What brutal sprawls of twisted deathmaze encroach on our precious isle of Manhattan! What beast-infested nooks and crannies where taxis dare not roam! What great food-trapping beards that outgristle and outgrease any post-coital Minotaur! What cheap and chokesome wat’ry beers! What uninspired zombie throngs that barely conceal contempt for opening bands that aren’t half bad! What bony, unwashed sternums unearthed by plunging V-neck collars!
Sign marking the condemned’s entrance to their existential Inferno
To think, that even I, Caligula, could find myself in that phantom world of non-dreams and overshopping at Trader Joe’s, merely by falling asleep on the B train en route to Urban Outfitters, is too hellish an ordeal to dwell on. The human disease, thy name is Brooklyn. I shall have to put the episode behind me if I stand any chance of recovery. But the memories of clove-breath and misappropriations of irony, the gnarled syntax and pizza parlor stabbings, will haunt me for a lifetime, nay, into the afterlife.
To say nothing of the short stories that hold together about as well as a fistful of diarrhea.
—Caligula
Caligula Vs. Nero 
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