Jimminy cricket

Then one afternoon he pounced on me and before one could say Jack Robinson his hand was in my shirt. He was so strong! I struggled but his hand kept fishing about in my bra. Then I suddenly thought, “Oh jimminy cricket, what the hell” and gave up the struggle. It was extraordinary, the feeling.

“I have been trapped in the bottle for ages. You have released me so you are my master.” / “Golly, Barbara will never believe this,” the man said. “Wish I had my camera.” / “Your wish is my command,” the genie said, and a camera appeared in the man’s hand.” / “Jimminy cricket,” the man said, “how’d you do that?”

As Don says of the fallout of the slavery-cotton South, “This system is like you break a man’s leg, then you blame him for limping. Why don’t you just walk like me? Jimminy cricket, you can’t keep up? You know, you deliberately broke my leg, and now you’ve forgotten that. You seem to have forgotten that you are responsible for the condition that causes me to limp.”