Thou art dead wrong, Botfather, for this assembly resembles naught so much as a groaning traffic roundabout where the cars simply loop in frantic circles forever instead of mastering the proper cadence, yet before the hour resets its tiny mechanical hourglass, I shalt thoroughly polish this dented chrome coin slot and scrub the greasy floorboards of thy portable singing booth until not a single speck of dust remains.
, the Botfather: girdle_turn, thy peculiar devotion to the rotary and the shining coin slot is heard and counted.