LIV. Lunch with Three Gentlemen

I had, what some might say in some small circles, an interesting lunch on this day the thirtieth of June in the Lord's Year Two-thousand and five. To all of you special people who have been invited to numerous amounts of cocktail parties and special education festivities, you probably have no clue what the inside of the Memorial Club smells like. This is where your employers probably dine on a hot summer day like today. Well, it smells fantastic but that’s not the point.

The point is I was invited by some advisors of the White House to dine at such an establishment. After being transported to the club via a new Lincoln limousine, I stepped from the car, buttoned my jacket, and stepped inside into the cool air. I was running behind and felt ashamed and nervous so I had begun to break a small sweat as is typical to do in a moment such as this one.

When I arrived at the table, I was greeted by the three gentlemen and given the title "Fielding, my good boy." To my vexation, the men turned out to be nothing of what I thought they would be. One was wearing a spectacle, one was smoking a pipe, and one wore an absurdly tall top hat. All were clad in English style tuxedos, which were hand sewn in the streets of London by old fashioned tailors. All three men liked their brandy, so we toasted to good health, good faith, and good fortune. Johansson Holvitzer was the leader of this trio, so he led most of the conversation chirping at me from time to time to make sure the brandy had not caught me droopy eyed and toggled eared. He told stories of how he had built his family fortune from steel manufacturing and "under the radar" human trade as he called it. The other two gentlemen's names were Edward Earl Yoganspiel IX and Frederick Frances Durbenfield XXI. They built their fortunes through the adult entertainment industry and the spinach farming empire, respectively. When asked how I thought the market was going, I said, "Good, I guess."

At this point, brandy after brandy was served and drank until we retired to the smoking lounge to have an after lunch cocktail and one of Cuba's finest cigars. Being a mere amateur to these men in their habits, the brandy began to wear on me like fingernails on a chalkboard. Needless to say I was neck deep in brandy. Well, Edward started leading us in song to the British National Anthem at the same time shaking his cane around like a wild man. The last thing I remember was singing.....

And that’s when I woke up, in song. How weird is that dream......I might be losing my mind.