Q. So, young Philo, come fresh from the orgy I see. Ha ha! Good lad!

P. Yes, Plato, my rump has secured a thousand smacks.

Q. What! And why is that?

P. I got caught trying to look up Apollo's robe...

Q. At what, Philo? At what were you trying to look?

P. God's balls, Plato... I wanted to see if they looked like yours.

Q. And did they, Philo?

P. Yes, but they tasted much different.

Q. How would [you] describe the difference?

P. Apollo's balls don't taste like goat.

Q. Why, I couldn't disagree more, young Philo. I believe that Apollo's balls taste exactly like a goat's balls. More so, they even have the same texture. Could it be that to one man a goat's balls taste one way, and to another another? Explain!

P. Why, certainly Plato. It would depend on the goat and the man, what they had for dinner, how much wine they had at the symposium; wine is a great magician... she can turn goat's balls into ambrosia. At least that's what they told me I said last night at the toga party.

Q. And are you drunk now?

P. Reluctantly, no, unless be it on the divine wisdom the gods have fed to my mouth through yours. Really, now Plato, your hand is on my knee...

Q. And yet your knee doesn't draw back coldly, it nestles near and is soft in my hand. How is it, Philo, that your knee and my hand experience one thing, yet your mouth and my ears experience another?

P. Oh, Plato! They warned me about you, they did... they said you would corrupt my mind, my soul, my body... I never dreamed it was true.

Q. Well, it's all true Philo. Here, stand here... Don't move!... Ah! The shaft of my penis rides in and out of your anus. Now. Am I merely an image of your subjective mind, as you claimed in class today? Am I a mere thought form which only exists in your imagination, or will you now readily grant me objective existence?

P. O, Plato! O, Plato! Yes! Plato! I am willing to admit you have at least a sensory existence—and what a sensation of existence!

Q. No! No! No! By the name of the Thrice Great Rump Whore himself I demand that you admit me as a fully qualified ego-alien center of independent volition. Say it is so as I drive my point harder and harder into you.

P. Ah—Plato, you torture me with words, you torture me with your body, you torture me with the manly goat-scent of your balls! O, I admit you, I admit you harder and deeper into my flaming entrails...

Q. Dear Philo, pretty boy, you admit even the semen seed of my testes into your quivering anus hole, and yet, you claim I torture you with body, words, and scent. How is it that you both experience the pain of my prong and yet experience the pleasure of carnal delight?

P. You torture me with pleasure, not with pain, lest that pain be somehow sweeter by your Art. O, Plato, your Understanding makes clear the hidden pathway of desire! Your intense Questioning and the hot friction of your intellect dizzies the mind with its brilliance—makes me quiver in awe. I am humbled and on my hands and knees before so great a philosopher as yourself: You feel like a red hot poker branding my soul with the lust of the Logos!

Q. Would you say that you have become Illuminated? Philo? Answer!

P. Yes! Yes! Yes! O God! O God! O yes!

Q. And is this a differentiated or an undifferentiated illumination?

P. God is a good god! God is a good god!

Q. And what is not good?

P. O, Plato, what is not god?

Q. Well, clearly from what you said God is not Good since you placed these two words next two each other and gave the two Ideas different names. Now, how is it that you come to claim that God is Good, and yet by separating the concepts (with the insertion of an extra “O” to boot!) you say that God is not Good! What nonsense you talk! Explain yourself clearly, Philo, is your illumination differentiated or undifferentiated?

P. O! O!

Q. O yes, another young man gone mad by my brilliance. I suppose he'll go home babbling to his parents with my cum dripping out his butthole and they'll blame me again. I believe, Philo, that I will gather many young men around me, just like you, and I will take them each one after another and illuminate them just as I have done you. And what shall I call this place, Philo, what will be the name of the great Temple of the Thrice Great Rump Whore?

P. O my ass! The fire! The frothy warmth! My sphincter clenches in ecstasy to receive the baptismal of your love-spunk!

Q. Yes, Philo, yes, but what to call my great school? I have it! Since my head has expanded with my learning to the size of the Universe itself, I shall call my place of higher learning: The University!