"Don't become a bastard, a corpse, a cunt, a creep, a cockoid, a cuckold, a cream of the nation moratorium on everything bountiful and beautiful and buxom and bliss," Ms. A was playing with his language-erection just to see how far it would go before spewing more semiotic feedback, "don't become dutifully gone in the nether regions of the flux's final flow, don't empty all your marbles out here in this crucial phase-space, this phase-fuck, dig it Abe, I'm phase-fucking you, fucking you right in the phase, you phase-fuck me and I'll phase-fuck you, we'll trade phase-fucks, like jazz, the hotbox of digital circuitry aligning itself with the freaky-deaky stars, the pebble eyes of the super-Buddha watching himself ram his big Buddah cock all up inside me, fantasy island, improvising all that drippy word-ooze into the cool dark space of nature's all-too-human simpatico-motherfucker, dig what I'm saying Abe?, we're alive here, stuck in the jism of a sim-fucking-city..."