ARSS

I was having dinner with my lovely assistant Miss Groovy Jones the other night. We were patching up a silly misunderstanding after Miss Jones, for some strange reason, became convinced that some alleged digital photos she found on my computer were not merely malicious fabrications of my numerous detractors placed there to damage me. First, I have not been that limber in over a decade, and second, some of those depicted, fabulous acts would constitute criminal offenses in most developed countries. It impugns my character to suggest that I would violate the law.

In any event because I am a charitable and nurturing man, I had hoped to add a little something to Miss Jones' wine to ameliorate her anxiety. The officious service staff at the restaurant continually hovered about, making it impossible for me to properly prepare the salutary medicated beverage. My powerful mind never ceases to grapple with pressing problems, be they technological, political, or social, and I experienced an epiphany prior to dessert. Since I am a man faithful to the concept of full disclosure, I herewith submit for the review of my distinguished and culturally sophisticated readership the Atricus Restaurant Semaphore System (ARSS). Servers: You have been given notice.

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