Captain's log.
Yesterday's entry, in which I alluded to the gentleman's jelly club that I once belonged to, aroused a firestorm of responses in all the papers and journals. As you have probably heard, it has been claimed that I, in fact, was a member of the notorious High Street gang, which professed to be a jelly club, but in actuality was a horde of hoodlums. This High Street gang was known to prowl around the streets of Springfield, sucking on jellies, yes, but also throwing them at unsuspecting souls, and doing other unmentionable things with jelly. So that it is now and forever known, I hereby declare that I had no part in the affairs of the High Street gang, other than being solely responsible for their demise. As a gentleman who respected jellies, savored their complexity, and often spent hours in his parlour trying to detect the various flavors and textures, I can tell you I took quite harshly to the most foul deeds of the High Street jelly defilers. How I brought about the end of the High Street gang is a story for another time, but for any man (or woman) who claims my affiliation, you shall shortly be staring at the barrel of my pistol.
