I accept this challenge!  My contribution, a poem.

You might say, "I strongly suspect, given common sense and the evidence of my senses."

Church is however a wonderful place to go to hear what mischief the Vicar has been up to.  And sometimes there are jolly good biscuits.

I assure you my husband, though comatose, still draws breath.  Somewhat laboured perhaps, and interspersed with moans and alarming moments of vivid clarity, but respiration nonetheless.  Besides which, the butler has orders forbidding any pies on the estate, so put all such mischief from your mind.

The sincerest form of flattery.

And so I am, thanks in no small part to your encouragement.  But what is this you say, a dispatch concerning that wonderful production 'Community'?  At once I shall open a second viewing portal and examine the story… although the mention of a "hiatus" gives me pause…

Oh, I am about.  Of late I have been content merely to peruse.  Domestic affairs consume ever-more of my waking hours, and the antiquity of my electro-communicative apparatus makes communication to your era a wearisome chore.  And yes, fine, I do admit that I did strike my head as well.
As for the good Mr. Gervais, I…

Hear hear!  Allow minor displays of public affection and every nearby puritan will be overcome with the crippling revulsion you describe.  It is best that we all structure our lives so that we give no offence whatsoever to the most argumentative, disagreeable and easily offended of those among us.

…

Fist..?  Oh, you mean the sewing pattern.  Yes, that is better done in one's sun room.

Employ a severe tone, as though you suspect them of the self-same behaviour that has so troubled you, and then apply harsh punishments virtually at random for two weeks.

A wonderful poem, you darling little moppet.

How ludicrous!  Are women now to be chastised for showing a simple gesture of affection?  Why, if such is the case, then I will quickly be likewise condemned, for I cannot think of an occasion when I encountered my dear and somewhat feckless cousin Winnifred without her throwing her arms about me and, by dint of sheer…

Provably, they are not.

Those who admire and respect the literary works of Stephen King, I would suppose.

Kindly speak for yourself, good sir.

Hmm, yes.

They will surprise you, the Irish.

Many men have a voice, call it conscience, call it the angel of your better nature, call it what you will, but an internal voice which intervenes before words are spoken or letters written.  "Wait," this voice urges, "consider what it is you have said.  Have you just through inadvertence revealed yourself to be a…

Good for you, sir!  A true gentleman acquits themselves with pluck and good common sense, not a firearm.  But look at me, lecturing a colonial on weapon ownership.