Man Is Nature's Sole Mistake.

To Sit In Solemn Silence On A Dull, Dark Dock In A Pestilential Prison With A Life-long Lock Awaiting The Sensation Of A Short, Sharp Shock From A Cheap And Chippy Chopper On A Big, Black Block.

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.

Merely Corroborative Detail, Intended To Give Artistic Verisimilitude To An Otherwise Bald And Unconvincing Narrative.

It's Love That Makes The World Go Round.

If Your Master Is Surly, From Getting Up Early (and Tempers Are Short In The Morning), An Inopportune Joke Is Enough To Provoke Him To Give You, At Once, A Month's Warning.