And what's with your going on·&·on about my age, eh Shaw-minor? You know mine - 82. But you keep everso quiet about yours. You are however, from where I am sitting, most manifestly a nasty jumped-up young upstart with a peculiarly self-satisfied but grossly exaggerated opinion of his own powers & abilities. Look at me, at my great age, running rings round you here while you pant and strain to keep up. You're not even starting to convince anyone, you silly, conceited, pathetic, mannerless little fool. And I am still waiting for all these o-so-powerful 'bites' of yours which are going to demolish me once & for all. Come on, now: show us these invincible fangs of yours -- you stupid, toothless, vain, wittering, rude, useless little fat·gob.

All the best, me-duckling - keep trying ~~

~M~