The Adventures of Gideon Wilde

Chapter One

The Most Dangerous Game

 It was a glorious April Morning in throughout the grounds of Wilde Manor. Situated a few miles outside the town of Saphord, Wilde Manor had been home to the men of the Wilde family for generations. The house itself was magnificent Residence the looked as if someone had taken apart an old English castle brick by brick shipped the stone to America and then used the old masonry to construct a much more modernized version. This is due partly to its seamless blend of old and new architectural styles, but mainly because that is literally the exact way in which they built it.

Wilde Manor stood with regal majesty, towering over the primeval pines of the Denton Forrest. The Forrest stretched for miles in all directions and completely surrounded the manor. The “Grounds” of Wilde Manor are comprised only of the large circular drive in the front which lays at the end of the only route to or from the manor, (a long, narrow road that snakes through the Forrest until it joins up with a major high way) and an immaculately tended back lawn that sloped gently down from the House to the small lake that lay behind it.  Compared to the abodes of other shamefully wealthy people, Wilde Manor comes off as rather quaint. But within its simplicity, lies elegance, and on this particular morning:  unparalleled beauty

The crisp mid-morning sunlight of spring danced upon the lake. A million little diamonds twinkled and glistened on the water as a delicate breeze caressed the surface lovingly. All along the shore, high born emeralds rustled as their ancient bearers began to stir at the tender encouragement of the soft, warm, wind.  Bending and stretching slowly, still rousing from their season long slumber beneath the harsh northern snows. Their limbs dipped and swayed with rhythmic grace as gentle currents drifted past, taking the last stubborn remnants of winter’s stiffness with them as they went.  Dappled shadows fell upon lush carpets of winter grass and velvet skirts of moss as light filtered down through leafy windows high above, illuminating the woodland cathedral with a softly wavering half-light.  A reverent silence enveloped the verdant sanctuary. A peaceful quiet that remained unbroken by the piercing calls of birds or the inane chatter of squirrels. The only sound within the serene temple was the soft cacophony of a gentle, rustling hymn.  Chanted by a perennial choir, and carried aloft on the lazy zephyrs of this angelic morning, it pervaded the air with its ancient litany. It was a whispered aria that spoke of change and of things unyielding, an opera of the inevitably of death and the beauty of rebirth, a muttered ballad of the land’s undying spirit. Sighs of sadness intermingle with breathy laughter and convey emotions that man does not even have the capacity to comprehend. It is a quiet melody of such beauty that to hear it, is to hear the voice of the universe speak directly to you…to your very soul....Thus, It was by all accounts and descriptions, a rather exceptional morning.

And, it was on this morning of unparalleled beauty and spiritual transcendence, that Francis P. Higgins found himself on the second floor of the majestic Wilde Manor, sprinting down a dark corridor, while screaming, crying, and pissing himself simultaneously. 

Mutiny on board the U.S.S. Wilde

Chapter One

An Intrusion

Damien crept through the hallway in his bare feet, years of experience and honed instincts guiding him as he inched along the darkened corridor. The irony of having to sneak through his own house wasn't lost on him, having spent years doing the same in the villas and chateaus of affluent collectors. He adjusted his grip on the antique German luger, cursing the mixture of fear and adrenaline keeping him from holding it steady. Stopping and closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and willed his body to relax. after a few seconds he calmly resumed his prowl, slowly making his way to the main atrium. 

He had been awakened a few minutes earlier by the alarm system. Assuming that a rival was attempting to lift a piece from his private collection, (something that just isn't done amongst respectable thieves) he grabbed the restored pistol from his bedside and slunk out of the room intent on scaring the shit out of the little prick that had broken in. 

As he rounded a corner, he noticed a soft flickering golden light coming from under the door to the atrium. His first thought was that the he must have left the fireplace burning. That thought was jostled aside as the next  one showed up which was that he never lit the fireplace. Then the notion that, whatever douchebag broke in had lit a fire, popped in. Damien knew no thief was stupid or arrogant enough to build a fire in the house he was breaking into. Furthermore, anyone intent on doing him harm wouldn't waste time with it either. Curiosity took the place of fear and mild irritation, the place of adrenaline. so he simply strolled toward the door and walked through. 

The fire crackled cheerily. A tall  figure stood silhouetted against the golden flames, cigar smoke wreathing what appeared to be an old English Admirals hat. Damien lifted the luger to his chest and pointed it at the intruder. He cocked it as loudly as he could and noticed the stranger start slightly at the sound. The figure turned its head slightly and chuckled softly. Something about the laugh set off alarms in Damien's head but before he could react the stranger spoke. 

"How do you even know if that gun still works?" The voice was that of a young man. smooth and tinged with amused condescension. It was a voice Damien knew well. A voice he had grown up with. It was the voice of mischief itself. 

For The Gentlemen VIII: Christmas

Gentlemen, Christmas is easily the greatest religious observance ever to be robbed of its spiritual importance and turned into an insatiable beast of consumerism and greed. Just the mere thought of it gives anyone in advertising a raging erection (even the women. don't ask me how, it just does) What began centuries ago as one of the Catholic church's attempts to convert pagan worshipers by holding christian observances on the same days as pagan feasts,  ( One of the Church's more rare conversion methods. You know, the ones where they didn't indiscriminately kill everyone who disagreed with them.) has turned into the free market version of a Caligulan orgy. Every year from October to December, its impossible tell where the sweaty intertwined bodies of Ad executives, toy manufactures and retail chain stores end or where they begin. but perhaps the best part of Christmas is that it makes the ball shriveling winter weather bearable. In fact, it can make it pretty damn enjoyable. You find yourself beginning to not mind freezing your tits off because you're warmed with the knowledge that each new day of conditions that even birds have the common damn sense to avoid, brings you  one step closer to free crap and an excuse to get  hammered enough to make out with your wife's hotter sister.

Something to get you by

We're still bretty busy with the regime change so to fill the time, heres an old gem of Andrew's: 

Who are we? We are the kids who got ripped from their childhoods as planes smashed into buildings and cars exploded. We sat transfixed, watching something that no child should be allowed to watch. But the people who should have covered our eyes just let us watched and whispered “no you have to see. You have to know what we’ve done and the way things are. Because only you can fix this, only you can make all of it ok again, only you can help. But first, you must see.” We became children trying to be adults with no clue of how to do it. It was like building Legos in the dark with half the pieces missing. And even though we knew it wouldn’t be easy to face when finished, we kept building.

A Gentleman's Farewell

As my 20^th birthday looms ever closer, I become aware of a deep and insatiable desire. It is an urge so base and instinctual in its nature, that it stifles any protests and overcomes all barriers. It is the desperate longing for manhood, for maturity, for completion. I don’t mean a brief feeling of superiority that comes with an initial conquest. I mean something deeper. Something that can only be achieved through experience and adversity. I pine to put aside childish things and leave the safe, well tended path I’ve walked so far in my life. I burn to stray from the trail and burst through the underbrush of the world, forging a new path all my own. I long to meet obstacles and challenges on my own, and overcome them through nothing more than my own skill. I am no longer content with the safety and comfort of the known. I shun the careless bliss of boyhood and choose instead to embrace the rough and dangerous struggle of manhood.

A Toast

Gentlemen, a toast.

To favorite shirts. To rainy Sunday afternoons. To old shoes that are "broken in" not "worn out". To warm summer nights and  that time just before the sun rises when everything no matter what color it is, looks blue. To bonfires and beers. To best friends, girlfriends, and lazy old dogs. to new experiences and old memories. To dirty old hats and visors. To aviators and costas. To sunburns in april and even tans by august. To the beach and to seafood. To bikinis. To hating the douchebag who brought a guitar to the beach. To getting frustrated when the girls your with hang around him. To purchasing a guitar. To the lake. To inner tubes and douchebag drivers. to upper body strength. To the difference between having nothing to do and doing nothing. To sleeping past noon. To going an entire weekend without ever putting on pants. To putting off that thing you know you have to do and assuring yourself that you have plenty of time. To no longer having plenty of time. To the immense satisfaction that comes from saying "Fuck This" even if no one is around to hear it. But mainly, to favorite shirts.

-AJ

Gentleman Pic of The Day

For The Gentlemen: A Gentleman's Last Piece of Gum

Gentlemen, let me first begin by saying: Jimmy never cracked corn, so stop teaching your children that song. He was an American, and like any good American he hired an illegal immigrant to do it for him.

Today we talk about the most sacred of objects. A holy relic that is guarded with jealousy and fervor. I am speaking of course, about a Gentleman's last piece of gum. A delectable treat so precious that it can only be given to a dying relative, your absolute best friend in the world, or just what ever woman your attempting to romance and/or bump uglies with

I regard gum like children: delicious and expendable. ( Plus, they're both cheap at gas staions) And just like children, I love some gum species above others. whether its my beautiful firstborn bubbalicious watermelon child or the irritating and often ignored orbit gum. ( Trident is the unwanted ginger kid of the gum world)However, regardless of gum species, I view my last piece of gum the same way the news media regards an upper-class Caucasian child who's gone missing.

A Reading From "The Book of Gentlemen"

A reading from "The Book of Gentlemen" Chapter 1.

In the beginning, there were boobs. And Man saw the boobs and said that they were good. And there was nothing concealing the boobs from the eyes of Man and Man called those days paradise. But woman saw how Man was pleased with boobs and said. "Come let us make clothing to cover up the boobs so that we may gain power over Man.” And they did this and there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth. And Man covered himself in sack cloth and ashes and sat on the hillside lamenting his misfortune.

On the first day of his lament, Man said: "Come, let us build dwellings for woman so that she may feel comfortable enough to remove the evil that covers her. " so Man did this and called it a "house" and woman saw it and said that it was good, but not good enough. So Man returned to the hill side.

On he second day he said: “come, let us make clothes of our own so that woman will find us more pleasing to her eye. ” and he did this and called the coverings a "Tuxedo" and Woman saw this and was very pleased. But alas, this only made her want better clothes. So Man asked Woman’s friend "Sebastian" to make fine clothes but lo, when he had created the clothes and Man went to pick them up, the greedy little queen would not give the clothes freely.

Gentleman Pic of The Day.

you could cut the tension with a knife...or a shoulder mounted laser

Gentleman of the Day: Mr. Feeny

Name: George Feeny

Life: 1993-2000

Romantic Interest: Teaching life lessons

Quote: " No really, whats your name?...... Are you serious? What the hell kinda name is Topanga?"

Mr. Feeny is the perfect teacher. Except for the whole "being next door neighbors" thing, he is the educator we all wish we had. He's patient, wise, omniscient, and possibly British. If there was ever a problem; be it one of Corey and Shawn's shenanigans gone wrong, an Eric shenanigan gone awry, or the rare Shawn-Eric-Corey-epic-shenanigan-clusterfuck, Mr. Feeny was there to sort it all out and teach the crucial life lesson brought on by said shenanigan. Indeed, Mr. Feeny is second only to Dumbledore in the list of gentleman educators.

His accomplishments include teaching every single consecutive grade in the public education system while simultaneously acting as principal for the same school, holding his silence for 7 years on the Shawn-Topanga affair ( I mean let's be honest) and breaching almost every boundary that should exist between a teacher and student.

For The Gentlemen VI: Vicious Lies!

Gentleman, we need to have a little chat. It has come to my attention that there are some of you out there who have been telling women that they look prettier without makeup on. Stop it. Stop it right god damn now. This type of nonsense is dangerous gentlemen and it is absolutely inexcusable. Now, I understand, lying to women is an honored tradition of gentlemen and douchbags alike. It’s the one thing we have in common. It’s a ritual as old as a gentleman's evening scotch and cigar, but this is just too far.

Now gentlemen, understand me, the fact that this is entire little theory is monumental bullshit doesn’t bother me in the least, I’ve built my life on bullshit. No, what keeps me awake at night is the fear that somewhere, for some reason, there are a those of you who actually believe it. If this is the case, I find it my duty to educate you.

First off, what are the facts?

1. Women are gorgeous creatures

2. This is because of makeup

3. Women without make up are such hideous abominations that even god himself must turn his back on them.

Now I believe the root of the problem is that you are confusing women who wear makeup, with women who don’t know how to use makeup. Some women think that makeup is magical layer prettiness that when applied by the ton, covers up the cornea searing ugliness beneath it. These women are wrecking the curve for those who understand that you don’t need a god damn paint roller to put on concealer. Ugly is ugly ladies. You can put a fresh coat of paint on a dog turd but people still aren’t going to want to touch it. These women are easy enough to spot since their face looks like Monet had a stroke halfway through a painting and instead of stopping going to the hospital, he tried to walk it off and push through. The result is a few splotches that may have slightly resemble water lilies at one time surrounded by random splotches of paint and the jerky brush strokes of a man who no longer has his basic motor functions.

Gentleman Of The Day: Bill Nye

Name: William Sandford Nye

Romantic interests: Science.

Life: november 27 1955- infinity ( if he can make water stay in an upside down cup, he can damn sure discover the secret to immortality.)

Famous Quote: "Man, fuck the police"

Gentleman, we all know this man. He is the lone individual who kept our attention during elementary school. Between the constant threat of a female biological attack and the intense concentration we underwent while actively trying to not shit our pants, grade school was terrible. But between the two sturdy pillars of snack time and nap time was Bill Nye. Always there. Always fascinating. Always showing us things that were completely impossible to reproduce at home. We will always be forever grateful for all that Willy did for us but there's still one thing I don't understand: Was that little ginger kid with the earing a girl or a boy? No one has ever been able to provide an acceptable answer to this question.

His accomplishments include: Aiding in the banishment of Pluto ( don't look at us that way Pluto, you free loading son of bitch.) holding a patent on ballet shoes for some reason, and being married by Rick Warren while world class cellist Yo-Yo Ma played background music. (All of that is true by the way)

Gentleman Of The Day: Mr. Peanut

Name: Mr. Peanut (but you will refer to him as "Sir")

Life: Mr peanut has no beginning and no end. He simply is.

Romantic Interest: Making slow, sweet, honey roasted love to your taste buds

Famous Quote: His gentlemanliness is such that he has never required words.

Mr peanut: Suave, debonair, lightly salted, and Dangerous. all the things that true gentlemen aspire to be. Mr peanut has been the embodiment of simple elegance, and pimp handedness for generations. He has served on the Gentleman's world council since the mid forties and was responsible for finding the only way to destroy a douchebag**

His accomplishments include: Being the only gentleman to successfully rock a monocle after the death of Teddy Roosevelt*. Bringing salty, evenly roasted goodness to us all for decades. And keepin his pimp hand strong enough to smack Snoop Dogg back to the mid nineties where he belongs

*After the death of Teddy Roosevelt, gentlemen everywhere unanimously agreed that no one would ever look as good in a monocle again however, many simply feared that should they attempt to; Roosevelt's spirit would return and dish out some good ole fashioned turn of the century ass kickings.

** see here

Ask A Gentleman

The Question: “I’d like to ask a gentleman, when defending a woman's honor, is there a preferred weapon for the gentleman? Should I use a classic weapon or a more modern one? If I use a sword, should I use a katana or a long sword? "-Mr. Gibbons

The Answer: Mr. Gibbons, thank you for that excellent question. First and foremost: a Gentleman never uses guns. Not because of any rule or tradition, its just that dueling pistols are crazy expensive, not to mention they are a HUGE pain to load and maintain and its honestly just not worth the effort. ( also, when you bring a man to the hospital with a gunshot wound, certain people tend to get nosy)

But, in most cases it’s all a matter of context. The weapon of choice must always fit the combatant and the circumstances of the offense. For example: If a common ruffian gives offense, use a good sturdy baseball bat.

Here is a handy quick-reference guide for the most common offenders, and the appropriate weapon for each.

OFFENDER - WEAPON

1. Native American- manifest destiny
2. Common ruffian-baseball bat (preferably wood)
3. French Nobleman- rapier
4. Mexican Bandit- glue, paper mache, and hefty stick