I say! It appears that falcon has taken flight with my bowler betwixt its claws. Come back here, Devil Bird! That's the third one this week! Blast! Well, what can I say, I do enjoy the luxurious relaxation of taking my morning angstitutional through Falcon Meadow whilst wearing a cold meat bowler. Ah well. Just a hazzard of my wealthstyle. Enjoy my flesh hat while you can, Devil Bird, for tomorrow I'll wear one spiked with arsenic! Oh hello. Were you here for that whole Devil Bird diatribe? Hmm. I do enjoy yammering aloud, so I suppose it's no surprise someone would overhear at some...BLAST YOU DEMON RAPTOR...point. Did I just interrupt myself? Amazing. Well, I'm glad you're here, because I could use some assistance. See this briefcase I'm carrying? I've absolutely no idea what's in it. Oh, don't get me wrong, I packed it myself. But it seems that since the time I took the lemon slide out of my mansion's fifth floor and onto licorice...what? Lemon slide. Oh blast, if you're going to make me explain EVERYTHING I say we'll be here forever. It's a common pool slide, like you'd find at any recreational swimming facility, yet I had two combined to form one super slide that leads from my fifth floor down to licorice landing. And it's lubricated with lemon juice. Hence, the name of the slide and the stains on...what? Licorice Landing. ALRIGHT ENOUGH! Buy a glossary at the gift shop on your way off my...wait a second. How did you come to be on my estate? It's two hours before visitors are allowed! And why are you carrying a shovel? Ah yes, I should have known. My prize-winning tulips. Fair enough, flower poacher, I shall strike with you a deal with you. You. Hmm. That was possibly the worst sentence ever, both in content and structure. And then just saying "you" like that after it made no sense. ALAS! Here's the deal: I shall relinquish two of my prized tulip plants, BULBS, FRONDS, PETALS AND ALL in exchange for your assistance. I need you to look inside this briefcase and tell me what's in it. Now I know what you're thinking. Why don't I look inside the briefcase instead of employing a middle man to do the work? Fair enough. The sad story is, I am stricken with a condition wherein whenever I look into briefcases I only see looping snippets of old Laurel and Hardy routines. And they're grainy at that. It's a condition my personal physician has labeled "No Marbles Syndrome." I'm not sure what he means by that. At any rate, I'm already late to my "Sunday Briefcase Switch-Off Brunch" at the Armory, and I'll feel like a damned fool if I don't know what I'm switching-off with. I do hope I don't get stuck with Fopperton's briefcase this time. He always fills it with nothing more than looping snippets of old Laurel and Hardy routines. And they're grainy at that. At any rate, my memory has failed me again and I have no idea what I put it in here, so...ah blast. He left minutes ago. ALRIGHT! I'll just alert the guards on my way out and have him flensed. That'll teach him! Yes, teach him to death! Off to the thing I mentioned earlier! La tra lee dee doo...