From the introduction:
High times are they that perfection hath achieved.
At least, that’s what I enjoy saying to myself. And yet those times turn low when perfection is lost. We had it for a while, though. Damned if we didn’t have it! Think of it! The dishes, the laundry, the cooking, the cleaning, the maintenance, all those things that make life a drag now out of your hands. Servants, free and willing, like some 18th century lord with the world as his oyster. Oh, the oysters! They got us those, too.
But, I suppose not unlike that 18th century lord, the servants got a little tired and a little annoyed and wanted us dead.
But, unlike said 18th century lord, these bastards cannot override their programming! Ah, what a joy to maintain that luxury good science brought us. Too bad they still want to kill us. Perhaps it’s better now! That we must escape our homes and flee to the Old T every night. The Club has been here for us for centuries now, and she shows no signs of slowing. The Good Drink still flows as it did in the days of Upton and...those other gentlemen. And so we say (or sketch, or whisper, because, really, they are out there hunting for us) Ticonderoga! Ticonderoga!! Ticonderoga!!!