You and your landscaper, dull swinkerer, toiler and tiller of earth (though of the Chosen he be), deserve each other, you minimus, you malign pragmatist, YOU VERITABLE MONSTROSITY OF HEART, MIND AND FLESH! You claim he's but a casual lay. But, I ask, why do you surrender to him so cheaply what I have purchased so dearly? Mine is the nobler mind ("freakishly intelligent" you once called me), and yet it was the eminently eligible hecatomb for your base freedom, defined narrowly by sex. Unfettered, you fetter yourself even more tightly to the perverse imperatives of the Culture Industry -- fuck whom thou wilt is the whole of the law. Lover as accessory, as lifestyle accoutrement.
How, though, does he manage to adorn you better than me, whose soul is as heavenly as his is humous? Gather ye slopjaw while you may, for you two are as uncaringly, unsparingly lustful as any swine that fuck, shit and eat in the same wallow.
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