He's got bottle

I indulged in an unprecedented act of small-scale but wanton violence yesterday. This involved, unexpectedly for hurler and hurlee, a translation of intent into action. In a sign of the artificial times we live, false gods such as I have been reduced to slinging plastic projectiles across the room when sufficiently agitated. Thor would have snorted at us new-age namby-pambies.

The origins of the episode are unimportant, but remorse followed instantly after the flight of the almost-empty decanter which had made rendezvous with the forehead of Roaming Panda. I was hoping to explain it away using the tagline of his latest tee-shirt, but there were eye-witnesses.

So what has changed in my ecosystem after this attack of unreasonable proportions? Do the denizens of my lab cower in fear at my every step, avoiding eye-contact, and wearing ISI-mark helmets? You can guess the answer.