CATFIGHT!

Ooh! Ooh! Ooh! Ooh! Check it out. The gloves have come off in the Marriage Competition. Early entrants Minty and Jo are not best pleased to find they have rivals and have come out fighting with some scathing remarks on the new contestants.

The girls square up

Minty the lusty servant wench writes:

Oh Master Kelly! I find others are challenging me for your fair hand! Although it is against my nature to speak ill of these ladies, I must point out the obvious, Sarah, by her own admission is a red head, you must know how thin red hair is, ask yourself this, what did she knit that jumper out of? [Reowwww!] Slana, a "Liberal Arts Major", she'll have opinions Master, she'll want to tell you what she thinks! at first, just about the arts, but then about things like, what time you get in, your clothes and how long you've been watching the tele.
I don't mind if you chose to marry Sabine, I quite fancy nursing a invalid, if she gives us any trouble I'll stamp on her pelvis, or lock her in the attic and set fire to the house.
As I said, I know my place, and it's definitely on top of the Black Widow, Kojak and Baby Jane's long suffering sister. [Cool! Can I watch?]
I hope I do not speak out of turn......MINTY

If you think that's catty, listen to what Jo the Amish bird has to say about her rivals:

Dearest Michael:
   While my mother was pregnant with her seventh child, we hired a milkmaid to help with the chores. Her name was Olga, and a sweeter person has never existed. Unfortunately, she was hopelessly clumsy and obtuse. I can remember the expression on her grinning, confused face as she tripped down the stairs or dropped a baby or burned the bread for supper yet again. [Grinning, confused milkmaids are just my type and if we do get married please bring Olga along.]
   I thought of Olga as I read about the new "competition." [Reowwww!] These are women who are so intellectually weak that they could hardly pick up a pan, let alone cook. Nor could they offer You the respect and admiration that You deserve. These women may bear Your children, but none of them deserve the exalted role of Your wife.
   As for Slana - who needs Jane Austen? I read Henry Miller.
   Jo

Reowwww, I say, and again reowwww! If these girls were any more feline they would shit in the flower-bed. But who can blame them, when such a prize is at stake?

Really, what is a boy to do? It is useful to know, anyway, that the girls would not be averse to sharing My grace with others. Minty may be content to serve me in any way she can and would not mind me marrying Sabine so long as she was stashed in the attic like the first Mrs. Rochester. Similarly Jo raises the possibility that the unsuccessful competitors could bear My children like the Handmaids in that raunchy stroke-book by Margaret Atwood.

I am not sure I approve of Jo reading Henry Miller, however, as it may have given her dangerously inflated notions of male genital size. Waiiiit a minute though - what is a simple Amish bird doing reading Henry Miller? Come to think of it, how is an Amish bird connecting to the internet? With a modem made from a tin can and a piece of string? Hmmm. I think we may have a ringer here. I think Jo may have to be suspended from the competition pending investigation. In the early days of the Marriage Contest I was the victim of an imposture, and I have no wish for that to be repeated (yes, I'm talking about you, Keith the lorry-driver.)

So it looks as if I am reduced to the sorry state of only having four birds vying for my hand in marriage. Or am I? Wait a minute - what's this? Oh no! Two more birds have thrown their Dutch caps into the ring. Making a grand total of...let me count...six birds! Hahahahahaa!

Alice from Yale writes:

Dear Mr. Kelly,
I think you should marry me, as I am a university student and therefore am not only practically as young as is legal [Pah! In America! Over here I could get 16-year-old birds! And in Thailand I could...er...I mean...] but also have a large vocabulary with which to praise your excellence. In addition, I received a religious education and am given to adapted Biblical quotations, e.g.

"1 Moreover MICHAEL KELLY answered his petitioneress, and said, 2 Shall she that contendeth with Me instruct Me? She that reproveth the Author of the Page of Misery, let her answer it. 3 Then the petitioneress answered MICHAEL KELLY, and said, 4 Behold, I am vile; what shall I answer thee? I will lay mine hand upon my mouth (and permit thee to lay thine hand upon my breasts, which I’m pretty sure are bigger than those of your other slut-suitresses)." [Reowwww! Boofa boofa! And amen.]

I enjoy baking. I will also be meekly submissive to most negative comments you may care to make about my home country of the United States [You will Bow to the Union Jack. You will also be forbidden to adopt a horrendously upbeat American 'Can do' attitude. Your mental outlook must be, 'Hmm, might do, if I feel up to it and there's nothing on telly.'] and nod fervently when you fulminate about the misdoings of British politicians of whose scandalous behavior I remain unaware, all the while scrupulously attending to my cake-baking and frosting-slathering duties. [In a pinaforrrre. Hurrrr.] Disregard the claims of the other girls, as making sandwiches is easy, while synaesthetically seeing colors when one is touched in certain ways is, if not particularly difficult, at least uncommon. [She spouts the bible. She sees ecstatic visions. I've always wondered what it would be like to go to bed with Hildegard of Bingen.] At any rate, I do both. Do they?
   Yours very sincerely and expectantly,
   Alice
   P.S. I hope the enclosed picture is sufficiently school-girlish

Schoooolgirrrl. Hurrrrr.

Meanwhile Felicity writes:

Dear Michael,
It is not often that a bored S&M Burlesque Cabaret star decides to settle down and lavish her perverse attentions on one man [It happens quite frequently in my day-dreams]. It's not because I've grown tired of my lifestyle that I have decided to aim for a more rustic, wifely lifestyle; more that I would like to continue the practises of S&M within the acceptable bounds of a marriage. I sensed within your tender sensibility a tension boiling beneath the surface; a sense that perhaps like me, you live a double life, and may be capable of quiet husband-like distraction during the day, but also possessed of the type of sexual vigour that may result in dynamic role-playing or occasionally giving my bottom a good smack. [Bottom. Hurrrr.]

I am sure that my desire to have a revitalising pink glow spanked into the curvaceous cheeks of my backside upon rising need not impede the fulfilment of my proper wifely duties; I will of course make sure that I have the hot buttery crumpets and poached eggs prepared in accordance with your rising hours and personal delectation, so that my unfortunate requirements are not a hindrance to the calm beginnings of your day. [Quite right too. I cannot be expected to chastise on an empty stomach.]

I also bake excellent cakes, and do a marvellous roast whether it be Tofu or Lamb or anything else you care to name, although I have never tried Ostrich. [Oh, it's cool, the woman dresses up in feathers and...oh, I see] Although originally English I am currently marooned in Ireland, a country so sexually reticent that one has to actually pay for S&M services. [Have you tried a priest?]

I suppose I should explain a little of what I look like; well, I am naturally a blonde, with the kind of figure which has unfortunately fallen out of fashion; the whole hourglass thing (36D, 26, 40) [Boofa boofa!] being rather unpopular these days. In fact, women's clothes are made now with such androgynous proportions that I have had to resort to spending most of my time naked. [Naked. Lady. Hurrrr.] I have the complexion of a virgin. [Me too! Er...I mean...] I have enclosed a picture of myself at work in full Cabaret devil costume for your perusal and pleasure.
Yours Forever,
Felicity

¡Cacafuego!

What a choice of delectations! Alice, half schoolgirl seductress, half medieval mystic - a sort of cross between Lolita and Dame Julian of Norwich. Felicity, with her poor neglected bottom and unfashionably large protruberances, game for anything, maybe even a bit of Ostrich if I play my cards right. Not to mention Minty the salacious servant girl, Sarah the kinky Celt, Sabine the tantalising Teuton, and Slana the bloody fit blue-stocking.

I am more certain than ever that polygamy is the way to go. My love is an ocean, and an ocean refuses no river.