A Quiet Place to Read

Monday, March 25, 2013

Patrolling the streets at night, I am the final bulwark between this city’s criminal class and its law-abiding citizens. Call it vigaliteism; call it martial law; call it what you want to call it, but no criminal is safe from my crippling brand of wordplay.

They call me: THE GROANER.

Armed with a self-wrought arsenal of puns, double entendres, spoonerisms, and portmanteaux, I keep vigilant watch over this city’s dark corners. The criminal class shudders at the sound of my forced attempts at humor.

Some say I am driven by vengeance. Others claim I am stark raving mad. Their opinions matter little to me. I am a groan man.

Woot