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| CIRCE DOES A GIG AT THE GOLD CLUB Ah, wretched men, why are you so enamored of these woes, as to go down to the house of Circe, who will change us all to swine Homer Next, we find ourselves washed up at her feet on this garish island of gyrating lights and grinding music where, with a lurid alchemy of undulation and supple flesh, she transforms us into swine. And we grunt and snort and jostle while her minions come around from time to time to slop us. No moly for us, no magic herb to neutralize the spell, only tepid beer and second-hand smoke. Not that we want the antidote. We know what awaits us once the gates to this sty are opened: a brief detour through Hell, then the Hell of quotidian existence. So, we revel in her witchcraft and she leaves us to wallow in all our besotted porcine glory. |
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