amos2
My most humble apologies, oh fellow Winstunian. Unfortunately, like so many modern genii, our illustrious one is a shy, retiring creature, who flinches under the stings and arrows of outrageous misfortune.
It would be a sad day indeed if the immense sagacity and vision of such a deity were to be lost to us mortals merely because I lacked the faith of the silent majority. Why, was it not master Winstun himself who commanded from on high: “4711, get a life”?
How could I have missed the brilliance encapsulated in this one commandment? It is so simple it is blowing my mind! “Get a life!!!!” I wish I had thought of it before. I think I will start by getting a name. For too long, I have been known merely as a number. No more will I be scorned and ridiculed by the ‘lettered’ community. Henceforth, I shall be known as “Winnieson” in honour of our saviour the maestro Winstun.
But, good news it at hand. Like Hermes, Winstun serves as a messenger, scribe, and herald for the gods. And, like herpes, he returns, again and again. Even the intellectual antibiotic of acuity will not diminish him, nor will the prophylactic of perspicuity avert his utterances. For he is Winstun, the Conqueror of cogitation, the idol of illation. Such is the power of silence.
My greatest fear was that, like Punxsutawney Phil spotting his shadow, our fearless magi would disappear into his burrow, descending us into an intellectual winter the likes of which we have not yet seen. But no, his furry little nose twitching with wisdom, Winnie has thrust himself into our midst once again, expounding his views on a multitude of subjects.
The crowds look on in silence, their very lack of words eloquently summarising Winnie’s qualities.
Three cheers for Winnie!!!!
“Hip Hip!!!!”
“…………………………….”
“Hip Hip!!!!”
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“Hip Hip!!!!”
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But who is Winstun Powers, this intergalactic man of mystery? With his skills, his experience and his mighty cerebration, could this numen be anything other than the world’s greatest lover. Surely he possesses the ‘mojo’ of a dozen horny goats. Perhaps this is his Achilles’ heel. Will our ‘undercover operator’ be undone by his one true love - “La Tex Galore”. Will this mysterious beauty with the perpetually surprised facial expression spill the friggin’ bones…… sorry beans, on Winnie’s true identity? Will she handle the pressure? Will she be pumped for the secrets only she knows? Or, will Winnie let her down? Only time will tell if Winnie’s secret identity is safe.
In the meantime, we mere mortals bow our heads, hardly daring to look up into the brilliant Winshine which appears every time he rises from his throne. We offer thanks for this tutelary of all that is good and wise.
Please Winstun, never leave us. We are not worthy. You are the Messiah.
An autographed lithograph of a reclining nude Winstun resplendent upon a faux leopard skin rug in front of a gas heater to the first person who admits to thinking: “No he’s not, he’s just a very naughty little boy”.