and flick it at the man of their choice. . . . Religious fanatics harangue the crowd from helicopters and rain stone tablets on their heads, inscribed with meaningless messages. . . . Leopard Men tear people to pieces with iron claws, coughing and grunting. . . . Kwakiutl Canni­bal Society initiates bite off noses and ears. . . .A coprophage calls for a plate, shits on it and eats the shit, exclaiming, “Mmmm, that’s my rich substance.”A battalion of rampant bores prowls the streets and hotel lobbies in search of victims. An intellectual avant- gardist—MOf course the only writing worth considering now is to be found in scientific reports and periodicals” —has given someone a bulbocapnine injection and is preparing to read him a bulletin on “the use of neo­hemoglobin in the control of multiple degenerative granuloma.” (Of course, the reports are all gibberish he has concocted and printed up.)His opening words: “You look to me like a man of intelligence.” (Always ominous words, my boy . . . When you hear them stay not on the order of your going but go at once.)An English colonial, assisted by five police boys, has detained a subject in the club bar: “I say, do you know Mozambique?” and he launches into the endless saga of his malaria. “So the doctor said to me, 1 can only advise you to leave the area. Otherwise I shall bury you? This croaker does a little undertaking on the side. Piecing out the odds you might say, and throwing him­self a spot of business now and then.” So after the third pink gin when he gets to know you, he shifts to dysen­tery. “Most extraordinary discharge. More or less of a