(no subject)
Lately the distant throb of the tom-toms has been drowned by an ominous tinkle, a dread and fleet-approaching threnody that can only be described as jingling. The Bewildered have heard it: a pernicious echo that invades even our sylvan bedlam, threatening the imminent sacrifice of our familiar savage laws to a hoary idol of civilization. Grab a fruitcake tin and gird your loins, warriors: the holidays are invading the love jungle, and they're not taking any prisoners.