When I speak of poor boymoder they accuse me of a hideous thing. But thwy must know that I did not do it. They must know it was the chuds; the snickering, mocking chuds whose endless arguing will never let me sleep. The darmon chuds that swirl behind the padding of this room and beckon me down to greater bigotry I have never known. The chuds they can never hear; the chuds, the chuds in the walls.