Finally, a man approaches her — an uncommonly fat, clownish-looking man, with a bulbous nose, furzy white hair, and fearsome great eyebrows like crushed mice.

Emulating the Smurfs and wearing an oversized sock on your head does seem pretty small beer next to the seven pounds of ironmongery adorning a young woman’s otherwise pretty face I saw recently, or the slew of tattoo-fetishists from Generation Zed who will be figuring out which laser specialist to enrich a few years down the road. But who am I to talk? I just need to check out some photos from the 1970s to humble up, and I wasn’t even into disco!

There were no whisperings, even from his opponents, that he was no better than he ought to be. Because, there was nothing wrong on which to hang a charge. As an eloquent orator, he carried with him the firm support of a good name.

“ Eenie, meenie, minie, moe, catch a tutsoon by the toe,” he sang loudly.