That's all fake noose, but that's old news to me. Indeed, you're on fire with those arms of yours, but I'm afraid you're the one about to be roasted!
Now, any nous is good nous, and you'd be better off producing some so you can keep your wits about you. Otherwise, you'll be dusted off like tiny pieces heaped into a work of motes-art and swept up by a brume of bad punnery, no (dead)pan required. Best you stay bach, or my wolves, with their fur-elise, will keep you at bay-thoven, sonata thing you can do about it!
Okay, that last one was dreadful, near suicidal. Best we talk like Victorian gentlemen over tea and crumpets and discuss Anglo imperialism or some such matter?