Egyptology and Brill Cream

The shamble leg man stood in defiance, to what was unimportant, but defiant he was. He defied reason, architecture, anything that rhymed with parsley and his mother’s need to say ‘no’ before each sentence. He rebelled against people who rebelled and those who wanted to, defilers as he called them. He rebelled against people who wore church-hats festooned with nosegays and baubles. He resisted resistance and slowpokes and people who ate beef jerky and coachmen’s ham and this one fellow named Horace who had scabies and bad posture. He, the shamble leg man, resisted cobblers and Egyptologists and a barrel-maker by the name of Sims and haberdashers and seamstresses, one in particular who couldn’t hem a straight line or dart a skirt, and anyone who claimed to know how a camera worked or wore culottes after Labour Day. He also resisted people with moles and excessive facial hair; hirsuteness people should know better, pompadours and ducktails back-combed and smeared with Brill Cream and Wriggle’s chewing gum, especially Juicy Fruit or Pep-o-mint. His rebelliousness forced him into a corner where dust collected and a colony of ants lived in a house without windows or a door.