🎩🧐 #Tomfoolery 🎩🧐 Get your mustache properly primped. The very fancy white glove have been thrown. Will you keep a stiff upper lip… or return fire with fine proper diction? XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX Step 1: Drop Your Retort Remix, mash-up, or other craft your own civil savagery. Bring your best bars beau monde to the chap-hop scene. Go sharp and show these old chums that the water’s not too hot. XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX Step 2: Dress for the Duel Create cover art that feels like a Victorian vanity project gone wild. If your pinky is up high and your posture is perfect, you’re doing it right. XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX Step 3: Hijack the House of Lords Tag your creation with #Tomfoolery You can add this to your lyrics section: ==========☕🎩🍰========== Made for #Tomfoolery. Check the link for more details. [Placeholder link] ==========☕🎩🍰========== XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX Step 4: Mind Your Manners Comment on the original track so the gents know you’ve stepped into the lobby. XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX Step 5: Mix the Biscuits Blast your fellow duelists across the playlist banquet. They will appreciate your spittle. XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX Step 6: Echo the Etiquette Paste these rules (or the short link version) into your track description so the patrician addiction keeps multiplying. XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX And that’s it. Fix your collar and pour the tea. 🎩🧐 The tomfoolery has begun. XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX [A single harpsichord note lingers too long. Somewhere, a peacock faints.] My dear, dear, dearly departed fellows of the feathered and the fried! Now, now, now. One does not simply stroll into the august chambers of gentlemanality with a coupon in one hand and an undead drumstick in the other, waving alphabetical flatulence like a bankrupt herald. Permit me to adjust my monocle, tilt my top hat at a properly insolent angle, and return fire with the full battery of cultivated contempt. [Verse the First – The Gentleman's Rejoinder] Pray cease this barnyard ballyhoo, you coupon-clutching knave, Your undead poultry protests make the very deadlings rave. While you haggle with the ledger over thermal protocol, I sip my Syrah slowly, letting lesser mortals squall. Your sister’s honour? Defended with an alphabet so crude, A to Z of yokel barbs — my dear, how quaintly rude! I merely noted legs raised among the common potato fields, You answered with a windbag wail that still refuses to yield. [Chorus – Sung with unnecessary brass and self-satisfied chuckles] Oh welcome in, you gents (and gals) of questionable station! Where mustaches twitch with outrage and chickens seek vacation! We bow, we grin, we preen, we spin our webs of splendid lies, A symposium of splendid fools who roast both birds and guys! [Verse the Second – Escalation with Decorum] You speak of Nate’s hot chicken, of boiling oil and voided dreams, I speak of finer plumage — the sort that properly preens. Your capybara Uber Eats and OSHA-filing fowl, Are nothing to the elegance with which I now avow: That peacock you maligned? A model citizen, my friend. At least he knows his station — unlike this song’s untimely end. Your rapscallion rhymes are lively, I’ll grant that much is true, But style without refinement is just barnyard mêlée through and through. [Bridge – Delivered while swirling an imaginary snifter] Itemized billing for your insolence, section elegance, paragraph poise: “Live absurdity is eligible for discount… but only for those with better noise.” So take your undead drumstick, your triplicate complaints, your alphabetical spite, And know that true gentlemanality remains just out of your bite. [Final Chorus – Full orchestra, because why not?] Oh welcome in, you gents of gents (and undead poultry too!), Where nonsense wears a monocle and coupons get the boot! We bow, we grin, we preen, we spin, in cultivated delight, A symposium of splendid fools who dine upon the night! [Polite applause. A single peacock applauds with both wings. Someone offers the previous speaker a slightly better cigar.] There is no class here. Only gentlemanality… and the faint, lingering scent of overcooked poultry. Do give your undead chicken my deepest regards. And one final word of caution: Never trust a coupon. They decorate the menu better than they deliver, and vastly better than they deign to honour. Now then. Close your eyes. Inhale the fragrant smoke of superior wordplay. In… And out… Ahhhhh. Marvellous.
