Wednesday, May 16, 2007


WATSON: I say, Holmes...

HOLMES: Yes, Watson?

WATSON: I've just been offered half a million big ones to dish the dirt on you, old chap, what what what.

HOLMES: Watson, old man, what dirt could you possibly be referring to?

WATSON: Oh, you know, old beanster, those terribly naughty pastimes you pursued as a lad.

HOLMES: My dear Watty, I hardly think they would be of any interest even to my official biographer Jeremiah Jughead.

WATSON: Oh, come now, Holmes, you know that were the public to become acquainted with some of your youthful wayward practices, there would be demands for your head.

HOLMES: Now listen to me, my good man, anything I told you about guffing at school and kissing girls on their belly buttons in the tool shed by the light of a glow worm must never be committed to paper.

WATSON: Oh, really? So you ARE ashamed of your past?

HOLMES: Not in the slightest, dear boy. But these juvenile experiences do not maketh the man or shed any light on the genius that was to follow.

WATSON: Well, there's a turn up for the books. The great Sherlock Holmes attempting a cover up.

HOLMES: You know, Watson, I never thought of you as a greedy man. Or an amusing one, come to think of it, but I digress. I fail to see why you are trying to provoke me on this fine sunny day when Hudders is in full blossom and you are perfectly smitten.

WATSON: Well, Holmes, I just think it's time that you faced your demons. Maybe publishing a warts and all book about you will prove cathartic, put you at ease with your gremlins.

HOLMES: Watty, I am at perfect ease with my misguided misdemeanours, and frankly, doesn't everyone do things in the flame of youth they'd rather not dwell on?

WATSON: Not me, old boy.

HOLMES: Oh, dear, Watson. Game, set and match, I'm afraid. Caught in your own dastardly web of self-indulgence. You forget that you told me ALL your secrets one drunken night in the Limehouse Tavern.

WATSON: Now look here, Holmes, I may have compromised Lucinda underneath the cherry tree, and I may have overfamiliarised myself with Geraldine by the stables, and indeed I may have had wayward hands in the sweet shop on occasion, but I did NOT guff. My dear mama and papa would never sanction such a thing.

HOLMES: Ah, so this is what this is all about. You think I've guffed, don't you? And you want me to apologise.

WATSON: Well...

HOLMES: How petty you can be at times. Exhibit A...

WATSON: What? Toby?

HOLMES: Elementary, my dear teen slayer.

WATSON: But but but...

HOLMES: I fear it was the scotch eggs Hudders fed him for breakfast.

WATSON: Oh, Toby! You poor mutt.

HOLMES: And there he goes again. I fear we shall have to vacate shortly.

WATSON: Toby poos! Please forgive us for feeding you that rotten old salmanella thingie.

HOLMES: Come, Watson, we have work to do. And don't think you're off the hook, old man. Sherlock Holmes may forgive but he NEVER forgets.

WATSON: Crumpet at eleven?

HOLMES: Not 'arf!

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