Hilary

Janet's atrocious puns (madam we shall mete out pun-ishment the bloody plains of another thread) and then Matt's succinct wrap up, were the perfect bow with which to tie up all the loose ends of this arduous thread. The quintessential period, the natural end of file, end of the freaking line. For someone who purports to be so in tune with the universe your aesthetics and timing embody all the grace of a one legged Radio City Music Hall Rockette...with gout.