Good eve, dearhearts, it is I again. The rapturous Madame Swiss, battleaxe of hearsay and amateur horticulturist. I return to provide with you insight into some most frightful turn of events. I was flicking through the pages of my electric gossip finder, in search of the latest happenings of Firecrotch and associates when I stumbled upon THIS ever so alarming piece of mere talk about my darling Jacob Benjy Gyllenhaal.
What to think! What to do! I quickly deemed it all tosh of the highest order. Can a gentleman not partake in another gentleman's company without some ludicrous tittle tackle being spread around like Firecrotch? Surely they were just enjoying a game of whist and perhaps a shot of Wild Turkey? Dear, jove, what's the deep south coming to?
Later on that day, I was clipping my mulberry bush when my good friend Edgar DeMountford stuck his head over my palisades and asked how my comings and goings had been. When I told him the news he chuckled at length before remarking that young Jacob was such a green boy with a touch of The Swedish Sphinx about him. 'Yes,' I replied, not really understanding but then I thought how Edgar was the perfect example of my aforementioned point. Edgar has lived with his good friend Antonio for 27 years and they're just as good pals now as they were when they first met on the ice dancing circuit back in Hayes Jenkins heydays. They even share a bed to shave money since Edgar had to sell his salon to pay for his mother's hip replacement.
Really? First that Witherspoon harlot and now this. Jacob is single. End of story!