I’d like to ask a few questions before anybody gets ravished. Those claws of yours—have they grown much since the days of yore? And that beak? Maybe mad dogs and Englishmen are apocryphal, but one can’t help wondering about other crazies, salamanders for instance, or high-temperature bacteria. Not to mention bodybuilding castrati with voices like angels and feathers to match. Leda, for one, did not take kindly to the swan’s attentions, although one egg must have been a relief to lay, what with such a pretty girl inside, pounding down her shell, ready to party. And then there’s the way you lord it over your diversions, like a dog in false pregnancy. It’s all well and good to talk of process, but some of us are interested in results.
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