Two things of great moment occurred in the Oliverian firmament yesterday. Event the First. After years of intense negotiation and more lawyers than I thought existed on Earth, Leesa and I sold the sprawling estate that’s been in my family for 268 years. The property will become a strip mall, a big box store, a bowling alley, an Olive Garden, a weed dispensary, a Midas Muffler Repair Shop, a CineMultiPlex, a tatty strip club called “Dangerous Curves”, an Ace Hardware and a Chuck E Cheeses. Staff have found positions in the new businesses. Alistair MacTinkle, the former groundskeeper, for example, will be facilities manager for the strip mall, remarkable because the only facility with which he’s truly familiar is the shitter. Leesa and I, with my trusted valet, Finial Padraig Horan, and his termagant wife, Margaret Mary Siobhan, will decamp to our new abode anon. I’m told it’s called a “contominimum” because its purchase leaves your bank balance at the minimum. Ours, a three bedroom affair with a library, a meditation room, a cinema, a swimming pool and servants quarters, features a private elevator, which for readers outside the United States, is a lift. But Event the Second is - if you can imagine it - of even more profound import than Event the First!
© 2024 John Oliver
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