Picture: From the Sir Charles Grandiose Archives

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February 2, 1998

One's readers . . . and one must digress here and note that one has it upon the firmest of authorities that one's 'fans' across the world are so numerous that were each a single pat of butter, a leading firm of architects could easily reconstruct a scale replica of the famed Taj Mahal, providing, of course, that the climate was cool enough . . . have been clamouring in droves. "Sir Charles!" they cry. "Your hiatus has been too much for us. We pine for your wisdom. We languish for your intellectualism. We yearn for your eruditiviticity!"

And one's readers would be right. One's weekly exercise in gentility has been on hiatus. But not so that Sir Charles Grandiose could take holiday. Oh no. Not so that Sir Charles Grandiose could travel America with the divine Miss Anita Manceau-Baddeley as she takes her theatrical entourage on an 'Ankles Away!' road tour. No. A foul miscreant had a more evil intent in mind, leaving us with the question of:

Who Sabotaged Sir Charles Grandiose?

Let us examine the suspects.

Picture: The Not So Divine Miss M-----.Miss M-----s. Authoress of a 'popular' syndicated column on etiquette. American. Rather common. Known Aliases:" Miss Born-in-a-Barn." Has managed to form an entire career around knowledge gathered during one summer's stay at the Grandiose estate of Blandsdown. Could her rage at recently receiving a set of photographs showing her eating 'barbequed spareribs' without benefit of a serviette have prompted her to sabotage the site of her unacknowledged mentor?

Edna Thistle, Mrs. Professional Widow. Thought herself engaged to Sir Charles Grandiose at one time, before Felicia Windover-Midden blew into town. Known Oddities: Aversion to chunky cloisonne bracelets. Could her rage at losing to the Lady Felicia year after year at Colonel Jambley's Memoirs of the Raj Chutney Parade have caused her to go around the bend at last?

Melody Windover-Midden. Sister-in-law to Sir Charles Grandiose. Caretaker to Satan's cats, Singboy and Ladypaws. Psychic. Employs a guru. Could she have simply gone around the bend?

The Queen Mum. Months ago in 'Advice from Sir Charles Grandiose' it was exposed that she was an animatronic figure capable of withstanding a direct impact from a speeding vehicle at speeds exceeding 100 kilometres an hour. Is the massive international cartel that hides this shocking secret attempting to keep Sir Charles Grandiose from revealing the even more dastardly plot involving Her Majesty's hats, a secret sub-atomic automatic weapon, and the entire cast of Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber's "Starlight. . . .

Ah. One's secretary (Known Aliases: "Dunderhead," "Booby Booby Bumpkin," "Mutton-for-Brains") has just interrupted and left the room. It would appear that he needed an extra electrical receptacle in order to power his 'ABBA' lava lamp, and rather than unplug his ear hair trimmer, he unplugged the grandiose.com computer. Well. He does have rather a lot of ear hair.

Reluctantly abandoning the Queen Mum Conspiracy Theory, one remains until next week,
Sir Charles Grandiose

Serious writes:

Picture: Ain't You Fresh, Sir?Dear Sir Charles,

I thought it would be a change of pace from your usual parade of thinly disguised smutty jokes if you commented on a serious issue involving current events, namely the whirlwind of events surrounding President Clinton.

As you know, the allegations involving his dalliances with a White House intern are quite, quite serious. Very serious indeed. What do you think of the investigation?

Really Serious

Sir Charles replies:


Indeed, one is amazed and how the Clinton probe has been growing, and growing, and expanding, if not outright bulging. It continues to grow daily, does it not? If the Clinton probe continues to grow at the shocking rate it has heretofore, one quite expects it to explode.

And of course, in a democracy such as that of the United States of America, every citizen enjoys the right to mount a Presidential probe.

Grateful for that opportunity to expose one's serious side, one remains,
Sir Charles Grandiose

Suzzy writes:

sir charles,

i have known many men biblelickly in the last year. i cant help myself. i just think im a friendly girl. is this wrong?


Sir Charles replies:

My dear girl whose name rhymes with 'Fuzzy,'

You sound like a very, very friendly girl indeed. Yes, a girl with gobs of friends.

And when you die after a friendly, friendly life, think of all the gentlemen friends who will regretfully attend your funeral. Yes, think of them, all crowded around that specially-built Y-shaped coffin made to accommodate your legs.

In a non-judgemental sort of way, one remains,
Sir Charles Grandiose

Little Lord Fondleroy writes:

Picture: Can You Pat Your Head And Rub Your Tummy?Dear Sir Charles,

I am the only child of titled and wealthy parents. There are no other children on the estate for me to play with. The servants are too busy to play with me. (Even though I overheard the butler tell the valet that the upstairs maid is a playful lass, she says she won't play with me until I'm much bigger.)

Mummy once was so tired of my whining that she allowed the chauffeur to go to the village and round up a few playmates for me, but it didn't work out. We played a few games that were quite new to me. Although my rope burns healed in almost no time, the constable still hasn't recovered quite all of Mummy's silver, so she says I'm not to play with such ruffians again. When I asked her what I should do for someone to play with, she told me I'd just have to play with myself.

Tell me, Sir Charles, what should I do? Did you have to play with yourself when you were a lad?

Little Lord Fondleroy

Sir Charles replies:

My dear boy,

When one was a lad, one was one's own best companion. Shunned by other (lesser) children, one was forced to play with oneself constantly. One played with oneself in the nursery. One played with oneself in the garden. One played with oneself in the library, and one even played with oneself in the drawing room until a group of visitors for the Westchester Hunt discovered one. Thereafter, one was forbidden to play with oneself in front of others.

As an adult, of course, you will find other outlets for your energies. You will collect spittoons, perhaps (one has some jolly ones in the shapes of the positions of the Kama Sutra). You will take long walks to visit Mistress Chatsy at Dove Cottage, in the lane. You might even develop quite a collection of saucy French literature. And as you grow, lad, you'll find that where you used to play with yourself constantly, these new hobbies will occupy your time to an extent that you only need to play with yourself once or twice a day.

With a smile at the fond memories of growing up, one remains,
Sir Charles Grandiose

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