Redactionary Adaptation of Moar Insighte
It was a bright, sunny afternoon on the Isle of Mann. Birds were birding, the pants were dead and the sun was almost down from the top of the sky. Two Gentle Menne peered out from their carriage, en route to Gregorius Von Mann’s Magnificent Mansion to congratulate him on his promotion to Baronneship.
“My my, this gentle manne has spared naught a coin from his copious coinpurse”, remarked the behatted man as the pair entered the grand hall.
And his companione spoke “Most certainly. See here this incremental woode-based contraptionne which mysteriously subverts the necessity of rockette jumping.”
And then appeared Gregorius Von Mann, brandishing a moustache so fine it bore the gentle manne’s spiritte maney times over.
“Greetings kind menne, and welcome to mine Magnificent Mansion!” spoke the Baronne in volatile rigour. “Make it beknownst to me what you wishe, and I shall arrange it.”
“Maney thanks for your welcoming and gentlemanlike locution”, spoke the first Gentle Manne. “Shall we indulge in pleasant bavarding over tea, prithee?”
“It is of no hindrance to me”, responded thos baronne, “that I call upon mine Servante to carry out your wish.”
Then appeared a small, unimposing servante clad in green, who dared not even look upon the majesty of the Gentle Menne.
“G’day sirs”, he spoke, bowing. “I’m an imported worker from Dublin. Me father’s name is Patrick O’Donnel.”
The Gentle Manne of Leisure pruned at this ungentlemanlike locution. “And what might your name be?”
The servante whimpered. “Donald O’Donnel. You see, I was an accident.” The Gentle Menne nodded in understanding disapproval.
“Well then, let our names be knowne to you”, then reciprocated the first Gentle Manne. “I am Lord Lionel of Newcastle, a veritable Gentle Manne of Leisure!”
“And I am his companione of slightly lesser statusse, Sir Sinclair of Leicestershire.”
Impressed by these menne and their lofty titles, the Servante lifted his cranium to counte the quantity of hattes present on each Gentle Manne’s head. Aghaste was he to finde not one, not two, but three identical hattes stacked upon Lord Lionel’s heade! Imbued with wistfull madnesse, he endeavoured to aske the gentle manne:
“Please, sir… May I have a hat?”
“Ah-hah!” sneared Lord Lionel. “You are as presumptuous as you are poor and Irish! Tarnish notte the majesty of my tower of hattes.”
“I have maney hattes also but did not bringe them”, liede Sir Sinclair, so as not to deeme himself outclassed in the wake of his companione (outclassed though he were).

And thusly continued Lord Lionel: “There exist notte a single agreeable motivation for asking a Gentle Manne of Leisure to share his pride with the poor and Irish. Earne your hats, through the ancient and virtuous labour that is Team Fortresse Two!”
“But I’m poor and Irish”, ripostated the Servante. “I can’t play Team Fortress 2 when I’m heavin’ ferry all day to feed me wife an’ children.”
“Then”, intervened Sir Sinclair, “you must idle. It is the Invisible Hande’s manner in which it rewardes patience.”
“Nay”, quickly responded the Servante. “I was told that idling is unfair and unconductive to society.”
“There is no shame in a Gentle Manne’s activity…or should I say, inactivity?” The Gentle Menne snickered in tandem.
And so the duo returned to their carriage, leaving the Servante in pensivity. There must be another way, he thought to himself. There has to be!
The following day, Lord Lionel and his insecure companione paid reverence to the Isle of Mann by comitting a stroll acrosse its bustling forum. “See here the marketplace”, spoke Sir Sinclair, and they gazed upon the vaste, smelly stands that is FPSbanana. And so they elected to progress onwards quickly, until they stumbled upon Theodore Casali, carrying in his embrace a peculiar type of puppy.
“Good day my friend”, greeted Sir Sinclair, despite this manne’s class being five below that of himself. “It is not with pleasure that I converse with lowly artisannes, but for the menne of mappes, I make an exception. Tell me, how goes it in the world of geometry-making?”
“There are maney mappes with flagge as of late”, reported succintly this artisanne of brushes.
“And how fares your companione, who was cursed with a car for a face?”
“He has engaged in comitting arsonne in forests”, he spoke in gloom.
Sullen in the wake of this most ghastly informationne, Sir Sinclair instead asked: “And what is this peculiar canine creature?”
“It is a Boojumme Snarke from Mongolia”, clarified the artisanne, “and it assists me in indexing and categorising the objectes in my my atelier! Were it nor for him, each control pointe would consume a fortnight.”
While Sir Sinclair continued inquiring as to the ongoings in level creationne, Lord Lionel elected to explore the realm of the unwashed by his lonesome.
Suddenly, a most unwelcome rock came crashing into his tower of hattes, knocking down all three at once. The Gentle Manne spun around, indignified, bent on retribution against the perpetrator for besmirching his noble tower of hattes…
Surprised was he, to find that it was the Poor and Irish Servante from the forgone day! Irate, the Gentle Manne yelled: “Your insolence shall be punished! …hold on…what is that on your crowne?”
True enough, the servante bore on his heade a hatte of comparative modesty, though stylish and covetable.
“This hat”, spoke the Servante, “I won in a contest.”
Lord Lionel remembered the war against Scotland. “Surely you did not win?!”
“No!”, interrupted the Servante. “I made something with MSpaint and got made a runner-up for it. It may not be pretty, but I put more effort in it that you did in your idling!”
“Ah-hah!”, sneered the Gentle Manne. “That is merely a gray-coloured Backbiter’s Billycock. Certainly an illegal modification which you purchased from FPSbanana!”
Confident, the servante rebuted: “Look it up, it’s in the papers. There’s also something else in there that might interest you, especially considering what you’ve just said…”
The Gentle Manne became nervous. Does he know? How could he know?
“What is transgressing here?”, inquired Sir Sinclair, having heard the racket.
“It is not my hat, but yours, that is a skin from fpsbanana!” And without mercy, he exposed to everyone on the forum the true nature of Lord Lionel’s pride…

“For you see”, the servante continued, “the true Tower of Hattes consists of a top hat, a boater and my own hat! Not this macabre mock-up. Why else did your three hats fall down in tandem? They are but a Ghastly Gibus, transfigured through the Dark Arte! You are as treacherous as the Spy himself!”
“Filthy swine!”, sneered in turn Sir Sinclair at the fallen Gentle Manne. “How dare you pose as a member of a class superior to my own. I worked hard for my stove pipe…which I pilfered from you!”
Lord Lionel fell down, in tears, powerless in the face of this evidence. And so he was stripped from his ranke, proven to be in fact Poor and Irish, to be left to work in the poorhouse, collecting and crafting weaponnes as was his occupation when he had just migrated from Ireland.
Thingy Person on February 21st 2010 in the funny



























