I can never tell when I might have the Swedish Women's Water Polo Team over for sexcapades or when I may be hosting an orgy with the various up-and-comers of the porn industry. There is nothing more gauche than escorting a Brazilian model into the Game Room (where all of the sex toys I have acquired over the years are on display) only to find it dark. I would be practically CRUCIFIED in the pages of Penthouse.

Moreover, while I understand that the less-fortunate have been prattling on about conservation (the concern of dwindling resources is not a concern that I share), were I to actually do that, I'm sure that I could hire someone to serve as my maid. From what I've heard, the formerly "kept women" who were married to derivatives traders are finding themselves in dire straits. Perhaps I'll hire one with little more than a tan-line on her ring finger to cleanse my behind after I finish my morning ablutions.

And so there is no quarrel, I am not even typing this. I engaged the finest masseuses from Sweden, Argentina, and even (gasp) Iceland to type comments for me when they are not busy manually masturbating one another.

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