You are a member of the classics. Two top of this world: Flavor Flav, James Joyce. Sentences bit by bit, a knife buried somewhere. “British Beatitudes!…Beer, beef, business, bibles, bulldogs, battleships, buggery and bishops” can only be read precise after the know: “Peter perfect pimped a perfect peter. Honey dripper – sucker sipper – big dipper – sucker dipper. Drippin suckers like its goin out-a-style.” You are what you eat the FDA approves, don’t read. Buy. Brand name. “I think ya hungry, cause ya starvin fa flavor. Flavor most, put it on toast. Eat it-en taste it en swallow it down. Imperial flavor gives you da crown. Of the king called flavor, da king of all flavors. Rolls an rolls an rolls life savers. Flavor flav is in everything ya eat cause everything ya eat got Flavor.” Subsidized, minimized, proliferized, normalized, ghettoized the food of flavor the epic of money or not: “Feast of Our Lady of Mount Carmel. Sweet name too: caramel. She knew I, I think she knew by the way she. If she had married she would have changed. I suppose they really were short of money. Fried everything in the best butter all the same. No lard for them. My heart’s broke eating dripping. They like buttering themselves in and out. Molly tasting it, her veil up. Sister? Pat Claffey, the pawnbroker’s daughter. It was a nun they say invented barbed wire.” Flavor as weapon, a modern as a classic: cold lampin’ with the odyssey. Put on some Public Enemy and read Ulysses. Membership has its rewards.