How you gonna grease/lotion half yo foot. Toes justa be shining. I betcho ankles be jealous and mad as hell.

After a long time, the lord of those seruants commeth, and reckoneth with them.

Now dragg'd once more beyond the western main, To groan beneath some dastard planter’s chain; Where my poor countrymen in bondage wait The long enfranchisement of ling’ring fate:

Your childish temper tantrums are not going to change my decision on this matter.