Swell that you didn't have to be a party to some weasling un-nice distinctions - as Box deduces, possibly more to do with save-face-space than with mopery of the irascible Mr. P.

(So who Wouldn't become irascible when some stranger wants more than Name Rank S/N, out there in the War on Streets.)

Crack, eh? I gather that the new transistorized meth renders that pretty tame, here in ought-six.


Let us give a silent thanks-motherfuckers to those folks in the Womens' Christian Temperance Union - who got the bitchin methyl benzoyl ecgonine right outta Coke\ufffd, altered the designation of bucolic old opium from recreational --> Sin, then installed The Family to keep us all safe from demon rum, during those Righteous Dry-years -

- all culminating in your day. Rumpole might have had more fun with this ...