A gentleman such as oneself is apt to miss the comforts of the fairer sex when unjustly incarcerated by one's inferiors and one's good lady wife declines to pay a conjugal visit citing the discomforts of the unfashionable accomodations of the Bastille's prefabricated structure reserved for such assignations. In such circumstances, one's earthly desires must be satiated in the mind's eye as it soars over these dingy walls on the wings of imagination. An indispensible aid in just such periods of need are the images gracing the covers of the very latest volumes by those mischevious coquettes of conservatism, Ann Coulter and Laura Ingraham. Lo, as my co-incarcerated brethern in the yard might brutishly put it: Verily, would I tap tap that!
Sure, he may have been thrown out of the House of Lords for his various crimes, just as he was thrown out of Upper Canada College for stealing exams as a boy, but Lord Tubby of Fleet Street continues to demonstrate that as King of the Douchebags, he is still one of the world's true aristocrats.
And you know how I feel about aristocrats...