I added Number 8 at the last moment in order to appear humble to you lot. God, I love that "you lot". We're here in the richest country in the U.S. world, and we have to borrow such a fine epithet from the threadbare Brits.We have to wade through mouldering piles of benjamins to get to work, we crack our teeth on silver dollars accidentally left in our Prime Rib Catastrophe sandwiches, and yet we can't own a couple of damn words. The best we can do is threaten to open a can of whoop-ass, and who ends up looking worse after that? Not your Brit, who would break into a great Cyril Richardish grin if it weren't for his stiff upper lip, which forces his lower face into spasm, and he ends up looking alarmingly like Renée Zellweger, which is some kind of poetic justice, I suppose.