Foꝛ nothing is ſecret, that ſhall not be made manifeſt: neither any thing hid, that ſhall not be knowen, and come abꝛoad.

Can time, with its corroding tooth, obliterate from the midst of that patriotic band of braves who have been annually drawn up in battle array, by asinine commandants and their plumed and chapeaued subalterns, the hallowed associations of the “Big Muster?”

I just wanted to say this much, for, though dangerous to dwell on in a common way, it seems to me just the sort of help which one's infirmity might need and thankfully receive when the sense of being calumniated comes overbitterly upon us.

As a man who can best be described as a grower not a shower, I helped Brent realize that many people in the gay community are concerned in a very adolescent way with their dick size, including me.