but that don't mean I'm always backward. Before he could open his yap, I let him have it: "What's your beef, tough guy?", I spat. He was a New Zealander, so I knew he was more likely on the lamb. He chewed on the question like it was some proteinaceous metaphor. Then he drawled: "I gotta bone to pick with you, Conway!".
He swung my other chair round backwards and straddled it. My estimation of him went up a notch: my other chair's a La-Z-Boy.
"It's about yer website," he grunted. "It's hurting my cones!".