I think that the Earl of Sandwich would either not be at all amused or pickled pink. He's probably turning over in his mouldy grave, sandwiched between various crusty ancestors. But, lettuce not dwell on it. We must-ardently press on to more meaty matters wherein there is more intellectual breadth.
You gotta admit, it's often a hoot when we go all tangential on these odd little riffs. Too bad all the aesthetes at PTB rarely demonstrate such improvisatory madness, c'est la vie.
PTB cast its bread upon the waters, and it returned waterlogged and inedible, explaining their collection of moldy crumbs. Wait, were those crumbs writers or commenters?
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