Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

An interesting article over at teh Weekly Standard regarding teh evolution of punctuation caught ol’ Robbo’s eye this evening.  G’wan over and read it.  I’ll wait.

Curiously, although this sort of “hey, it’s all so arbitrary, man” thing usually prompts me to Lynne Truss levels of curmudgeonly rage, for some reason this evening it instead invoked in me memories of a certain shtick dear to ol’ Robbo’s misspent yoot:

I saw dear ol’ Victor live probably three or four times back in the day (dayum, wasn’t I just teh totes high school date), together with many appearances on teh teevee.  He was one of those fellahs, like Señor Wenches, who did teh same damned act. Every. Single. Time.  But because he was who he was, one relished this rayther than despising it.

I don’t know quite where to go with this thought, except Suh’right.

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