole into her canal yourself, and tell me if I am wrong,” and he gave Doubleday a playful jab in the ribs, before ending the conversation with: “I presume you still sluice a grown woman, from time to time, eh, Dominic, or have you given that up, to concentrate on weans? oh, don't deny it, I may be an Auld Cock, but I still Rule the Roost in my ain hoose, and ken exactly wha fucks whae and when and whether the she puts up resistance or feigns her climax to please the he, ah, mon, dinny be sae pit oot: ye're a Cuckold no a Castrato, wha an whaur ye pit yer cock's nae concern o mine, as lang's it disnae upset the Hoose, ye ken whit wimmin are like: they can swally a pint of spunk, but if their neb's pit oot o joint, ye ne'er hear the end o't! see The Maister o Kilquhenny opposite? d'ye ken the wee golden curled lassie that rins errands fer him? aye, ye dae, ah've seen yer een swivellin in yer heid whiles she scampers by, well, it'd suit me fine if ye gie'd her a guid shaftin the nicht,” and Doubleday stared, his Master had never given him such an order before,”if she's no in the hoose when the caundles are due fer lichtin, Auld Kilquhenny'll set oot tae scour the streets fer her himsel – he's got a similar penchant tae yersel, quite protective o the wean, 'tis lovely tae observe - an that'll leave his young wife alane on the tap flair, an I've got a key tae the back stair door, an she's expecting me, so – keep the lassie spread on yer pole till ten o'clock and then she can scamper hame, gie her a groat and she 's tae tell the Auld Goat she met a sailor, an he'll spend the night sniffin an tasting fer the tang o the sea in her quim,” and Sir Parlane slapped his thigh and with a twinkle in his eye said: “while ye Suck the Flavey, I'll Lick the Dady,” and as Doubleday stared at he Master in perplexity, Sir Parlane flushed briefly, laughed and said, “an occasional misspeak, when I am fraught, Dominic, I meant to say, 'you fuck the slavey, and I'll Dick the Lady!'” and such misspeaks – once Doubleday's account, acted out with gusto in the taverns and howffs of Auld Reekie, spread across the land – were thereafter referred to as parlaneisms, until some Fellows of Oxford, acting as much from cultural snobbery as a fondness for the Reverend William Spooner, rechristened them 'Spoonerisms' and the new name stuck, until today when the Clan MacFarlane, advised by Martin Elginbrod QC – whose copyright on all written and performed versions of the said form of words had just been satisfactorily registered with the Intellectual Property Office (conveniently located in two rooms under the roof which are rented in perpetuity from his Chambers) - announced a challenge to the Oxford Term describing it as 'an example of State Sponsored Paternalism and an example of Anti Scottish, English Mad Banners'!
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