There are no tigers anymore. No tigers. There is a tiger with me now. He is a useful tiger. My tiger, I call him, and, for me, he eats up everything that is around me that I don't like. Which is some days almost everything except the air; and on other days includes that foul stinking air. My tiger would eat ME up, which would be to my delight, but for a paradox which reason cannot resolve. He is my creation, my tiger, and the weather cannot, except in a symbolic sense, destroy the day.
Going back to Koch is like listening to Louis Armstrong or something. Just clears away the cobwebs and blogwebs and delivers energy like an energy drink. Or several energy drinks. Works for me anyway.