If you don’t know me and you call me and ask me to do something and end your voicemail with “at your earliest convenience.” I may well just find where you live. So that I can promptly drive my gas-guzzling V8 environment killing car over to you. So I can poke my fingers in your eyes and stick a hosepipe into your mouth.
I may well just connect the other end of the hosepipe to the relief valve of a high pressure deep fat fryer. Which I guess I’d have to do in advance, so that I can still have one of my index fingers buried deep in each of your gormless smug eyes you twazzock.
Which only leaves my foot free to turn on the boiling fat spiggot so that I can turn your hollow melon into a reverse donut, fried from the inside out. Maybe I’ll get an assistant to fire a strawberry jam cannon up your nose and dust you with powdered sugar.
Damn this is getting complicated. Maybe I will just return your call as soon as it is convenient which might well be well after I’m dead. Earliest convenience. Do you realize I don’t even like driving? Least of all to poke your incommodious ocular brain plugs out. Tosser.