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.
Ah, for the days when a gent could don his at-home robe or smoking jacket after work and on weekends. Chair by the fire, glass of Scotch or brandy, nice Habana ceegar, book or the internet, kids in the kitchen or upstairs or wherever being very quiet because "Your Father is at home." No treadmill exercise, no weight-lifting, no driving kids to summer hockey practice, no running to the dry cleaner or to Home Depot.
Diapers? Are you kidding? What is "yard work"?
Today, a gent's work never ends no matter how wealthy. The wives have taken over, and the modern wife ain't got no respect. But she might show some, if you dressed like Dr. P.
Fathers are half-emasculated these days, unlike the diabolical Dr. Pozzi.