Sir, I had not proposed that it would be fitting to mount a dusty mule and gallop at full pelt toward your adversary while ejaculating, "Wooo yeah, fill your hands you son of a bitch" or what ever is the common vernacular in the colonies.

I think that if you would be so good to consider the spectacle of two gentlemen in their fineries meeting at dawn, a flintlock apiece, walking 20 british standard paces, turning and then aiming down the splendidly crafted barrel of their firearms to deliver a shot twixt the oculars of their opponent, I'm sure you would find it pleasing to your high standards of taste and decency.
( Draconacticus Reject shampoo. Demand real poo!, Fri 23 Sep 2011, 12:06, Reply)