Well! Fiddle-dee-dee! I do declare! The ever-so delicate Southern Gentleman from South Carolina is having what can only be described as a hissy fit. If you listen very carefully, you can hear the unmistakable sounds of Little Lindsey stomp-stomp-stomping his way down the terrazzo floors in the Halls of Congress. Click-click-click go the heels and toes of his high-gloss patent leather tap shoes. The shine is so bright you might overlook his color-coordinated ankle-high socks embroidered with his initials in the fold-down cuff. Everyone stops and watches as he storms past... fists clinched in rage with a little scowl on his face. Eventually he reaches his office and slams the door behind him with a level of force and strength that defies the meek appearance he has when wearing his short pants and matching waistcoat. It slams so loudly that it makes his chandeliers sway and his antique porcelain tea-set rattles on the table. Still, even with the door firmly closed, passers-by can hear the shrill shrieks emanating from behind the polished oak door... along with the unmistakable sounds of his glass figurines collection being thrown to the floor one by one. Why! Lordy, you never heard such a fuss! Someone needs to check on him before he snatches all the heads of the playthings in his toybox.