Life and Times

New Year's, New Year's, and once more, New Year's. My most grievous of apologies to you, nonexistent viewer, for even DARING to not update this most ignonimous of outlets for my obviously deep-rooted psychological problems. Ah, ha ha. If only my life were so exciting. I sometimes imagine that, beneath the warm, embracing and extremely well-endowed exterior I am secretely some sort of serial killer who performs daring and extremely poetic murders at the drop of a hat. That amused me. Such as the one time my good older brother Michael attempted to get me into film school. It was highly entertaining, and I believe I would have been the next Alfred Hitchcock if I kept it up. But six months into production I lost interest, and severed myself from the school and production completely. Hopefully someone will start it up again. I was particularly fond of the script.

Ah, yes, I promised in my previous post that I will tell you about myself. Very well. I shall begin.

To say that I'm not well off for myself would be an utter and blatant lie. So would be the fact that I actually worked for a single penny of it. My father, god rest his soul, was probably one of the most hard working men I have ever seen. He, a humble office clerk in a backwater agency downtown, managed to almost single-handedly transform it into an enormous multinational corporation with branches throughout the world and became one of the most influential men in his home town. With, as was his motto, "grease, sweat, tears and very liberal investors". I quite admire him, really, though the whole business thing was never quite my style. He stole the corporation and started up his own large business, Cesar Enterprises. You probably wouldn't have heard of it. It does a little of behind the scenes stuff, I understand. I wouldn't be the best one to tell you, though. Never could wrap my head around the stuff. My good brother Michael is a good one to ask, if he doesn't bore you out of your skull.

 My childhood was spent in a mansion at the edge of town that was much larger than necessary. There were only nine people that inhabited the drafty old place, yet it could house the population of a small English town. It reminded me of Versailles; sure, it looks all nice and grand, Louis, but it doesn't change the fact that the peasants are starving to death and plotting the tear the bloody unnecessary lump of gold you call an aristocracy down anyway.

The nine people that inhabited the mansion was I, my good brother Michael, my father, the cook, the housekeeper, the groundskeeper, the butler and whoever was my father's wife during that time.

Oh yes, my father was a bit of a, ah, what was the word? It will come back to me. He remarried a lot. Never really had much a motherly figure, but oh well. That is about the extent of my deep-rooted childhood scars, I'm afraid. ;)

Bugger. Timon just knocked on the door and he's got a girl with him. Good god, man, this early...?

~Your first consul.