Thesaurus Lit presents:  The Exclamatory Constable

by Danielle McMahon

and as the constable rushes headlong in pursuit, revolver drawn, into the marmoreal gallery plenteous with audaciously suggestive Grecian statuary, he hesitates momentarily, his appetites being briefly flustered, and thus he slips, unsuspecting, upon a banana peel positioned on the floor for this very contingency, his wing-tips tapping preposterously on the otherwise pristinely polished parquet as he performs this absurd, involuntary dance, producing rude, black scuffing and a cacophony of screeching heels and clanging metal upon the alabaster marble, his service revolver spun out significantly from his reach, his navy cap now improperly askew and conical with this palpable struggle, he shouts out, resonantly, into the gallery, “zounds, Christ, lady, what is this sick alchemy!?” realizing his nescience, for falling forthwith into the villain’s clever machination, much to the bemusement of the smirking duchess standing before him at present, a Venusian vision in scarlet, immaculately adorned in her velvet accoutrements and elaborate Roman coiffure, and as she smiles her iniquitous smile, she raises her ivory hand steadily to aim her bejeweled lady-pistol at our dear officer with decidedly murderous intent, and in his utter befuddlement at being bested by this nefarious gentlewoman, the constable seeing he’s been had, his bowels remonstrate heartily, and precipitously, he splits his trousers unequivocally at the seat with a thunderous, clapping fart, and, collapsing now upon the marble in utter mortification, he thus commits the ultimate faux pas

Bio: Danielle McMahon pretends an awful lot.