"Anyway, ash I wash shayin'," slurred Aeon, an empty bottle of sherry in his hand, "Theshe girlsh, they...they dunno WHAT they're misshing! Like, I wash, I wash...shayin' to that one, whassername, wit' th' green hair...Mint, thasshername...I wash shayin', "Hey, take yer top off!", ash you do, roysh, an'...an' I wash only lookin' for a bit'f cleavage, yanno, an' wouldn't ya know it, the broad turnsh 'round an' PUNCHES me inna face! Inna FACE, an' I ain't kiddin', goysh!"
"What are you talking about?" asked Deathwatch, the unfortunate recipient of Aeon's drunken ranting.
Blackmore, a crimson glass of the finest Chianti in his hand, was partaking in a bit of hors d'ouevres. "Hmmmm, these cocktail shrimps aren't half bad...and I know a thing or two about bad, yessir."