Two Outcast Men We Were

I wish Oscar had stuck with the two boys, and in all honesty, I think he made a mistake here.

It was a minor mistake.

The dang Duke of Queensberry, or rather, 9th Marquess of Queensberry, put up his dukes when Oscar crossed the line and took a decided interest in his son. He put up his two hands and smoked, like Smokin’ Joe Frazier, but it would have been much more fun if he’d have put up his Marquess– for then he would have fought like a man, without tooth and nail, but punches to the kisser.

Punches to the kisser!

Punches to the kiss of Ghislaine who may have wanted to buy in to English aristocracy, or Sanhedrin, or “nasty as she wanted to be”.

I like this story. Oscar, and no one, except God, and He ain’t telling, knows why Oscar had to choose the 9th Marquess of Queensberry to mess with, taking the 9th Marquess of Queensberry’s son, so-called, to dance, and boogie, and oooogie, in the magic of motion, lotion, calmed turmoil, as the Marquess’s money had bought a fantastic tutor– pick of the litter, not that a degree is a litter, or a piece of toilet paper,

‘cept written on papyrus, parchment, or sheepskin, or, for the sake of the 9th Marquess of Queensberry, pigskin, in an old American football trick, lickety split, Oscar learned on his transformative journey into the New World. With or without the rules of Queensberry, Oscar could have made quick work of the 9th Marquess of Queensberry. Of course he wouldn’t have kicked, or punched, the 9th Marquess of Queensberry in the groin.

Why is ars gratia artis taken as a statement of NO HOLDS BARRED?

Plus, neither Oscar nor 9th Marquess of Queensberry think all is fair in love and war, or sport.