We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
Wodehouse is part of a rather narrow genre of literature that serious people can admit to reading for amusement. Others that I'd put in this category include Arthur Conan Doyle, Agatha Christie, and formerly Ian Fleming. I can't really think of any more contemporary examples, as I fear anyone with the requisite skill and bearing gets snapped up to write jokes for Homer Simpson or seven-minute sketches on Saturday Night Live.
I too am happy to have the Frye and Laurie be the final word on any attempt to dramatize the stories, as I shudder to think what today's Hollywood, or even BBC, would do to "update" the content for the mythical modern audience.
Another guy named Dan
"Jeeves, you really are a specific dream-rabbit."
"Thank you, miss. I am glad to have given satisfaction."
Zuleika was not strictly beautiful. Her eyes were a trifle large, and their lashes longer than they need have been. An anarchy of small curls were her chevelure, a dark upland of misrule, every hair asserting its rights over a not discreditable brow. For the rest, her features were not at all original. They seemed to have been derived rather from a gallimaufry of familiar models. From Madame la Marquise de Saint-Ouen came the shapely tilt of the nose. The mouth was a mere replica of Cupid's bow, lacquered scarlet and strung with the littlest pearls. No apple tree, no wall of peaches, had not been robbed, nor any Tyrian rose-garden, for the glory of Miss Dobson's cheeks. Her neck was imitation-marble. Her hands and feet were of very mean proportions. She had no waist to speak of.