Salutations, my comely comrade! What furnished contextualization ensconces you in the rubiance of my presence? Okay, okay, I'll concede the nonentity of the term rubiance, but as my own decadent portmanteau of ruby and radiance, so go on and deplore my dearth of discipline to defy my opprobrious proclivity to waltz with words, to weave floridity and creativity into even the most quotidian of conversations. Apart from playing paladin to all the pitiable, moribund anarchisms that were languishing in dust-encrusted antediluvian dictionaries before yours veraciously came along (my favorite: enucleate - to explain), and operating to elevate the verbal breadths and velocities of every Neopian citizen I ever encounter through rigorous essaying of impertubability ...
(You suddenly realize that you had made plans to go with a friend to spin the Wheel of Misfortune at now o'clock, and hasten to leave, apologizing to a slightly crestfallen Master Algie.)