I smack my lips, elixir rolling in my belly like molten gold. I ditch the empty bottle. Stretch my hungry muscles, pop my neck, crack! I feel … odd, as if my skin don’t fit proper. That shiny pink hellbrew is playing merry bugfuck with me, my friends, and I won’t stand for it.

[…] sawce which is good for the Goose, I hope will be good for the Gander […]]

Of every wit somewhat he can Out-take that him lacketh rule, His own estate to guide and rule; How so it stood of his speaking, He was not wise in his doing;

That is the woman whom I spoke to earlier. (defining)