If we don’t think like you this makes us a degenerate, or slave. What’s next. I’m imagining your campaign. It’s already ugly. Grow the apple farthest from this tree and please let’s not forget where it came from. A young girl hung her head in shame. She walked along the beach alone. Hurt. She happened upon the frog. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked. ‘I’m doing everything in my moment to be exactly me. What are you doing?’ asked the frog. The young girl studied the frog. ‘I’m being sad because I’m a degenerate.’ ‘And who called you a degenerate?’ ‘The man who didn’t like my dress. I told him I wore it for the sharks and that I wanted to grow up and swim with them and know them. That’s when the man told me I was a degenerate.’ ‘It’s best to never know that man. That man has forgotten where his dress swam.’ said the frog.