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The New Scriblerus Club

Gentlemen Musing On The Postmodern World

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Created on 2012-08-09 11:57:52 (#1701075), last updated 2013-01-15 (244 weeks ago)

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Come in, gentle reader, come in! You must be weary from navigating the internet. You have crossed the Amazon, sailed perilously close to, moored at eBay, hopped walled gardens, and bearded the lolcat, while your every move was tracked by the sinister bountyhunter G----le. May I offer you a byte? I am afraid we are out of cookies, but my manservant John Bull will shortly return from the Apple Store. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Emery Wentworth, master of Wentworth House, and proud patron of The New Scriblerus Club.* While you sit and relax your brain, perhaps I might entertain you with an account of this place, its occupants, and their purpose.

My family have owned this place for generations. My ancestors lived ideal lives, quaffing port, playing make-believe they were Romans, and watching their cattle and peasants sweat outside. Tragically, this came to an end in the nineteenth century, when the peasants were metamorphosed into cogs. Since then, my family have eked an inhuman existence, selling parts of the estate, and becoming base businessmen. In 2007 Labour caused the world’s financial crisis. I was (perish the thought!) on the verge of selling a folly — the one built during the Irish potato famine — when I began to hear calls to return to Enlightenment ideals. I knew exactly what was meant! The peasants wanted their old masters back!

I kept the folly as a symbol of those ideals, and resolved to restore the best aspects of eighteenth-century Britain: the idle rich, the myth of the Ancient gentleman, the bloody imperialism. Above all I wanted to restore that century's learning. And there was nobody I could think of more leaned than the great Martinus Scriblerus! He it was who conversed with apes long before Darwin’s theory of evolution! who wrote a guide to writing poetry for people without genius! who wrote a dissertation on the spelling of the word Dunciad! who predicted the reversal of the sexes of 1721! who removed all metaphors from Paradise Lost and the Aeniad! who preserved our necessary legal profession in beautiful jargon! and produced many other works of genius, now lost, but described in his memoirs.

Since history is made by a few men of quality, I set about gathering the finest minds in Britain to return us to the Golden Age. I traced the genealogy of the Scribleri, from as far back as Menippus, through the eighteenth-century, even to the present. You cannot imagine my delight to identify the direct descendants of Martinus Scriblerus, and my surprise to locate them in a mental institution! How true “Great wits are sure to madness near allied, and thin partitions do their bounds divide”! I chid the impudent doctors, and brought under my protection the brothers Martinus and Stalinus. Since then, Martinus has excelled in philosophy, politics, science, astrology, art, law, literature, theology, music, and homeopathy. He has married the beautiful young lady Candy. Stalinus, on the other hand, has a genius for stealing.

They are next door as we speak. Would you like to meet them? Perhaps, if you are a similar genius, even join their profitable conference? If not, gentle reader, then I bid you adieu, and wish you merrily on your way.

*All persons, parties, institutions, and events represented in this blog are purely fictional, meant as nothing more than brainless entertainments. Any resemblance they may have to anyone or anything real is most unfortunate.
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