[…] I am not your king / Till I be crown’d and that my sword be stain’d / With heart-blood of the house of Lancaster; […]
That shit-for-brains assistant of mine lost my files again.
Increasingly, it is through these media-anointed mediocrats — Reverend Al Sharpton for New York's black dispossessed microculture, to cite one example — that microcultures talk to one another.
Some leave the field of play for a while to come back mostly for the big ticket moments.
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