[…] he was beheaded upon the Defeat of the Conspiracy for having but thus far tampered in it.

His fantastic record as a manager speaks for itself.

Take thou no scorn to wear the horn, It was a crest ere thou wast born […]

Just then, a loud crash came echoing from the kitchen—like a large ceramic bowl smashing against stone—accompanied by a seething feline shriek: “Get the fuck out of here, you little wart, pervert, scumshit, fuckface.”