I shall be malapert in order to be completely honest with you, my malevolent minions –he said in his bohemian idiolect– and you should know it's not the absinthe talking: this gathering is nothing more than a lumpen lek so I firmly insist on continuing our gest in a more suitable environment.
That's right, Bob, I can see you're quite the sagacious, cosmopolitan, connoiseur traveler walking around like some... boulevardier from snail mail times or something, especially when your foot got stuck in the aperture between the ancient streetcar rails.
In spite of succumbing to splenetic resources, this percipient, ingenious man when finding himself afflicted by that rare illness called prosopagnosia, learned to recognize faces using his hands, giving a whole new meaning to ambidexterity.
Impawned my dignity as it was, in front of all those women, I pleaded for the strength to avoid wry faces as I was about to submerge in the vaporous waters of the most insane balneology experiment I had ever seen when, deus ex machina, a rather skinny lady fainted and I volunteered and carried her to the infirmary.
Obviating all protocol, for you can't afford the time nor did I intend to observe it anyway, senator, I shall spare you, in a deus ex machina but not altruistic act, both the public humiliation of being exposed as the gaumless person we both know you are, and the perhaps more sour dish of confession; you wont have to eat crow this time, senator.
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