A certain stickiness pervades the atmosphere in the wake of the Comstockian Orgy this morning. Somewhere, America lies on a sweat-stained mattress, smoking a cigarette and contemplating what the pundits and the pruderiffic buffronters and buffrontatrices have done to it.
In the bathroom of the Collective Obnoxious, the tinny sound of pressurized water droplets striking tile [...]



















