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by Philip Hughes Just any random worn ecdysiast for the superannuated waxwork crowd will do, and does brave pantomimic ruts preposterous, no less redemptive of sclerotic lust through carnal shifts well met by reverential gapes, myopic leers, both strutting queen emerita and truants lately cautioned from cardiovascular exigence, beguiled by old, bold, honored moves, inflammatory once, yet never more acclaimed by ceremonied sentiment, applause, and waitabit, encore! |