Chapter 20

We rejoin our contafulous pair in the most pear-like of circumstances: enhanced by a nuclear cruiser, they hang by the merest sliver of repugnance from a basket of large cherry droppings, put expressly upon a razor blade for their own entrapment by Mr. Tweed.  (Ah, Mr. Tween … captor of nations, Magenschmerz of all vibrations, redeemer of the vile, emperor of the undressed, undeserving utterer of the underserved, main waiter at the Café Tom on East 14th St., vast and ultimate power of gasoline fumes, etc.)  (Not THAT Mister Preen, you fool!)  The situation, as you can well imagine, my friends, is desperate.  They have no need of regret, no remorse courses through their pale brains, for they know that their lives have been suffused with Pig Latin, the Other White Language — and yet … and yet there is a hint of trouble in Willina’s pinkish eyes.  She reaches over to Pubert — she begins to breathe into his ear — she recoils at the smell and thinks better of it — now she thinks worse again — oh for Ghots sake will you finish this fuckin episode once and for all??  To shorten this appendectomy, let’s get right down to it:

1. Take scissors in right paw and approach the subject.

2. Calm down the audience by pretending to relate all knowledge to your own field of competence.

3. Plunge in, wearing nostril clips if at all possible.

4.  For the mathematically minded: for all x such that x belongs to B and does not belong to me, if and only if he took his car to the office this morning, and if and only if this is not the negation of discomfort, then repeat as necessary until infinity pops.

5. And so on.