Abstract: Descending Upon Afrika
Dictated to Edie Snickles, Personal Assistant to Mr. E.G. Wallaby
The Month of June, the Sixth Day, On the Hour of Seven and Ten, Post-Meridem, Year of Our Lord Eighteen-Hundred and Seven

What Follows is the Direct Transcription of the Speech of Mr. E.G. Wallaby, Who Looks Like a Fool in His New Calfskin Vest.

<Mister Wallaby looks like a perverse cross twixt a hot air balloon and a dead animal.> Dearest of dears, I couldn't help but notice you noticing me. You no doubt find yourself in envy of my new vest! Fear not, Edie! I am certain that you will get something similar for your Christmas bonus... when you have about twenty years of tenure here at the firm. <With little perks like that, how could I POSSIBLY give up working here?> And, my Lamb, if you think this humble man looks good in his clothes, perhaps you should see him out of them...

What's wrong, Love? You fainted! I grew so worried! Perhaps I should get to the point, then, so that you can rest. I highly recommend disrobing beforehand, as it speeds recuperation... That's a frightening look. <I am trying to kill him with my mind.>

Well, moodiness is the curse of your sex. I understand and will attend your needs. In the meantime, our dear readers should peruse Descending Upon Afrika, by Richard Reynolds Taylor III. You can find it placed upon his writing page.

Abstract: The Feature of a Lifetime
Dictated to Edie Snickles, Personal Assistant to Mr. E.G. Wallaby
The Month of June, the Sixth Day, On the Hour of Ten and Fifty, Post-Meridem, Year of Our Lord Eighteen-Hundred and Seven

What Follows is the Direct Transcription of the Speech of Mr. E.G. Wallaby, who Frightens Me When He Finds Levity.

<Oh, no. Mister Wallaby is pleased about something.> Huzzahs and cheers, my Petunia! A.R. White, the little blighter, got our broadcast featured on the site Brass Goggles, and so has proven his worth this day! It seems he has been complaining to colleagues for the trade that he made me of that delightful stone, mayhaps hoping to drum up some support against me. Well, worry not, Petunia. Mr. White will come round to forgive us the next time he runs out of opium. Perhaps he'll bring me some other delicious little gem.

<A Note From Edie - A.R. White wishes the world to know that he did not concieve of this idea for a lamp. Rather, he gleaned the idea from a Mister John, simply because the gentleman's beautiful lights were not for sale. In no way does he wish to take credit for anything except his craftsmanship. Mr. John's remarkable works were also featured on Brass Goggles.>

Abstract: Enough Lazy Bummery
Dictated to Edie Snickles, Personal Assistant to Mr. E.G. Wallaby
The Month of June, the Sixth Day, On the Hour of Two and Ten, Ante-Meridem, Year of Our Lord Eighteen-Hundred and Seven

What Follows is the Direct Transcription of the Speech of Mr. E.G. Wallaby, who Mayhaps Would Be A Suitable Mate For A Walrus.

There are going to be some changes around here, by Jove, starting with you, Missus Snickels! Your skirts are too long, undoubtedly to hide your ankles from mankind. Mankind deserves your ankles, and I won't hear otherwise! If you value your job, you'll- Oh, my. I see we have out our pen again, my Turtledove... Well, enough of all that. Just thinking out loud, I was.

The bum partnership (of A.R. White, Arthur Brown, and Lord Taylor the Three) MUST yield some kind of fruits within the next week, or I'm cutting them off! You hear that? No more opium! You'll have to go back to drinking petrol, White. Go back to the gutter with your uleavened bread, and your fried rats, and your liberal ideology! What's that you say, Petunia? Alex sold Crust what? A diamond? Balderdash!

Well! My oh-so-charming and wonderously efficient assistant has informed me of some changes rattling round the tubes:

• A.R. White's astounding discovery has appeared in the art section.
• R.R.T. III seems to have written a story about our recent troubles with Dr. Cleverton. That's in his writing section.
• Three of A.R. White's failed manuscripts also blew in with the post. Those are in his writing section.

And with that, my dearest Lambchop, I am out to the links! <dictation ends>

Abstract: Another Binding Agreement
Dictated to Edie Snickles, Personal Assistant to Mr. E.G. Wallaby
The Month of June, the Fourth Day, On the Hour of Midnight and Fifty-Six Minutes, Ante-Meridem, Year of Our Lord Eighteen-Hundred and Seven

What Follows is the Direct Transcription of the Speech of Mr. E.G. Wallaby, who shall never bed me, though he has designs otherwise.

Güten morgen, mein petunia, in the tongue of our German neighbors! What a wonderful day it is for a bit of dictation! 'Tis a crisp and early morning, just when I like to make a bit of green. Who cares that we may be at the withching hour on a Monday? It only means that you no longer can hide behind that "no work on the Sabbath" rubbish. Oh? You've already begun to write, I see. Well, I hadn't indicated a state of readiness, but I suppose it can't be helped. After all, you a woman... And quite a fetching one at that, I mean to say!

I was making conversation with that dashed beggar, A.R. White, at the, uh, lodge, when he suggested to me the most wonderful artist friend of his. Apparently, this gentleman also hails from Hughestonne, and he and White labored in the service of some counselors together. This gentleman was blessed with Da Vinci's pen and- I'm sorry? Why would Da Vinci use a pencil? Everyone knows that ink is more permanent! Once again, proof of the follies of the fairer sex.

Well, all attempts to correct your female misconceptions aside, I believe that our viewers will quite like the works of this artist, a Mr. Arthur Brown of Hughestonne. They can feel free to pop on by the Art section for a looksee, if they are so possessed.

What do you mean, "I should unionize," you blasted tart?! <dictation ends>

Abstract: New Writings for the Site
Dictated to Edie Snickles, Personal Assistant to Mr. E.G. Wallaby
The Month of June, the Third Day, On the Hour of Four and Six Minutes, Post-Meridem, Year of Our Lord Eighteen-Hundred and Seven

What Follows is the Direct Transcription of the Speech of Mr. E.G. Wallaby, a Grinning Toad Though He May Be.

Are you taking this down? Excellent, my Dove. I want this to sound official, so here we go: Upon the formation of our partnership for the parties of Wallaby, Buskerton & Crust, one must look to the visionary partnerships of the future. Perhaps it is with this skyward glance that I, E.G. Wallaby, have sought out the greatest writers of our day and attached them to this site. They are now Signed and Bound with an Agreement of Force Mejeure, Habeas Corpus, ex Post Facto. I, in my excellent fancy, have also sought to patronize an Artist, and bind him to myself. No, Dear. Capitalize “Myself.” Yes, Poppet, in the same way that you capitalize “God.” Then strike that last part; I don’t want to seem cocky.

These are men of great insight, and I am sure that they will attain classical status because they are poor and destitute and drug addicted. First, we have A.R. White, a sad chap from the French ghettoes of Hughestonne. Secondly, we have a man whose family has fallen upon hard times since falling out of grace with the nobles of Charlestown. Clearly he was one of us once, but now Richard Reynolds Taylor III is just another writer, peddling his false wares to any who would listen.

So join me, dearest viewer, as we explore the lives of the poor, artistic types. Let their stories flow to you over the expansive tubes of the InterWeb. Well, that’ll be all, Petunia. Um, end dictation? You can stop writing now. <dictation ends>