No quarter is spared when this man levels his sights on you...
As a lad in Charleston, I at first chafed whenever Mama would squire me to my weekly instructions at Miss Buelah Fontaine's Palmetto Street Finishing Academy for Young Gentlemen. "Oh, Mama, must I?" I would plead. "I would much rather fish and hoop-roll and play mumblety-peg with the other boys." But Mama - God rest her overbearing memory - remained insistent, for she knew that under the stern tutelage of Miss Fontaine her son would grow into a true Carolina Gentleman, deft in the social graces and ready to ascend the ladder of societal respectability.
The evidence of time has, I hope, proven Mama's wisdom. With every thwack of Miss Buela's corrective switch, I soon learned the fine art of gentlemanliness; the Windsor knot, the four-in-hand, the gracious bow, the waltz, entering one's name on a dance card, the proper way to hold one's refreshments. By my 16th birthday I was ready to make my society debut at the 1971 Charleston Boy's Cotillion. Oh, how Mama and Miss Buelah beamed with matronly pride as I promenaded across the ballroom floor with my escort (and second cousin once removed) Miss Blanche Dwerryhouse. I like to think Daddy would have beamed at my dashing waltz too, had he not been delayed by an emergency prior engagement that magical Charleston evening.
More of Iowahawk doing what he do, here.
Our own thoughts on Lindsey Graham's pathetically-qualified "defense" of free speech can be found here.