...their master... was no ad for anybody but the most arcane Black Power, he was an old prince of a witch doctor—insult him at your peril—but the other ten musicians with their trumpets and snares and assorted brass would prove no pull for Nixon on TV with any Black votes watching, for they were old and meek, naught but elderly Black Southern musicians, a veritable Ganges of Uncle Toms. They had disappeared with Tom Swift and Little Lord Fauntleroy.

The riot sometimes spills over into the audience, and Kosky bears the proud scars of the booings he has endured.

Uhm, in the that last post I forgot to specify that in the second paragraph, I was refering to the hole being opened and Xander being on an insano power trip in the second season ender, Becoming part 2, I believe.

And they do not resemble English storms, but rather Arctic ones, in a certain very suggestive something of personalness, and a carousing malice, and a Tartarus gloom, which I cannot quite describe.