like a pheasant with a bullet in its wing during shooting season

this is a shout out to lord randolph forphington III. i don't know who you really are, and for all i know you could be an axe-wielding, ass-raping bogan, but you have given me a reason to smile and that's rare as diamonds in my world these days.

you see blogreaders, lord randolph forphington III (or lrf3 as i have so lovingly nicknamed him) is my most recent web suitor. yes, thats right, most recent. i am, like, so popular among the socially challenged net-junkies of this world. not as popular as some people of course, but enough to keep life interesting.

but the thing about lord randolph forphington III that sets him apart from the others is that he is a SECRET ADMIRER. like in that great 80s movie starring one of my pre-teen crushes, c. thomas howell. but less cheesy. and hopefully with better hair.

so anyway, on valentines day i received an email from this self-proclaimed victorian aristocrat declaring himself an avid reader of my blog and a possible suitor for my love and affection. he also confessed his previous attempts to visualise my "apparently mammoth breasts" and his rampant desire to both see and touch them. and all this was written in a prose so flowing that i instantly forgave his sleazy overtures.

immediately i contacted several people whom i suspected to be feigning this mammary-obsessed victorian gentleman and asked them to fess up and admit it was them. but all of whom swore on their mother's underwear that they were not lord randolph forphington III. and so i remained puzzled. and REALLY turned on.

so i was left with no choice but to email lord randy back and thank him for his email and express my desire to know his true identity. which i did so promptly. and so the next day i arrived at work to another email, this one even better than the first. he praised me, quoted donne (a wonderful choice in poets by the way if you're reading this, lrf3) and assured me of his pure intentions - "to inject a little romance into your valentines day, in a pleasantly ridiculous way."

there is lady jizz all over my chair right now just thinking about his kind, sexy, literary hotness.

i spent yesterday evening wondering who this master of words was and what he looks like. due to his poncey moniker and the fact that he claims to be friends with "some jane austen woman", i am envisioning someone like this:



but i am hoping with all my randy, superficial might that he looks like this instead:



but it really doesn't matter what he looks like. because lord randolph forphington III, whoever the fuck he really is (and i will keep snooping until i find out), has made me feel all special and tingly and able to float outside my painful reality, even for just a few moments at a time.

thanks lrf III. you da man. or da woman. i guess i can't assume anything.