"truthfully distasteful!" the words rolled off Mrs. Reichenbaum's tongue with lissome bliss. "the bastards are out toting some new found debauchery as if it were Jesus on a tree again. Oh Lord, deliver them they know not what they do!" she said in a trebling and disquieted voice.

dont take it so seriously isabelle. honestly, if i must ill indulge to condemn your ever so fervent condemnation to just living. its cause you fear the ground. you fear your bottom sores will swallow you whole." Peter recanted. Peter was a rogue visionary off at war with his alter ego and the chemicals young men run into at 17. the ever increasing concentration of testosterone and the regimen of recreational drugs. spurious was all conversation. he feared only arthur.

"Damnit Peter, cant you see she's having an episode. learn to bite your tongue or bite it off all together. can you spare us a sliver of etiquette just this once. just this once!" Arthur reproached.

the Reichenbaums were a terribly curious family, dwelling often on the fringes of lunacy, walking the precarious line of the outersouth. but it was that foreign texture that made them the indelible collective darling to detest. for they were a crapulous cabal of sheer ingenuity, Arthur a pioneering neurosurgeon, and Isabelle a eminent avant-garde artist. Who should think their children would not be abhorred for their battery of finely balanced genes--a thing to die for.