“Flail away, dsc.”
Howls, Bruce. Howls of derisive laughter.
Check the heart of your position for the scalpel. You’ll find it, if you have eyes to see—which you don’t.
Whatever you’re on about has no impact one way or the other, dsc. You’ll clearly believe whatever you want to believe, inconvenient facts be damned. I just happen to be one of those who are seeking out facts that you find damnable. So be it. Pound the table, shriek, wave your hands in the air. Maybe it’ll distract somebody.