At this juncture, I feel the need to add some wisdom imparted to me many years ago.
It was a cold December evening, much like this, in Northern Ohio.
I was a kid at a kollege somewhere south of a town that had one CMH winner and one nobel laureate, but only the white guy on the city limits. I was paying tuition in part by working for the skool paper. We'd spend Wednesday and Thursday afternoons, and Thursday nights typesetting it. On Friday, someone would drive to the printers in Sandusky. Friday afternoon, we'd wait by the staff parking lot for the truck to come in, then distribute it.
So it's cold, December, and it's raining. The truck is late, and we're standing out there, all us flunkies, along with the editor, a texan woman about six foot, with blazing red hair, were waiting for the truck.
It's late, and the administrators are going home for the weekend. While we're waiting, cursing the damned northern ohio weather, out comes the college president. He says to us,
"It's good to see your dedication on a day like today"
then he walked and got into his cherry-red corvette.
Our editor, looked at his car, and as he drove off said, "Sorry about your p3n1s"
So, consider these words, and as my buddy RAMBAM says, the occult meaning will manifest itself.
Dinger/The Chain of Command
(p.s., we don't need no "best of" threads
. they only cause trouble)