Jeff Blackadder

Yes, its not exactly common knowledge but I am vaguely related to Edmund Blackadder, that bastard. He told me a story once upon a time...

Baldrick: I'm glad you're my friend. Are you glad I'm your friend?

Edmund: Baldrick, I'm not quite sure how to put this delicately. The mites that nibble at me when I sleep I'm on closer terms with than you. And I have less trouble remembering their names.

Baldrick: I'm shocked, sir! Do you mean to say you care nothing for me?

Edmund: Maybe a lifetime of hammering into your thick skull has finally driven it home. Or, to put it in terms you might understand, no Baldrick, I care nothing for you.

Baldrick: Oh sir, but why?

Edmund: Oh I don't know. I'd like to say you were slightly better than a disgustingly worthless person, but...

Baldrick: Well, you're no better than a disgustingly wortheless person's butt yourself. So there.

Edmund: No, Baldrick. Once again the point has gone several thousand furlongs above your head and has landed somewhere in China by now. But, in the sense I used it, serves as a coordinating conjunction. Then again, I guess I'm the fool for assuming a baboon could somehow develop grammer skills.

Baldrick: I was never any good at grammar. But I did think it was nice that they have a cute kitten following each sentence.

Edmund: Explain.

Baldrick: Well my grammar teacher used to tell us that at the end of each sentence came the pretty-cat.

Edmund: Its predicate, Baldrick. For that insightful observation, you should only be taken out into the streets and shot.