“RevCo?” I ask. “Their songs are cries from the pit of the machine. Someone screaming to wake us up, make us see we live in a world with a madman in the Oval Office […]

Excellent, when your truck is blown over and you are horribly injured, refuse all assistance on the grounds that you knew better. Oh hang on, no, you'll do what all the other truckwits who ignored the warnings did, blubber like a baby and scream for help.

The optimism at the opening of the talks could not be dampened even by a few spoilers.

The rabbit avoided detection by keeping still.