[HettyTheHarelip]

Tate, oozing elan and bon-homie since the departure of the Mother of Lies
and her two leprous imps (Nancy in an eviction outfit that would have secured
her either a prime touting spot in Amsterdam's red light district or a place
right next to the milking machine alongside the other cows with
bared udders waiting to be serviced, and Sam the Sham with a face like a crushed Hillman Avenger and a voice bursting with downmarket affectation and the whining that defines the little skit) has metamorphosed from a silent, grim bible student into a happy, exuberant and even boisterous joie-de-vivre convert, letting it all hang out since the demise of the unholy triumvirate, the
apostles of doom, the soon to be forgotten notes on the foot of BB
obscurity.