Well, what can you...can you say, really?

Tepidly, I wandered past the window to find none other than the butler of a rather unseemly mangrove swamp poking his head in amongst my prize gooseberry bushes. He seemed to be in search of something tangled up near the ground. But whatever it might have been, I was throughly perturbed by his rudeness at not even having come round to my door to enquire if I had any objections to his rummaging about in my succulent gooseberry bushes. People are a rude bunch, but I couldn't take this enfringement on my basic rights as the owner and tender of a prize patch of the most wonderful gooseberry's ever set before God on this green earth. So I went out. After getting out, I turned to the southeast, and saw the interloper mucking about in much the same fashion that he had been five seconds previous. I walked toward him at a rather cautious gate that gained steam as the full scope of his penetration into the poor heart of my prize gooseberry bushes became ever more apparent with each advance in distance. By the time I reached him he had invaded my gooseberries to the point that I became concerned for their survival. So I tapped the butler on the shoulder and asked if he intended to go on like this or if he would like to change to another course of action, preferabbly one requiring that he disist with his intrution into the supple heart of my splendid gooseberry bushes, and leave from my sight immediately. At this, he turned his head round very slowly, and engaged me as if I were a neo impressionist piece of art, and he were an 8th Century Stoic philosopher. He savaged my figure with the most hideous eyes I had ever seen. I had of course seen him from a distance many a time as I walked past the edge of his mangrove swamp (why a mangrove swamp requires a butler is a story too long to tell, especially on top of this strange tale). But never had I seen those eyes until now, and oh were they a sight to make a man's flesh turn cold with fright. But strangely I was not frightened at all, because the moment he turned round, my mind shot to the task of figuring out whether or not I was gay. Suddenly, while being confronted by the most frightenting man I had ever seen, and faced with the real possibility of seening my precisous gooseberries trampled to death, I was having a full-blown identity crisis. I looked back into the butler's poisonous stare and comported my figure with a facial expression one might accompany with the question "Am I gay?' " Well, am I you hideous freak," I asked with every ounce of body language I could muster. He responed as if he were taking offense at my question. His eyes shot open, his brow furrowed, and his lips slipped apart as if to say, "I challenge you to a duel!" We continued in our dance of body language for some time. I emploring him to answer my question so that I might gain a hold on my self, and he, at times upset and outraged by my emploring him to answer, at others throughly distraut by my apparent lack of understanding for his needs, and his desires. Ultimately, there has to be a give and take in any relationship, but it just wasn't working out between us. Hey, shit happens. We see each other on the weekends, and give each other the polite nod, but that's life, and you gotta move on. Anyways, it all worked out, I'm happy anyways. Well, I make do, and that's all you can do, really. Oh, and my gooseberry bushes were fine, they just needed a little TLC, nothing major.