Well, they’ve done it, Bamford. They’ve really, really done it. The most detestable and disreputable branch of the Buckford-Westington family, the (I shiver to say it out loud) Peascotts have managed to completely leave behind any shred of grace, tact or dignity they once possessed. They have, as the ancient aphorism goes, stepped to us, and, well, it must not be allowed to stand.
Some backstory should be given, just in case our readers have not fully digested cousin Torvald’s extensive seventy-volume history of the family. The Peascott branch long ago left our ancestral mansion to go a-hunting on the Western Coast, engaging in all sorts of sordid trades such as beaver-trapping, gold-mining, saloon-brawling and, more recently, technological development. It seems they have built themselves an app, which you apparently access through your telephonical device?! Prepostous, Bamford. Stop smiling.
Which is, by itself, all well and good. We’d be perfectly content to allow the Peascotts their hip and tech-savvy nonsense as long as they stayed out in San Francisco, while we prayed for another earthquake to thin their ranks a bit, but they have now taken things even further, by DARING to come back to the Middle West and make some damnable and far-fetched claim to owning a piece of the family fortune! Specifically, the historical Buckford-Westing Auxiliary Trophy Barn Annex, here on the estate. They claim that the Annex is rightfully theirs, when it’s not, and further claim that they’re going to use it to “host” their site from it, as a “server farm,” which are frankly just a whole lot of words that I want nothing to do with, not a bit.
Obviously, it’s all poppycock, but the Peascotts are insisting, and so we have officially had to solve the problem in the historical way. Which means, of course, that we have enacted the Olde Historical Buckford-Westington Foofera Assuagement Protocols. Basically, it’s the Olympics for rich people, like us. And guests attend!
Picture it, Bamford. The Protocols in action for the first time in three generations. Blimp jousting. Butler fighting. Molten-gold skating on Lake Michigan. It will truly be a sight to see, and I’ll be sharing more details on the specifics in the upcoming weeks. But in the meantime, get your tickets now! That means you, Bamford, especially. About time you started earning your keep.
And bulk up a bit, won’t you? We may need you for the Money Pile Climb event.