The title of Duke Willmington's manifesto, "Haffely, Gaffely, Gaffely, Gonward," a mondegreen of the famous Tennyson poem, served to underscore its thesis, namely, that the county's foreign policy, which was being whipsawed by the forces of patriotism and an increasing sense amongst the citizenry of the futility of war, would never regain its legendary influence in the world unless those at the highest levels of government ceased their salami tactics and took strong, decisive action to inculcate a sense of grand purpose into their military schemes.
"Gentlemen," Picard exclaimed, silencing with one warm and sonorous word the treknobabble that had 'til then been resounding off the walls of his ready room, "I understand your fears of this chthonic pit, but I espouse Lt. Worf's position, and I'm afraid we have no choice but to move forward into the planet," saying which, the Captain spoke to the computer the code that served, much like Hancock's paraph, to ensure that none but he could make such a potentially deadly decision.
Their New Years Eve compotation turned inevitably to a reverie on numismatics--each man slumped over his kir, dreaming of dubloons, blissfully oblivious to the hangover he would have in the morning.
As I rounded the next corner toward my new little shop, I heard the roars of yet another donnybrook--of late the streets had regularly flowed with the blood of brawny, jobless factory workers--and dove down the antepenultimate street before the fray, which shortcut I was shown as a cumshaw on the departure of the store's previous owner.
The avidity with which the loss of her income debilitated the dear lady's pocketbook forced her to abjure the gustatory pleasures she had formerly enjoyed and to endure the rebarbative insults that her newly adopted fare threw at her delicate digestive system.
The nervous-looking dean stood at the back of the angry crowd, wringing his hands and silently wondering whether he had been in la-la land when he approved the students’ burlesque of the Founder’s religious vision and subsequent establishment of the institution; he never imagined that the group of artists and eclectics who approached him could have conceived of the blasphemous farrago of insults and obscenities to which he was currently bearing witness.
While the gaggle of grown-ups were gabbing in the garden, Noreen’s nidifugous nine-year-old nephew stepped boldly down from his “house” in the tree, interposed himself into group and conversation, and began a forceful philippic against tyranny in all forms but especially that “most odious form of control known as bedtime;” all sat stunned until a particularly vitriolic and colorful phrase goaded the child’s mother out of her stupor and into the center of the circle, where she grabbed his arm, smacked him on the bottom, and pulled him away to bed.
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