So many times have I watched a Joe Montana thumb his nose at the odds; and with literally seconds to go, drive his team down as if the opposition wasn't even there, to cross the goaline and reach into the juicy folds of a fat 17 year old hooker with the words "Thunderdome: Two come in one comes out" tattoed over her cooch.  And watch in bewilderment as the machinations of the diabolical 21st century slave traders stoke their booty with the blood money of a 6 billion dying orphans.  "Wait a second" says the spectre, can't I get fries with that?  And so the only complaint that makes any sense is no complaint.  You felt guilty and so like any other caged bird you decided to free your brains from the prissy strictures of the leadership role of the nervous system...and now, all it takes to rule you is to lightly tap on your more visceral senses.  "That's cold," you grouse.  "That makes me tired and angry," you bellow.  Your most divine incarnation is the easy chair.  As I die, I laugh at you.