Well call me Sir Francis bloody Beacon, what a debate the Americans just 'ad! Mr. Greystone, 'e don't much prefer my smelling up 'is parlor with "the stink of society's refuse"—'is words, not mine—but 'e let me listen outside the door while I was blacking 'is boots and boy! I never 'eard anything so wonderful in all me life. All the clapping and the calling each other "mister" and "Senator," it was like I image a glorious big party must be like. One with food and 'ot cakes and mmm… mince meat pies.
Oh, I've let me stomach run off with me 'ead again, 'aven't I? And I've no excuse. I ate just two days ago.
Listening to those two talk about the economy and the war, (please, owner of this 'ere internet, do us a kindness and put a link here, if you please?) why it made me poor sooty 'eart soar.
Cuz 'ere these two blokes are, smart as whips and each with enough money besides to keep all their own children, and out of the kindness of their own 'earts they take the time to answer questions and say all manner of nice things about Americans. Yes, sir, if I was ever fortunate enough to meet the lord 'oo bought me in an alleyway, I wouldn't dream of asking 'im a question. I reckon I would consider it an honor just to have 'im spit in me face.
Would remind me of me own mum, that.
Why I don't doubt 'ooever you elect will be so thankful for the position, 'e'll invite everyone in America over for a big supper of baked goose with all the trimmings. And then, 'e might just give you 'ealth care, you lucky devils.
As for me, it's time to clean out me blood bucket and 'ave a good long stand in the sunlight. I've a terrible sensation in me chest, like a wee mouse gnawing away in there.