No Matter Which Sex I Went To

During The Feminist Seventies Men Were Caught Between A Rock And A Hard-on; In The Fathering Eighties They Are Caught Between Good Hugs And Bad Hugs.

Each Time A Mediocre Singer Performs, He Is Saying, In Effect, "this Is Good Enough For You." The Audience, Thrust Into That Familiar American Mood Of Knowing Something Is Wrong But Not Knowing What It Is, Unconsciously Absorbs The Insult And Projects It Back Onto The Mediocre Performer In The Form Of Inattention, Rudeness And Noise.

The Joker In The Deck Of Lesbian Fidelity Is Female Vanity: No Woman Of Fifty Is Going To Undress In Front Of A Woman Of Twenty No Matter How Much She Might Lust For Her.

Familiarity Breeds Democracry.

To Me, Elitism Means A Love Of Excellence And Superiority, But America Has Declared War On Both And Developed A Sick Love Of The Lowest Common Denominator To Make Sure No-one Becomes Too Fine For Our Touted Democracy. We Are Almost At The Point Of Regarding Every Virtue As Elitist.