So it's my birthday in Mississippi and my anthropologist buddy, Jacob, is talking to me about linguistics and digging up human bones as a life-long profession, and I presently get the sense that the dame we're talking to has secretly decided that we're bad news (since I've openly described myself as a Democrat) and then Jacob sez' to me,
"So, where were we?"
"Oh, we were saying something like 'Human beings don't know Shit from Shinola.'"
"That's right! ...err Hey, watch out with that drink out here. We don't want no trouble from the Boys in Blue."
"...Gotcha': I guess we're looking out for Monsieur Po-po?"
"Yep. At any rate, it looks like we've Agreed to disagree about Disagreeing."
A raucous erupts from the bar as the blues band steps outside for cigarettes. Cars honking. The smell of BBQ and Budweiser. Your typical Oxford nightlife confusion.
"Nope. I'd have to disagree."