Oh, how I wish good ol’ Bucks was still with us to bear witness to this our Hellenistic summer of 2026. He would’ve cackled his ghoulish yap of a guffaw at the very idea of it. Ancient Greece making a comeback amidst the ruins of the modernity he so despised to the bottomless pit of his patrician soul? Continue reading
Sipping cognac after a light evening repast of smoked quail egg duck terrine and lamb chops, grilled redder than m’lady’s love for me, we’re watching some very loud television program featuring scantily clad young women and bushy-bearded men.
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“HAH! HAH! HAH!”
The summoning, staccato laugh of Lieutenant-Colonel Bixley careen and carom of the Club walls, shattering the usual somnolent, contemplative silence that most of us less roturierians pay top dollar membership dues to revel in.
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