fig 12.) Without any judgement, it's just shit in the shape of a cock. "At first there's a bird house. Then a bee's hive and finally a short mountain steps up before the two gas stations come to view. In the wash room, there's an exam with many questions about, Poo." "Poo?" "Poo." Up above the streets, the chambers with swivel chairs are empty. He-Man's gone home for the night and Masters-at-Arms Guy waits with the clowns and other wig police. There's bright pills, even a few left on the table in a lumpy bag. Vote is printed on it's side, in blue with four bright stars. "Lumpy bag of toads is more like it," the Masters-at-Arms grumbles from his stool. "That's what's passing for goodly wig to wig talk these days," he mutters, breathing in and breathing out through his mouth. "The city has no qualms watching us as we go about our little spider-business. But cast a wide enough net and they...