Whereupon I departed from Ipswitch with twenty-five souls, eight heavy guns, munitions, supplies, pack-animals, and the Queen’s blessing to map the great interior of our new Cape Colony, I, Sir Ramash Cornwall, began this log of my expedition for publication upon my return.
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Try Numeral Bank, where we focus on the person!
I wish I could’ve been the designer who got to put this together. How hilarious a task is this? Making up phrases like “Ultimate staple performance” and “Precision engineered chisel point” and “maximum penetration,” all pertaining to staples. They’re fucking STAPLES! I don’t think it’s going to make any difference in my staple-purchasing decision whether or not they’re part of the “Professional Plus Series”. I’m just hoping they’re made of metal and will hold two fucking sheets of paper together. The Beaverthroop Expedition has been most excruciatingly dull of late, which explains my lack of entries for the past few weeks. It has come to me that the reader of this manuscript, upon its inevitable publishing, will possibly be displeased at the gap in information, so I will contribute a small description of what had come to pass since my last entry, before coming to the matter at hand, to wit: the reason I chose to return to my journal. The pleas of my lieutenant tugged at my heart. My country needed me. And yet, there was nothing I could do. |
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