Priests Were Metal-reinforced Overshoes. They Saved Your

In My Early Teens, I Read Every Bound Volume Of The Magazine Punch. Every Writer Of Any Distinction In The English Language, And I Mean Including America And England, At Some Time Wrote For Punch. Jerome K. Jerome, Who Wrote Three Men In A Boat, I Loved. I Was Very Impressed When I Read A Piece By Mark Twain In Punch, And Realized That Despite The Fact That They Were On Different Continents, Jerome K. Jerome And Mark Twain Had The Same Kind Of Laconic, Laid-back, "the Human Race Is Damn Stupid, But Quite Interesting" Attitude. They Were Almost Talking With The Same Voice.

It Was Sad, Like Those Businessmen Who Came To Work In Serious Clothes But Wore Colorful Ties In A Mad, Desperate Attempt To Show There Was A Free Spirit In There Somewhere.

All Assassins Had A Full-length Mirror In Their Rooms, Because It Would Be A Terrible Insult To Anyone To Kill Them When You Were Badly Dressed.

A Good Plan Isn't One Where Someone Wins, It's Where Nobody Thinks They've Lost.

Luck Is My Middle Name. Mind You, My First Name Is Bad.