So I arrived at the club tragically early tonight because the trains actually ran on time. I sat at the bar nursing a Gin and Tonic while I waited for the party hour to strike, when suddenly a man in a powdered wig and frilly shirt wafted in through the door. The bouncer gave him a second look as he walked by and waived the cover fee, astounded by the mans style and flair. Then, he sat down next to me. The following is a transcription I was able to record covertly with my cell phone.
::Sound of ruffles swishing and settling::
ER- Well helloo Mister Fancypants.
Stranger- Fitting words for a poncey boy sipping on an old mans drink.
ER- Hey… ::holds back tears::
Stranger- A thousand pardons friend, but I don’t go out like this much any more and tend to stay on the defensive.
ER- It’s ok , I just don’t get to see such a fabulous outfit as yours very often.
Stranger- This old rag! Tra-la! A mere trifling gift from Madame de Pompadour.
ER- Waitaminit! She lived in the 17-hundreds! Who are you!?
Stranger- I have had many names over the years…
ER- ::crosses fingers:: Are you Satan?
