There has long existed a cliché about “Good help being hard to find.”  Clichés exist for a reason. My prime example is one Dirk Wilkins, who is offensive on many levels.  First of all, his choice to grow a moustache is vulgar in the extreme, to have been topped only by a van Dyke, which make a man look like he’s gotten his mouth stuck in a jug of molasses, or, even more offensive, the “goatee,” which makes a man look like a villain from the Bible.

I digress.  (However, Quentin’s muttonchops deserve a special discussion at a later point.  There is much to say.)

Still under the influence of Laura, Wilkins burst into Collinwood, engaged in fisticuffs with Judith, ranted and raved about the return of Laura, and then shot me in my coffin.

Needless to say, I survived, although I lost considerable sleep repairing my clothing.

Well, I shall kill him.  This will limit the liability he poses and open up the position to someone of greater mental composure and competence.  A dachshund, for instance.



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