Amphigory Almanac: Hebetudinous Humour, Pedantic Prose, & Linguistic Levity: Meet Mr. J

Its last Tuesday and its a crisp calm night, as the velvet twilight glistens and gleams from sparkling silver pepper stars sprinkled across the powdery air of the black tarp hovering overhead restlessly. And M.T. is busy in his looking for his new titanium shovel so he could clear a space in his yard for a glow-n-dark sundial.

Suddenly a stealthy silhouette wavers through the shadows. Sneakingly the silhouette emerges clutching the missing titanium shovel in his nervous hands that are quivering like Michael J. Fox during a game of Jenga.

The mysterious figure strikes M.T.'s cranium, cracking completely open as if its a pinata full of dark rose colored blood.

Exactly one week later on the subsequent Tuesday-a week after the attack and M.T. lies on his death bed, pale as a winter moon. He's forcing an awkward smile before sinking into the unknown abyss of afterlife. Nostalgically he reflects on past events in life such as his freshman year in college when he tried speed dating. Not on purpose, he was just dumped a lot.

And who else other than the fetid sump-sucking, Mr.J would be the last person privy to M.T. Jester's final uttered syllables. Most of what he said to Mr.J made as much sense as a mime performing ventriloquism or a dyslexic playing boggle or buying a coffin with a lifetime warranty.

Silence consumes the entire room and shattered as M.T lightly interposes and whispers in a husky tenor with great trepidation and Mr. J leans forward with eagerness. Moving wistfully before him hesitantly unveils his only veridical secret. An ancient mystery so old it makes Alexander Graham Bell's prototypes look like the new iPhone.

M.T. fragilely murmurs.
"I have a confession. You never knew this. But, I've been secretly having an affair with your girlfriend."
Wicked words from a wicked tongue poison the ear and resonate to the deepest crevice of his stitched skull. Mr.J pauses, motionless, reticent, reserved, and statuesque. The air is rich with tension and dramatic turbulence that builds at a steadfast and unwavering pace and is released as Mr.J smirks and replies contemptuously.
"I have a confession too. I already knew about the affair. And, that's why last Tuesday night, I borrowed your shovel."