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epitome of incomprehensibility
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O Heav'nly Muse, what the hell? If a miniature John Milton appears in my dream, do I have to be tempted to fondle his/her breasts?
It starts in the club room of an unidentified college, with me and a younger, chubbier, male opponent in a debate. I'm a more reasoned speaker, but he's more stylish. When he thinks I'm getting the edge over him, he pulls out his trump card: he can reincarnate the soul of John Milton in a ceramic figurine. The figurine he's holding happens to be a naked cream-coloured woman. He says it's aesthetic, that it's supposed to represent naked justice, but I'm skeptical.
He, or she (the voice is definitely feminine), starts paraphrasing his/her Areopagitica - the 1664 essay against censorship of writing - and my opponent starts nodding smugly as if to say, "Yup, yup, what's up with that?" like a hypothetical kid from the 90s.
However, there's no guarantee that the nude John Milton figurine represents his side of the argument. I agree with his argument, I'm thinking, and I've read Areopagitica whereas he probably hasn't, so I reach over and pick Milton up. S/he isn't very heavy, and s/he ignores my appropriation of his/her person and argument. Now I'm thinking I'll probably never have the chance to do what I'm about to do ever again, so I reach up with two of my fingers and run them over Milton's breasts. Again, s/he doesn't react, but the boy gets annoyed and calls me a hypocrite. So I put miniature Milton down and the debate ends in a tie.
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