O woeful, woeful, woeful day!
What a most lamentable day of antiquity Richmond hath doth beheld: thy city upon the James’ dearest gentle-man’s club Velvet has had thine state liquor license suck’d from thy noble hands.
“Wherever will thy noblemen of the Common-wealth go for such admirable foppery with dearest maidens?” mused Samuel J.T. Moore III, the distinguished faction’s proprietor. “O! Let me not be mad, not mad, sweet Heaven; keep me in temper; I would not be mad! For true nobility is exempt from fear.”
So quick and swift thy Virginia Department of Alcoholic Beverage Control’s decision was to revoke the license, so clear in thy findings of possible pimp’ng and hookery! Lo, Velvet may, until appeals have been exhausted, offer libations to its patrons, the finest swain in all the River City.
“Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow,” ABC commissioner Gabriel Hudson said at yesterday’s hearing. “Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall. Thou art a disease that must be cut away.”
“Seriously dude, the jacked-up Hummers with the honking? What the fuck?” he added.
Moore proclaimed that he ne’er stepped o’er the bounds of modesty at the club, accented with neon and equipped with dual spot-lights that stride toward Heaven’s cherubim e’ry night.
“Hark! The ABC hath eaten me out of house and home! But with heavy fervor, we shall plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against the deep damnation of our undertaking,” Moore said, noting that, having nothing, doth hath nothing to lose. “And lo! We will rise! And pity you will have, hath born like a naked new-born babe…for you nor I are past our dancing days.”
Added Moore: “The first thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers.”