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Show Acting Alone Page 40 around a TV in months. It All became clear for a moment, and he felt cocksure that his co-author here, born and bred among the farmers of the Moral Majority, would be familiar with the Book of Revelations; and Sam was used, in any case, to being around academic types who were willing to rub their soft beards appreciatively at pronouncements like the one he was making now. "America! America is the Whore! The Whore of Babyl -" Sam was across the living room. He'd landed behind the couch, and he was hanging upside-down, the backs of his knees fixed above his head by the pins in Spikey's mom's couch doilies. (No, not couch doilies. The correct term was antimacassars. Sam's brain went off somewhere and independently traced the more famous than interesting, and more interesting than useful etymology of antimacassar.) He was drinking and breathing his own lumpy blood, and his nose was pushed clear over next to his ear. There's something else you should know about Sam. He is a harelip - or, he has a harelip. ("If you have a freckle on your nose, you are not a freckle; you have a freckle," is the epigram his mom taught him as a baby; but sometimes the Imp called him The Harelip all the same.) You see, Sam had been formed not only emotionally-, but physically by purely Utahn things. The genealogical chaos of polygamy in tiny isolated communities inevitably spawns incest; and Sam's foetal genes had in any |