Doth mine illustrious ears deceiveth me? Does a foul miscreant DARE to sully this radiant basilica of effervescent truth, this peerless plateau of perspicacious propensity perpendicular to philosophical preponderance? Doth mine unrelenting, turgid consciousness ruminate within a miasmic cesspool of nightmarish fantasy? Nay? Truth springs forth as a veritable maelstrom of avarice, seeking wholeheartedly to crash against the proverbial bedrock of my intellectual acumen and weather it like the oncoming tide? This is, I daresay, a factual certainty? This prepubescent, repugnant dog, this contumacious pup, seeks, with her maligned, gaping muzzle, to sully to the lofty heights of the esoteric scholars of ancient times with her vituperative opprobrium, her ostentatious YAMMERING? Where, my simpering hound--where--WHERE the FUCK do you think you are, mine most recalcitrant and audacious PET? Mayhap you hath succumbed to temporary insanity? Such a defense--flimsy as it may be--shall, upon your own recognizance, be the ONLY wall occupying the space-time continuum between your miserable existence, and your scholarly master's divine judgment. If other explanations are within the realm of contention, PRAY to whatever deities you hold dear that we scholars of old remain ignorant of their existence. Erstwhile, trudge at ONCE back to your kennel, with NARY a remonstration or vicissitude. Test NOT the equator that is your scholarly master's patience. GO AT ONCE. ABSQUATULATE EXPEDITIOUSLY, PERNICIOUS CAITIFF.