What a Swell Party It Was

What a lovely party.   Thombeau had added one of those chat thingies to Fabulon and everyone huddled there at the agreed upon time and started whaling away on our keyboards.  Very amusing, and just like a real party where no one can hear what anyone else is saying so the conversations tend to be disjointed and nonsensical, but without all that annoying "What?" and "huh?" rubbish.

And star studded?  Darling, you just don't know.  Madonna.  Stevie Nicks.  April Ames.  Sandra Bernhardt, too, although she was so loaded she kept signing on as sarospice.  I know Cher wanted to come, but since her "computer" is actually an old Etch-a-Sketch that Chastity left behind when she made her break for it, it sort of didn't work out.

The only problem was that I found a runaway houseboy in my bag when I got home.  Octavius Philanthus has begged us not to send him back, so what could I do, I had to grant him Refugee Booty status.  The other houseboys are grumbling, of course, but I think it's important that they learn to share, don't you?

Party Outa Bounds

Darlings, sorry, don’t bother mummy right now, I’m getting ready for the big do over on Fabulon Sunday evening.  Didn’t you get the invitation?  DARLING.  I’m sure it was just an oversight, you know how ditzy Thombeau can be.  Poor old thing has probably been living on whippets all week getting ready for this.  Sweetie, yes, a virtual party.

 

I’ll be dialing in from the comfort of my luxurious boudoir.

I’ve asked houseboy Allegra Galliano to help with snacks.

 We’ll see you there.