Have you ever asked yourself what would happen to a trifling quote
from the now obsolete phone book if, after years of practising being sullen
(while baking flatbread in residual heat, which is a different matter entirely),
he were accused of condescension simply because of a garrulous sentence
that he dared to ridicule? Perhaps he recalls the fourth mystic ape, the one
covering his crotch, but where’s the fun in that? Nothing beats casual trolling,
after all, in the temple of tadpole literature.
hidden pilcrow 