Mr. Geoffrey was waiting for the axe to fall, so to speak, as General Braddock was quickly getting inebriated. The general’s belly jiggled as he animatedly retold tales of his sexual exploits and he barely noticed the rolling eyes of his guests as soon as eye contact was broken.
This night’s party was unusually intimate as very few people attended, perhaps because the Easter holidays are coming up and preparations for holiday excursions were on everyone’s minds. Mr. Geoffrey was nodding and silent as usual as he was merely there for the free libations, but tonight he was paying for his drink dearly as the general droned on and on and on.
He could hardly engage Mr. Derek Morningstar in a decent conversation without the tenacious general slashing in on whatever topic was being discussed. The general’s shrieky laugh finally severed whatever remaining fiber of frayed nerves Mr. Geoffrey had which brought about a right hand and a glass of rum smashing upon the general’s oily face. Mr. Geoffrey grabbed a nearby candle and proceeded to ignite the general.
In the general’s panic he managed to douse his body with his 21 year old scotch causing his entirety to burst into a huge giant fireball. The general ran instinctively to his pond which was on the other wing of his mansion and smoke trailed like hansel and gretel’s bread crumbs clearly marking the route he took.
“See? Geoffrey agrees with me” said the general breaking Mr. Geoffrey’s train of thought. “That smile says it all” he brayed and continued on with his debate on the Colt 1911 being a passing fancy.
Sane once more after his little fantasy Mr. Geoffrey, still smiling, leaned back on his chair, chugged his cheap rum and closed his eyes, it was a bad day after all and he deserved his rum.