Alas, poor Yorick!--I knew him, Horatio; a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kiss'd I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen? Now, get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come; make her laugh at that.--Pr'ythee, Horatio, tell me one thing.
That might help with your sililoquyesent woes, though one never knows. On a side note, I usually see a similar coatrack shaped thing in the morning, at about 9am EST, in the general shape of Echo. On occasion it'll actually be that well known figure, but generally it's something else, with all the charm and character of a wet sock.
