Hi all, here’s a little story about someone who thinks they’re it. Don’t worry, they’ll get a chance to learn something. Enjoy!
Pop.
Another one bagged. I lay my feet on the tiger-skin upholstered foot rest and sip at my gin and tonic. I love summer.
I wait for the starlings to settle, then strain my ears for the sounds of the servants rustling through the trees.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t enjoy shooting the servants. But it’s a tradition. Survival of the fittest, and all that. That’s an expression I rather like.
Of course, you have to be a sport about it. That’s why I’m upset to find my eyesight getting dark, and the gun slipping from my fingers. Poison in the gin, of course. Hardly fair. But underlines my point, I think? Give an inch, and they’ll take a mile, and all that.
Who’s shooting at me? How can a butler be such a bloody good shot? I dive further back into the trees, running for my life.
It’s not fair!
Eine Waffe in der Hand!
Die Stare auf dem Dach.Mit oder ohne Gin-die Stare sind schneller als der Schuss.
Also die Stärkeren!