It's going to do my old, cold, reptilian heart a lot of good to know that this sad sack of feces is going to have to sit in a cage for some amount of time before his replacement pardons him. It won't actually chasten that obese ego in any way, but I'll still have a massive case of schadenfreude when it happens. An almost orgasmic case, to be sure. No gold-plated handles on any of those fixtures, and not even a seat to tear off that cold, unheated, stainless steel commode. Boo-fucking-hoo.
If you get to thinking you’re a person of some influence, try ordering somebody else’s dog around.
