We love this intimation we sometimes get, that we're separated from the real us, who is clothed in glory, and the real you, who is likewise clothed in glory, and that one day whatever wall it is that separates us from ourselves will come down, down it goes, and there we'll be, all of us, together with our true selves at last, and it will be so fucking brilliant and lovely it won't matter whether we're in Heaven or just safe in the grave, dead.
What kind of a song is that, Chin Up Chin Up? It isn't a very respectful song title, is it, Chin Up Chin Up? And Le Capitaine Fantastique (as he's known in certain foreign lands) both expects and receives respect, capiche? Are you hearing us, Chin Up Chin Up? There are only two things we take seriously, and EJ (stands for Electrifying Jenius!) and "Taupin" (wordsmith, bard) are both of them! So here's what you're going to do. You're going to record and release a follow-up called "We Apologize, Elton John" by this time next week. And Chin Up Chin Up? This time, try to make the song funny. Got that?
oh, now you've done it. you've unleashed the fookin' fury!
Lets himself be outwitted by a ploy as obvious, and as easily circumvented, as a modern approved sanitary privy? Obviously the flies of the 1930s were stupider than today's modern, educated flies. Much bigger, too.