It’s dicks o’cock, dude. Time to be out there snaring the ladies in your web. This ain’t vaporware, not in our neck of the woods.
Spoiled childs in the plural. Married under a rapper. He spoke fluent gascon, down to the last polysyllabic soliloquy. She ran a hair salon, since before Samson met Delilah. Many a mung bean has gone to their just reward since those days. And god knows how many human bean got the same deal.
They came across a land lacking discipline and decorum, lost in raptures of grandiose techno-narcissism, broadcasting its twerked-up gangsta fantasies while it sucks finished goods from other lands in exchange for janky bonded debt. The people were sinking into a swamp of sexual excess, sexual preoccupation, sexual confusion, sexual recrimination, and sexual remorse. The one thing that none of the combatants can agree on is what might pass for sexual normality. The very notion would be taken for a war-cry.
Six bootblacks perform the separate steps of a shine.