I am not uncomfortable; I'm in complete control of this conflagration of lunch meat squirting over the edges of your cerebral bread, you silly subjugator, you silly, silly puppydog, licker of fingers, best friend of something dead and bloated in time's wake.

Just look and look at the lakewater of your daily brood, and when a great golden perch rises out of the gloom, sit on it you fool, because things ain't always how they look from shore.