Justice in blowtorches. Childhood sweethearts lose their virginity at the front line of a gang war. Bullets and semen shake your hand at the 5:30 traffic jam. Stuck just as planned! Every doomsday plot is hatched at a red light. Cubicle villains write a series of manifestos entitled Erotica for Fecalpheliacs. The pages line cribs of future strippers and street walkers, bred to imperfection. No sympathy shown to babies baptized at whorehouses. Place bullet casings in their rattles, tie a paper noose on the swing. Little boys make their first dollars with lemonade laundering. Little girls get their first kisses under a roofy's influence. This is our future. An orgy of lepers dehydrating under an exploding sun.