We'll get you covered somehow John!
Don ... sigh ... If you had the slightest whiff of familiarity with comic opera, specifically the works of Arthur Gilbert and W.S. Sullivan, than you would perfectly understand the significance of my title of "Pooh Bah."
But then again, being that I am a bear of little brain, I suppose a little nod to A.A. Milne would not be completely out of place. That becomes quickly problematic though in that I am no where near as gentle natured as the lovable denizen of the 100 acre wood. The truth is, I am, in point of fact, a particularly haughty and exclusive person, of pre-Adamite ancestral descent. You will understand this when I tell you that I can trace my ancestry back to a protoplasmal primordial atomic globule. Consequently, my family pride is something inconceivable. I can't help it. I was born sneering. But I struggle hard to overcome this defect. I mortify my pride continually. When all the great officers of Stovebolt resigned in a body, because they were too proud to serve under an ex-tailor, did I not unhesitantly accept all their posts at once?
It is consequently my degrading duty to serve this upstart as First Lord of the Treasury, Lord Chief Justice, Commander-in-Chief, Lord High Admiral, Master of the Buckhounds, Groom of the Back Stairs, Archbishop of Titipu, and Lord Mayor, both acting and elect, all rolled into one. And at a salary! A Pooh-Bah paid for his services! I a salaried minion! But I do it! it revolts me, but I do it!
But I don't stop at that. I go and dine with middle-class people on reasonable terms. I dance at cheap suburban parties for a moderate fee. I accept refreshment at any hands, however lowly. I also retail State secrets at a very low figure.
Clear enough?
