Bellydance.

One illustrates absurdity by being absurd, betimes, and as such, may yet make a fool of himself in front of the un-knowing eye.

In that respect, I dance topless across the linoleum.  I was met with jeers.  Undeterred, I explained of old dining rituals in far-away lands when dinners were taking by diners seated on rugs or pillows, and there was entertainment before them, in hopes of easing the digestion and stimulating some conversation among the participants.

I was explained that a beautiful woman would dance.

As was said:

Stanislav Bin Origen: "They have something.  Something to be proud of."

Therefore, I, the refractory beast of ugliness:

Have nothing.

Cannot be proud.

Can one be bold without pride?  Truly he without pride can be a subservient being, on the order of a Caliban, but then pride is the mechanism that manufactures bad deeds, on the order of revenge.

Should I take to a table and demand desserts among the other diners, I wonder, lowering my tee shirt over my under parts.  Should I, or should I not, and the questions be-niggles beyond preponderance or intent, all out of the scope.  To be born stupid, ignorant, or to die stupid and likewise, or neigh, innocent:

do I fall-off innocent?

do I break "to the good"?

But still, bold as a glass of ice water splashed in the face.