Imagine that it is the end of the day. You have just returned from a hard day of screwing over writers and Republicans at the movie studio you run, and you've got a kink in your back in need of fixing. What sweeter sight could there be than me, Luke Ford, standing before you as your body servant, and what sweeter sound than to hear me utter the line "would you like some oysters, or will master be having snails this evening?"
I promise you a happy ending, if you hire me.
