Keep those kids off my lawn! Where’s my 50 cent beer? Dammit, Mabel, no, we won’t get one of them there new-fangled Touch Tone telephones–just crank it and tell the operator who you want to talk to. And who, fer cryin’ out loud, said we had to let those damned ath-e-leets negotiate? By Gawd, the world is comin’ apart at the seams. Next thing you know, peeple’ll be demandin’ not to wear suits to work. So blasted hard to get used to things these days.