rogues gallery

Way back when, this fella by the go-by Paz had it in his noodle to conjure a portrait of hisself looking dapper and rakish, and clasping a banjo at a jaunty slant. It was a capital thought, but that idear soon opened up a whole can o' worms. And that can was a biggun. And all those can-worms started a-wigglin' something fierce til they was like a twister on the plain, makin' a royal mess of things the magnitude of which weren't seen since Teapot Dome....



After catching a gander at what Paz had done, this scrappy gent by the name'a Michael, flush with the spirit of oneupmanship, presently followed suit with a photo-graph of his own. As you'd reckon, he portrays hisself with an ill countenance, as a ne'er-do-well is wont to do.



Well I tell ya, that got my dander up, sure as tarnation. I followed posthaste with three of my own pi'chers, illustrating the breadth of my imagined musical acumen.



Madder'n a boiled owl, Christian set to with this gem, a pithy rejoinder if ever there was one.



"Poppycock!", hollered Melanie, ragamuffin that she is, and sent us all runnin' for the dinner bell with this inspired tableau.



Spry ol' Michael, ever the cock-of-the-walk, would not be outdone. Sure as Samson, he heaved the old one-two with this humdinger. Our humours besmirched, I figger'd that this donnybrook had all but hit the hay like a milkmaid after a barn dance.



But forthwith a strapping young buck entered the fray. Justin, never one to wither in the face of fisticuffs, pulled himself up by the bootstraps and exclaimed, with vim and vigour, "I'll have my druthers too!"

And he did, by and by.
And sweet those druthers were.