Hail, good Readers! I welcome, as always, your mighty tens into my demesnes.

In but a short few Houres, it will be the fourth of Maye in this Good Year of our Lorde, and this date marks one year from the day that I wedded my faire wyfe; it was a joyous occasion, truly, and well I remember the wine, and the song, and my lovely bride, and the Briefe, Fumbling carnality that followed into the merrie evening. O ho! I still have the imprints made by the ingenious magick lantern device I concealed in the bedchambers to record our first enchanted Coupling, and I have many eager offers from those who wish to post them to the Ethereal Inter-Nette! I resist these rogues, of course--One, for my faire lady, to whom I have sworn no harm; and Two, if I be honest, I confess I am ill prepared to demonstrate to the whole World mine own disappointing sau-sage.

But I maunder on. To-morrow marks our first Anniversary, and then we travel! To that storied land of mystery, and wonder, and Banque Apparatuses--have you heard of this place? It is spoken of in tones of Wonderment and Delight: Las Vegas! I'faith, I know you have heard of it, Reader, for who could have not? A glorious city, it is, with its boggarts and nixies and naeads, who roam its streets a-sweating triumphantly 'neath glowing signs of Magickal Men (their brightly-hued kerchiefs!) and Purveyors of Enormous Lobsters (for is it not wise to eat seafood in the desert?) and--let us not forget--Resplendent harlots that will for a pretty coin display their juiciest ankles, and perhaps more!

We shall repose in Good Las Vegas for the better part of a week, traveling and having fine adventures, as those of great Barnabas the Pinch-Penny, who is rumored once to have consumed fine Steake-Hide and Elastick Eggs--for a mere Guilder! Christ's nails! And the ale-houses are relaxed, and mind not if you wander with your crockery to a neighbor--nay!--for is not the House of Emm-Gee-Emm also the House of Tropickana? Sooth, it is, and they mind not the intermingling of fine folk nor their tankards, and nor do the gendarmes, provided--I advise--you do not Piss unguardedly; Mind The False Plant-Pots. I tell you this after an Unfortunate Experience, reader.

In truth, I am cheered by thoughts of our visit, and this Opportunitie to leave this duckish land for a time. I am spurred on by Thoughts; thoughts of tiny little wizened imps, clad in their Tuxedeon glamours, seemingly eaten by Time's Hungry Raccoon--they are so Wrinkly, like Bathed Toes!--and how they squire about with the finest Maiden-Flesh to be found in Christendom: the orange bosoms radiant as midday suns. "How do you do it, sir? How do you acquire such Specimens of pulchritude?" I inquired once, a time ago. He beamed slyly: "Sirrah, I tell you, I have Guilders falling out of my Arse-Hole."

Puzzling! But now I knew a secret--the Gnome had revealed his Magick! I could scarcely believe it; I attributed this lapse to his advanced age: clearly his mind was gone with Syphilis or the Vapors or the Like. No matter. Now I knew the secret: Guilders would be shat.

On our first morn in Las Vegas, I will Discreetly defecate in my lady's bag. And she will be pleased when she opens her pouch and discovers its Rapturous contents. "Someone has shat in my bag!" she will scream. And I will say, "Yes! It was I, my love. I shat in your bag. Let's see what fun we can have with that!"

Until a week hence, I will be absent, readers. Be well for the nonce, and I will return to tell you of our Glories.