COLLECTIVE MEMORY
I stepped on my scrotum this morning. Well, not actually but the geezer balls jokes are accurate. It's also true that you can't remember when their regular at rest shape was as if they were soaked in cold water. Some comedy writer hit the spot about testicular growth by saying "one ball is so big it's like having a third ball". The solution? Collective memory. Ask a past intimate to describe the boys circa the 80s/90s or better yet, use that collaboration to convince you that the collective is where it's at. Today it goes "you remember all the _______stuff and I'll remember the _____ and we'll get to nirvana 'afore ye".

So nuance says "you can say pussy willow but you can't say pussy riot without inferring the cooch". It says that you are being controlled, not just guided. You must widen your vista and cream on the colors. The down side of collective memory is the taint from the "paid to say this" crowd. Trust but verify. More verify than trust. Shilling is next to godliness but exaltations stretch the pant leg seam. I exalt because concealed ecstasy lets in grandstanding proclamations.

The epilogue doesn't fail because there's no happy ending. It shoulders the blame for monastic mornings and Playboys without centerfolds. All good, maybe just a tad flaccid.