"My dear," says Ezekiel, "we should rejoice that our merry little band is blessed with so much love..."
And with that, he kisses her.
She loves the feel of his two tongues in her mouth. "Ahhh, it's funny," she thinks, "how his mutations are like his true self - subtle and sensual, and vaguely sinister. Yes, his mutations. Ahh. Mutations?! There I go again. His Specialness. Mutations! Using the language of our oppressors! But how can anyone oppress us? And why would anyone want to oppress us? They call us different. I call us special. Special. Just look at Bobbit."
"Your mind seems elsewhere, my dear," says Ezekiel.
"No, no," whispers Mariander, "but... O look! There's Bobbit!"
"And over there - there's Bryon. Looks like he's drooling again."
"And the Dwarves. Oh, I can never remember all of their names."
"Ah, but, there's Carmine and Randy."
"Sabrina."
"And Greg is in the mud again. At least it's not Tomatoes again!"
"Mannfred and shy Frevor."
"Gwenda, Rheinhart and Scuff. But I can barely see him..."
"And those two. I know you don't want to hear how I don't trust them and their promises. And after all we did for them. Well, him. I don't trust him. I don't believe he is who he claims to be. Astronaut Winston Peters! I don't think that's his real identity! And did you see how he treats Lemmy?! Lemmy is like one of us! He should..."
"...what was that?!..."
