All serious, soft-science-theories should be shot without a trial. (Ah, but such are the pleasures and nose bleeds of the city-wide City, wherein justice for the complex is always just around the corner.)
Remember, in your private conversations with yourself is the one area in which there are no constraints on flattery, and no limits to hyperbole. (And let the cry of a contented People be, “Spread it on, Your Grace, spread it on.”)
A Sorehead’s Rhyme
Of The Month:
and dastardly deeds,
are not so called
when they succeed.
You could say that, to Himself, a Revolutionist’s past is all metaphors, at best.