Sergio Leone should've made his comments about America in a less staid format than the "oater", but rather, the plaid with khaki shorts, loafer-wearing man of leisure that is Pater Familias.
"Our misery" they cry, "end it for us; I beg you mercy!" And me, my brick in my hand, kind of pre-occupied, myself, busy kind of taking a lay of the land and so forth. Point is, blessed free of mercy-killing blood on my ignorant hands.
Your babies? Your choking? I brook not what I should not forthwith advance among my own board of chess, nor the game of Life, nor Candyland, nor Magic: The Gathering. Rather I should attend at what is mine, feel confident it is enough, and call all these other things, your iphones and such, entirely foreign matter, matter that does not touch scarcely the most distant in my circle.
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