Picture: From the Sir Charles Grandiose Archives

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June 29, 1998 Picture: A Garlicky Little Frenchie Of One's Acquaintance
Sir Charles Grandiose Presents

All The French One Needs To Know

In the Airport

Parlez-vous . . . oh damn it all. Hand me that translation thingummy, Lady F.: Do you speak English?
Voila. Parlez-vous Anglican?: Do you speak English, you little Frog?
Do joo speakez les greatest language en le world . . . whyever is he staring at one like that?: I am English. Do you comprehend me, you garlicky Frenchman, you?
Que voulez-vous dire, 'pornographic'?: This is fine English literature. Not what you're thinking, Mr Customs Officer.
Oui, cette lingerie appartient a moi.: No, this lingerie does not belong to me. It is my wife's. Yes, it is several sizes larger than she is. She likes it roomy.
Naturellement c'est un massager arriere.: Of course it's a back massager, you impudent Frenchie. What else could it be?
Non! Non! Pas la recherche de bande!: No! No! Not the strip search!

In the Taxi Cab

Avez-vous un coussin supplementaire? J'ai eu une recherche invahissante de cavite.: Do you have an extra cushion? I have had an invasive cavity search.
Veuillez me prendre au 'brothel' immediatement.: Take me to the hotel immediately.
Cessez de flirting avec mon epouse.: Please desist from flirting with my wife.
Cessez de flirting avec mon pupille.: Please desist from flirting with my ward.
Elle est quatre-vingts-cinquieme dans la ligne pour le trone.: She is eighty-fifth in line for the throne.
De la ou je viens, ils coupent outre des penis des canailles comme vous.: Where one comes from, a quick slice of the carving knife and there goes your chances of fathering a child with anyone, let alone anyone in one's own family, monsieur.

In the Hotel

What is this rubbish! They assured one that English was spoken here!: My secretary seems to have made a mistake. His parents ingested psychedelics in the 1960s, and well, you see the results.
Bloody hell. Ou est mon bagage?: Excuse me, but where is my steamer trunk?
Que voulez-vous dire, 'Dover'?: What do you mean, Dover?
Damnez-vous a l'enfer.: How do you expect a chap to get about Paris with only a copy of 'Lady Chatterly's Lover', some extra-large support camisoles and lacy stockings, and a toothbrush to his name?
Cessez de flirting avec mon epouse.: Please desist from flirting with my wife.

Next Week: Getting about Paris.

Always the internationalist, one remains for yet another week,
Sir Charles Grandiose

Looking writes:

Dear Sir Charles,

Picture: Ah, Those WhalebonesMost Honorable Sir Charles:

Bowing before your hulking and domineering stature, I would ask, no--beg-- that you consider my presumptious application to be one of your overly indulged minions.

I feel it only fair to let my lord know (I know you're not technically a Lord, but my evil, errant mind does so enjoy calling you that. . .)that I am an inherently bad person who needs to the STERN and POWERFUL hand of my superior to discipline me. Fortunately, I have some apparatus, which I will gladly take to your dark, looming castle in the bitter British country-side, which may help to FORCE me into the ranks of your worshipping and unworthy minions. I have in mind (oh, how presumptuous and insubordinate--how will you punish me for the infraction of having something in my subserviant mind?) the use of bull-whips, leather bonds and humiliating verbiage and fluids. I also find that these punishments are more effective when in 6 inch heeled "CFM" shoes (worn by either you or me) and on a dog leash (just me, though I have a black leather mask that would make you that much more--AUTHORITATIVE).

I am hoping that my lord will take a pen in his large, bone-crushing hand and respond to my poor, pathetic pleas for his undeserving attention. As one of your minions, I would not object to flying "cargo class", in an animal cage. You wouldn't even have to pick me up from the airport: someone of my baseness should be happy to hitch-hike, facing all the horrors of a single, weak, weak woman alone and on the open road. . . Should you deem me to UTTERLY unworthy to be one of your bowing minions, however, you can always find me on or near (or under) the trapeze at The Vault, one of New York's finest evening club establishments.

Beseechingly, Beggingly, and Badly YOURS,
Looking For A Master>

Sir Charles replies:

Dear 'Looking,'

Though one admits to being immoderately touched by the correspondent's offer to save a few pence by flying 'cargo class'--and what employer would not be pleased?--one fears that the correspondent has gotten quite the wrong idea of what one requires in a minion.

One considers dog collars rather--and one hastens to say the following word gently, so that the tears of disappointment should not bedew the correspondent's leather corset--common. It is Eunice, Duchess of Crabbe, who requires her minions to wear them. One can see how the mistake was made. We do both reside in the same county, after all.

Still attempting to decipher the acronym 'CFM' (Cloddingham's finest material?), one remains,
Sir Charles Grandiose

Noreen writes:

Hey Sir Charles

I've seen your pictures and you're not that bad. If you lost a little of the pork and maybe got a toupee you'd be pretty okay looking.

Noreen in St. Petersburg Florida

Sir Charles replies:

'Hey' Gentle Reader,

One is grateful that there is at least a remedy to one's own problems, for even with the addition of fifty points to your intelligence quotient, there is no means by which you will ever be anything more than a drooling moron.

Succinctly, one remains,
Sir Charles Grandiose

Lord Ephraim Carnaby writes:

Picture: One Always Has The Last Laugh Sir Charles:

Indigantly one writes to you in response to an epithet which you--yes, you, sir--publicly made about oneself in a public forum. One has it upon the authority of an upright citizen of Fishampton that you--yes, you sir--at the last annual Memoirs of the Raj Chutney Parade made a scurrilous, slanderous statement about oneself. To wit: In reply to the question, 'Who shall we have as a judge next year, Lord Ephraim Carnaby?' you replied, sir: 'That horse's arse?'

Sir. One objects strongly to the use of that word. One insists that you retract that word immediately. If one does not receive assurance that you regret the use of that word and shall never use it again in the future, legal action will be forthcoming.

Lord Ephraim Carnaby

Sir Charles replies:

Lord Carnaby,

One is all regrets. One had no idea how deeply that word offended you.

One hastens to assure you that one will never use that word in the future. One should never have used it at all. In the future, one assures you that one will refer to you only as 'That elephant's arse.'

Always happy to oblige, one remains,
Sir Charles Grandiose

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