Hey wait just a dadgummed minute here .... Billy Marlow, Sweet and I drag a pile of junk out of the woods, save a few parts off it and scrap the rest ... and we get called "Butchers" "Scoundrels" "Inhuman Eviscerators of Noble Iron" ... and worse as we're dragged through the streets of London, publicly flogged and quartered, spat on, kicked, and our severed heads displayed on pikes along the Tower bridge. Our children and widows forced to walk in shame for the rest of their lives, penniless.
But Mike B does the SAME THING and you're throwing flowers at his feet, littering the landscape with marble statues of him (laurel wreathes in his hair...), naming a whole generation of babies, ships and cities after him, hurling babies and small dogs at him to kiss, endless waves of young girls and old ladies leaping from cliffs hoping to fall into his arms, hoisting him on your shoulders and falling all over each other to be the ones to carry him, via grand procession, into Vatican City for his sainting ceremony without ONCE pausing even for a millisecond to determine if he's even Catholic??
Billy, Chris -- Does something stink in Denmark? A whiff of HIGH pock rassie do I sniff on an ill wind, perchance???
Well, to THAT I say only one thing ... wait for it ...
Harrumph!
