In Which Your Humble Blogger pronounces it properly the whole time, in case you were wondering, with the middle syllable of klee, not kyuh.
In Which Your Humble Blogger knows of a woman from Bryn Mawr who wanted to meet Bernard Shaw. When she was asked why, she made no reply, but sharpened an axe and a saw.
In Which Your Humble Blogger could perhaps have talked about the importance of the public sector in propping up a bourgeois-based economy, but it's so difficult to define 'class' coherently in a resource-based analysis of crony-capitalism.
In Which Your Humble Blogger could have gone into an extended rant about the rules book calling them 'riddles' when they are in fact not riddles but puzzles, but it's unclear how that rant would improve anyone's enjoyment, either of the game or the blog.
In Which Your Humble Blogger would like something to believe in, if only for the comfort of a slogan.
In Which Your Humble Blogger too-ra-loo-ra-laddie, a whack-fol-a-doo-fol-a-fiddle-dee-aye-dee-ay,
In Which Your Humble Blogger was going to link to the White House statement, but couldn't find one. Sigh.
In Which Your Humble Blogger gets a couple of laughs, anyway, so that's all right, Best Beloved, d'y'see?
In Which Your Humble Blogger reminds y'all Gentle Readers that you gotta see the show cause then you'll know the vertigo is gonna grow cause it's so dangerous, you'll have to sign a waiver.
In Which Your Humble Blogger trods the boards. Squeak!
