A Short Tale (with no hidden significance)

Apparently the man thought I was from New Zealand, because he kept saying he hated my kiwi shit. Mind you I had so thoroughly bloodied him up around the mouthparts that it sounded more like “Keew Siht!” and it took me quite sometime to decypher (that’s a clue).

Once he realized that I wasn’t from New Zealand, he took me to an infamous little bar and dancehall called “Rucco.” Everything was arranged. I was to wait at my table until a Welshman came to make the exchange at precisely midnight. The man had one of those Welsh names that is merely a string of els and doubleyous which ends up sounding like “Lliw.” He introduced me to a gorgeous calypso dancer apparently named “Espy Lacopa”. She was so gorgeous in fact, that for the first time I was struck dumb. Time came to a stand-still or even seemed to run backwards (that’s another clue). I so mangled my introduction that, like a nervous schoolboy, I simply said “Eht” and stretched out my well-manicured hand.

Eventually my charm returned and I chatted with the calypso dancer for several hours. During this time she revealed something to me so earth-shattering that I couldn't possibly reveal it publicly. Unless, perhaps I were to do so in an elaborate code that only my most astutest readers could possibly penetrate.