Call me Ishmael. I sit by the kerb undressing all your daughters. I mean them no harm. It's all in my mind. They told me I have a very fertile mind. I would kill you if I knew that you were doing the same. Will you be surprised if I tell you that I am not Ishmael? I am not him. I wanted to be his friend. But I had to kill him. Because I knew what he was thinking.
All the rants and raves from a brain that has endured decades of anthropological abuse.
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