These overwhelmingly male gatherings remind me of paparazzi flocks I’ve encountered. Like a reluctant celebrity, the Pallas’s “gropper” (twitchers have their own language, as well as paparazzi-style ripping yarns about this trip or that shot) was skulking in the bushes.

In a desperate attempt to impress Laura, Bart begins bathing and sashaying about in a smoking jacket while sucking thoughtfully on a bubble pipe as part of his new pint-sized Hef persona.

Sky was set above earth, land ringed with sea, / Chaos retired to its own vacancy ….

So you'd say that paedophilia is normal to a Paedophile and incest is normal to an incestophile? Murder is normal for a murderer, too, I suppose? So in the end, words have no meaning. For someone who has just produced incestophyle to then whine that words have no meaning is grotesque without being funny.