The Existential Angst of Venus

Lord Reginald Pompousbottom, with a silk scarf tied more for aspiration than warmth, peered through his monocle at the canvas. Before him, Ms. Anya Sharp, an art dealer whose wit was as finely honed as her pricing, observed him with an almost imperceptible smirk.

"Ah, Ms. Sharp," Reggie declared, adjusting his monocle, "I understand you've acquired the famed 'Laughing Venus' by Bartholomew Snifflebottom, long thought to be merely a figment of artistic imagination!"

"Indeed, Lord Pompousbottom," Anya replied smoothly. "Though 'figment' is perhaps a more fitting description for the previous owner's taste in decor."

Reggie, oblivious, pressed on. "Splendid! Now, about this masterpiece. I notice a distinct lack of… erm… 'liveliness' in the Venus's smile. Is it perhaps a pre-restoration piece?"

"Lord Pompousbottom," Anya deadpanned, "it is a painting, not a stand-up comedian. Its liveliness is derived from its brushwork, not its pulse."

Reggie stroked his chin, pondering. "Yes, yes, of course. But the colours! So subdued. One might almost say… muted. Was Snifflebottom perhaps undergoing a period of artistic melancholy?"

"Or perhaps, Lord Pompousbottom," Anya suggested, "the painting is merely centuries old, and time, much like some art critics, tends to drain the vibrancy from everything it touches."

Reggie puffed up. "Aha! But I, as a discerning connoisseur, appreciate the 'patina of age.' It lends a certain… authenticity. Tell me, is this Snifflebottom's 'Blue Period' or his 'Early Ochre Era'?"

"Neither, Lord Pompousbottom," Anya replied, a glint in her eye. "This is Snifflebottom's 'I Ran Out of Pigment for the Lips, But Decided to Call it Existential Angst' period. It was quite popular amongst the financially challenged artists of the time."

"Fascinating!" Reggie exclaimed, genuinely impressed. "A truly profound commentary on the human condition! I shall take it! What is your price for such a monumental piece of 'existential angst'?"

"Given its profound commentary, Lord Pompousbottom, and the current market's insatiable appetite for 'existential angst'," Anya said, naming a figure that made Reggie's eyes widen, "I could part with it for a mere… one million pounds."

"One million!" Reggie sputtered. "For a painting of a melancholy Venus with no lips?"

"Indeed," Anya confirmed. "The artist's subtle protest against the commercialization of beauty. A statement, if you will. And a rather expensive one, at that."

Reggie sighed, pulling out his chequebook. "Very well. Such profound statements must be supported. Though, I must say, for a million pounds, I expected at least a *hint* of a chuckle from the Venus."

"Perhaps, Lord Pompousbottom," Anya concluded, "the chuckle is meant to be yours, once you realize the true value of irony."