Oh no, we appear to be suffering from corpulent flatulence, this is entirely against the by laws of the club (assholes unanimous). I once had a dream about pay toilets : I walked up handed my rootclod to God, I went into the stall, I sat down and started to read the graffiti, "Em all" said one, and "Maelstrom chronicles" another, and "Will this all come up again tomorrow" This last was written on the handle, which when depressed revealed another little sign, "No" it said. "Thank you God" I said as I left the stall. "You're welcome buckwheat" He replied.
I will not forget my cheshire chiaroscuro. It allows me to argue the point without revealing my actual location.
As far as looking a little bit like little Amiel I like to think I can cagey get away with it.
As for all those hideously horrible, and awfully terrible faces, I sort of like the fact that they adamant vehemence are smiling at me.