Is a word I use often but I do not mean it. Nothing is understood. I stood under nothing with respect to what you just explained to me. If I stood under your beliefs it would imply I supported them or advocated their merits and existence but this is not necessarily true. I know what you mean but I don’t have to understand. This feels like a birthing concept, a discussion with self that slices through flesh and stinks up an otherwise respectable establishment with a bucket of unwanted responsibility. Why is this making my cock hard? When did that kind of tension reach me at this particular location? I just ate a pear like I was performing cunninlingus on it. I have no fantasies about actually consuming a woman in that manner, but this particular peach was eminently slatherable. I cannot slather here. This is a slather-free zone, per corporate directive and illustrative handouts passed around daily. No slathering, no tongue-wagging, no crotch-adjusting, no bralessness, no shirtless lunching, no smearing of cheeseburger grease and detritus upon your face or disorderly coordinates. None of that. How am I or any reasonable feral beast expected to simply stand under all of this? I don’t much care about the technical explanation for why thi sisn’t working. I just want to know where the dead dance with the debaucherous and the dandies drink with the doomed. Get me two of each of those and I’ll drive the tawdry tribe to the tiny tundra of tomorrow, where bushy Hazels from everyone’s youths rush to answer endlessly ringing churchbells. “Oh, boy!” groans an unrequited cog seated disproportionally in the corporate triumph zone. Nothing is understood. Nothing.