The Unofficial Professor F J Lewis Appreciation Thread

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He is on the phone, crying. Leave him for a bit. Don't stop him.

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See that Jabba the Hut? He never needed the phone when he was losing. If you had more composure you could be like him, but all you emulated was his physique.
That's you when you were slim, that is.

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"...That's from the original material if I'm not mistaken..."
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It is. I don't think CannonFodder grasps how this all works. He should learn a bit then come back.

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"...You are, for once, correct in that I am on the phone...."
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I am always correct, I am Professor Lewis.

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I do indeed. I have told you before, but you always forget.

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See a doddering tramp, his grubby hands outstretched for a few pennies while he surreptitiously guards a scuffed bottle of White Lightning behind his crooked legs? See his divergent gaze, no doubt made even less sharp than usual by the vapours of this cheap alcohol? See the lack of focus and incomplete faculties of this sorry example of an upright species?
That's your future, that is.
That's what you will become if you study hard and improve yourself, but even then you'll not get any coins from passers-by because you will be recognised as the runner-up in all the debates on History Today.
A runner-up in a contest of two.

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"...
Do you see the posts made by CannonFodder? That represents a third contestant..."
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Well, if you a align yourself to futile attempts to participate of that quality, then I understand how you associate with that so-called contestant. Overall I would say that you are easily influenced and prone to lapsing into visual communication, perhaps a throw-back to your neanderthal heritage. It tends to happen when you are at a loss for words, which is often.
You are a man who is best suited to scrawling chalk figures on the inside of the deepest darkest caves, where no civilised man would find them and thereafter waste precious resources trying to decipher them, only to realise that it is pictorial record of your sexual triumphs involving the local fauna (and sometimes flora).
When participating in an adult debate, and hearing an unintelligible gurgle from an infant on its mother's lap in the audience, it does you no credit to draw on that as a sign of support. The input of a braying donkey caught in a quagmire is more valuable as a third contestant.
But, if you must align yourself with the donkey, I can't stop you.  

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"...And the unfortunate woman in question, denied even the basic dignity of a common burial so that you can enjoy an effete mockery of sexual relation with a female, that's your Mum, that is..."
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I note you are jealous of her beauty. I can't stop you. Your mother would have been hastily entombed, with no fear of any necrophilia at all. Nobody would want the mother of the runner-up.
They would want the mother of Professor F J Lewis himself, the very man with whom you are now attempting to communicate!

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See a weasel of a man, curb-crawling in a beat-up Volkswagen Beatle, his hair moussed back and his eyes roving the pavements incessantly? See that ill-fitting hubcap from which exudes a foul stench, the source of which is a raw haddock, placed within that hubcap by this nefarious curb-crawler? See the smug look on the driver's face as he believes the wafting odour of rotting haddock will attract the ladies of the night to him and his vehicle?
That's you, that is.
That's your best attempt at finding a girl-friend.

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@ karlos

See a furtive old man with a nit-ridden moustache and a leery eye, wearing a 1930s tweed jacket and plus-fours, beyond repair and devoid of style? See how he tries to be inconspicuous while he sidles up to a parked pink bicycle and looks around nervously to see if anyone is watching? Note how nefarious he looks, just as all other sneeble-greebers do as he applies his olfactory senses to the seat of said bicycle?
That's you, that is.
That's as close as you will ever be to finding your mate.
Except you made a blunder as usual and it is CannonFodder's bicycle, but you wouldn't know the difference.
Mind you, judging by how you fawn over him, perhaps you did know it was his bicycle because he led you to it.

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Ja it is strange, I thought there would be more takers.
Where are they?

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"...I've wet myself numerous times from laughter. Unfortunately, my feeble language skills have let me down somewhat, hence my participation thus far has been that of a mere spectator..."
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See a solid steel wrecking ball, 2 metres across and weighing more than 1 tonne? Do you see that, sir?
That's your language skills, that is.
Which is far better than CannonFodder's, which is the tiniest grain of flour, not worth even a weevil's contemplation.
You cannot do worse than him even if you are anaesthetised.
That's the truth, that is.

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I tell the audience one thing though, and I tell the audience verily: if there is one thing worth scoffing at, it is a sneeble-greeber.
Especially when the sneeble being greebed is attached to a pink bicycle with a basket on the front and Barbie doll decals on the side.
That's scoff-worthy, that is.
That's the source of much ridicule, indeed.

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Hah!!
That's me scoffing at all of you, that is.

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I have seen such a specimen before, in the collected works of Charles Darwin.
I did not know such specimens were still to be found.
That's your girlfriend, that is.
Lured to your house by a piece of rotting haddock towed behind a VW Beatle.

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I have seen those pants, yes.