Vardy, you may have gotten away with it even here at the beginning of the Swan. But it was when the shot from the grassy knoll struck and you hit the ground with a such a dreadful THUD,

and then threw out your arm while in death throes and lacking voluntary muscle control,

Vardy, you can't act like him.

And then lay supine, both arms extended over your head, blood not yet gushing from the wound.

And then bounced up so miraculously, resurrected, appearing to have most of your primitive senses under control to confront the referee...

That you sort of gave yourself away.

Vardy, you are such a punkin-eater! You are such a faker-jaker. Liar, liar your underpants are in flames!