"Grovel at my feet, Coca-Cola drinker…Chevrolet driver…Kentucky fried-chicken eater…20th Century Fox fanatic…Marlboro cigarette smoker. What's a fucking Texas cowboy compared to a Bavarian shepherd?" I ask, terribly mispronouncing the language of Goethe with Joe not understanding a word but literally speechless when he hears the German language, which I spout with exaggeration as I stroke his face and thighs with the rough cloth of my uniform. p.105