now put the knife back. didnt you read the one about the youth who ate the blue-black-lead-blue washington bullet? if this is the cream of the crop, its time to start burning some fields. years past, stop gap, too little yield. decline? make me. no cognoscenti can stab critique in the back for making me cognizant. the scissor blades can spin another twelve hours, then were taking your medicine. you can make believe, enfant terrible. the secrets out: you wet the bed to fertilize your list of names, bouquets, and passing interests. please. put the knife back in the medicine cabinet.