Bah. Ya buncha whiners.
Back in MY day we had to climb atop the train & do our own smoke signals. Talk about a right pain in the arse. When they upgraded to carrier pigeons we were happy as pigs in slop... right up until you were facin the wrong way to shelter the bird as ya flung it into the air, got whacked on the back of the head by the tunnel overhead, & ended up swallowin the damned bird as ya landed sprawled atop the carriage. You would wake up hours later, mouth full o' feathers, & had to go get another bird from the conductor. Charged ya a mint, too. We tried doin' the job from inside a car & releasin' the little blighter out th' window, but it always seemed that would be the very moment ya passed a tree & turned ya bird into a puff of swirlin' feathers. Charged us for replacements then, too. Bastards.
You kids with yer newfangled wifey an' sell-fonez complainin' 'bout piss poor signals.
*Shakes a palsied fist*
Danged whippersnappers! Get off'n my traaaaain!
*Cough*
I'll get my coat, it's the one with my dried frog pills in the pocket.
Biting the hand that feeds IT
