Tracy & Hepburn: pure nostalgia.
Big Iron: not so much.

It was a drowsy, overcast afternoon as I checked out the gams and gigahertz looking back at me from the only decent chair in the office that hadn’t had my tukus warming it since the crack of noon, and I straightened my tie as an excuse to check for any clues as to the nature of my lunch cuisine while I contemplated which would give me more trouble: the Dame or the Dell - and could I manage to keep a straight face if she says her name is “Meg”, because a smokin’ hot redhead has always turned into 50 Kilos of trouble I could never say no to, and her keyboard was lookin’ mighty sexy in black as she opened the case, and the laptop, with the flick of her wrist and a cloud of ash that dropped to what passed for my carpet like a bad omen smeared into the text of a dozen bad detective stories, none of which had ever bothered to get my name right…

V1.3

It was a drowsy, overcast afternoon as I checked out the gams and gigahertz looking back at me from the only decent chair in the office that hadn’t had my tukus warming it since the crack of noon, and I straightened my tie as an excuse to check for any clues as to the nature of my lunch cuisine while I contemplated which would give me more trouble: the Dame or the Dell - and would my poker face hold up if she says her name is “Megs”, because it’s a sure bet that a smokin’ hot redhead has always turned into 50 kilos of trouble I never could say no to, and even her keyboard was lookin’ mighty sexy in black as she opened the case, and the laptop, with a flick of her wrist and a cloud of ash that dropped to what passed for my carpet like an ill omen sprinkled through the text of a dozen bad detective stories, none of which had ever bothered to get my name right…