I took a sip of tea, grown cold after hours waiting for me while I washed laundry, watered the potted plants and sent messages to me delivery boys who would carry out muh orders to eliminate waste.

Waste is a word I use for people who get in my way.

How does the Irish saying go, “Don’t be breaking your shin on a stool that’s not in your way”?

I agree wholeheartedly.

No sense in hacking the emails and passwords of a social networking site if you don’t plan to spam the world using other people’s email accounts.

My main competitor says, “Catch me if you can.”

It’s a threat and dare not worth taking.

I just steal his business, take his mistress, torture his kids and turn his wife into a raving lunatic.

No reason to catch him if I can ruin him, instead.

And if you’re going to spam the place, make sure there’s a profit in it.  Otherwise, you’re just a cock crowing at the security light you set off when you walked past the motion sensor.

My detractors say I kill for a living.  Well, I don’t bloody well have a Muslim birth name as a Christian going around killing Muslims for my cheap, showoff thrills, pushing buttons from afar and claiming responsibility for blood on the shards of errant bombs, now, do I?

I’m not a terrorist, for Christ’s sake.  Or, for that matter, a terrorist for Christ’s sake.

I’m a businessman, through and through.

After the last election, I stood in line like the rest of the fellows, signing up for me licence to have multiple wives after our newly “elected” leader proclaimed an executive order to authorise polygamy for all provinces in our great country.

And me wives agree it was a tough bargain to get me as an ‘usband.  Not like I just walked up to every woman on the street and asked, “Will you be my true love but not my first wife?”

The interview process alone was a great wedge that just about drop apart me business partners from me profit.

But I convinced me business partners that having marriage partners who were business savvy was good for business.

Now, when I want to sleep with my secretary, she doesn’t mind that the other women in my business, who just happen to be my wives like her, won’t be getting jealous and spreading angry gossip down the halls for weeks on end.

They’ll get their turn when they’re good and ready to have me.

The way we see it, when a business deal goes bad, someone has to pay, including me.

Besides, it cuts down on pressure from my competitors to steal my employees by offering greener pastures to graze.

You see, I found a loophole in the executive order, despite details of the order being put under the protection of executive privilege.

Women can have multiple husbands, if they want.

Although the order implied it was a male-only right to claim multiple wives, there is not a word of gender specificity.

So, not only do I have multiple wives but many of my wives have multiple husbands.

Keeps our business and personal calendars rather full.

Or, as we say around here, “Cha d’dhùin doras nach d’fhosgail doras.” [No door closed without another opening]

I’ve been rambling on again, ‘aven’t I?  Well, that’s the curse of old age, I’m afraid.  Bua na cainte.

Well, I better be getting along to me next meetin’.  I’ve a few gambling debts to call in before me competitors try to buy their way into some of my wives’ husbands’ wives’ in-laws’ line of work and who might decide they can get better rates from someone else besides me business partners, if they listen to the silk tongues of my competitors’ spouses wantin’ a little extra income to support their expensive lifestyles.

Every executive order has its downside, does it not?