I had the WILDEST night in the fetid swamps of Hillary hate.

He believes that the bourgeois-behaving unit of meaning, a “meme” as some of the theorists call it, spreads strictly from parents to children, like eye color.

And Master Nathaniel’s pleached alley was growing yellower and yellower, and on the days when a thick white mist came rolling up from the Dapple it would be the only object in his garden that was not blurred and dimmed, and would look like a pair of gigantic golden compasses with which a demiurge is measuring chaos.

Besides, there was that foolish feeling of his that reality was not solid, and that facts were only plastic toys; or, rather, that they were poisonous plants, which you need not pluck unless you choose. And, even if you do pluck them, you can always fling them from you and leave them to wither on the ground.

My cowardice …, my weakness … seemed to – I don’t know how to put it! – seemed to take an actual shape in the darkness! I shall never forget it. The darkness glittered all about me. It was phosphorescent. Spurts and splashes of light, shootings and jettings of light and there I was in the middle of it … like a great black slug. It wasn’t a nightmare, for I was absolutely wide-awake; I wasn’t even sleepy. But I suddenly knew, when I felt myself to be that black slug, that I was grosser than other human beings. I knew that I had a dead nerve … an atrophied nerve … in me … where certain feelings ought to be.

Dr. Fell in this crafty manner took upon himself to outwit the malevolence of Hobbididance, the Demon of curst households. And so now he sat in his receiving room awaiting the forward-glide of events and reading the Enchiridion of Epictetus.

It didn’t take long before multiple obscure celebrities from the early-2000s were linked to the mystery.

He plays the character with a slight southern U.S. accent, and had initially wanted to ad-lib a catchphrase for the character feeling that all Star Trek captains should have one, coming up with “git'r done” which the writers turned down due to it being widely used and copyrighted by Larry the Cable Guy.

I tend to like restaurants where each entree is described by one or two dozen words of foodie-ish prose, with at least one participle per entree.

Part of the pleasure here comes from the narrator informing the reader of information previously left out and inquiries into clown activities that are often dryly humorous.