Raw Wounds: "Nuthin says lovin like simpin' for the coven."

They all came to hear Brocrates, and Paulcibiades lay at his feet, trying to appear beautiful.

"Thou art fair" he said.

"We may all have to cover you so nothing unusual happens.  Dogpile."

Spermlord and Assmaster, Spermlord looking like a character from a Brian DePalma movie("I'm Benny Blanco!"), had their annotations, and revealed a noxious odor from some of the commentary crew.

Had he been drinking?  Heavy drugs?

They were all about the art and telling of new things, and they even let the Apostle Paul speak to them, for they were good for a story, the hearing of something new.  Regal moments of bliss, stealing a moment and so forth.  "Put em in a box and see who rises to the top."

"A man is a featherless biped."

And Kevin, just like Brocrates, walked in with a plucked chicken and said, "behold a man."

Alcibiades trumped his own purity, anal virginity, his natural fluting, how he made pleasant sounds in the Avis shitbox Malibu.

Reasonable people would just light it up and leave it beside the road, like some of ours do, but Brocrates was, too, about the natural classification and questioning of things.