Silver Bullet

Ocassionally I'm seduced by the notion that I am an enlightened, lofty, noble man. My heightened sense of self rarely survives a trip to the store. A magnificent pair of breasts is all it takes to precipitate my fall back to the world of regular men. They turn me into a hairy, howling monster. Books, ideas, and art are no match; they never stood a chance.

I am base, ignoble and common. You win, Universe.

No one escapes the clutches of biology, but what great clutches to be held by.

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