Snowball had found in the harness-room an old green tablecloth of Mrs. Jones's and had painted on it a hoof and a horn in white. This was run up the flagstaff in the farmhouse garden every Sunday morning.

And now he is an initiate in the sect of the clean-shaven cuntboy.

He was so angry, like.

I'm sure that some women would be charmed listening to strangers babble about their crotchdroppings, but wouldn't most of them be watching Kathie Lee Gifford or home shopping or something?