Elephant Limbs

If I said I was forthright, would you hold yours against mine? And so poses a thousand bleeding hearts from their respective pepper clubs, each with that long look of pale, sexless yearn. Get Out There, you scream, waving pantomime pelvis and hazarding Nothing-To-Lose — May As Well Try, the latter said with even more exclamation,--- But do they listen? Of course. Do they heed? Of course not. You throw hands, smash fists, and turn backs (yours), then stamp, like their collections, on out a there. They gaze at swung (and swinging) door, with a long look of sexless , pale resentment and self-pits, and then return to backwarding a course to the womb.

Even a stampede of their collective amounts only to quiet, inoffensive complaint. What hope? Who knows. Am I getting a forkful of compensation? Of — course. You know, I sat with the old girl last night, and asked for advice (hers), and she said — Dear, I fear I'm no help here: (yes, in rhyme!),--- and simply returned volley to her cross words. That almost, in itself, gave me the answer. So in the next, I informed them that they were so utterly hopeless, not even I could do a thing, and stomped off the grounds: One of my finer performances. 'Course, must be admitted that this didn't exactly achieve the desired effect, or indeed any effect, desired or not, but you can't accurately say I didn't try.