Two sensations that remain married in my
mouth: the delectable shock of the first kiss and the first oyster.
Every parade is asking to be rained on.
The best sex is always close to comedy. Within minutes, seconds, an ominous iceberg
melts to a tiny puddle, a drawbridge slaps down on a fort that’s become a
bouncy castle, rectitude vanishes, high moral ground hasn’t a hope.
The gods are born jealous, and will always
be shrill and demanding as colicky babies. Attempting to dress them in the
grown-up clothes of The Enlightenment always looks silly.
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