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grain protein bars that shot from his mouth in seedy fragments when he argued. It was far more important to be certain than to be informed and inquisitive. Fred and Lou, more open to intellectual debate, seeking philosophical soundness in argument, nevertheless, also seldom strayed from official dogma. This left Sam as the loner to slug it out. Frank Aver liked to just sit back and absorb the debates, seldom, if ever, giving his opinion. He was a bleacher on which the smaller children sat. But today, he was not there, he was at the river, checking out, officially, a potential project that might involve his lifeguards. Big John taunted, although laughing, "Sam, you sound like Karl Marx. If I didn't know you, I'd swear you were a Commie," launching a honey coated seed about five feet on the word 'swear'. "Bull shit!" Sam hated having his long carefully documented and intricate analyses reduced to single word declarations, "Bull shit! Bull shit! Bull shit!" standing and stamping. Lou, with a sage aura was tapping his temple with his index, "Well argued, Sam. Is that a Heidegger existentialistic time and being dynamic revelation bull shit? Or, is it a selective consciousness, Jamesian, bull shit?" Sam was sure Lou researched only his sarcastic barrages and never his actual subject matter. "Bull shit to you too!" Sam insisted. "Look, I break my nuts to dig out real facts and detail my reasons. MY inner workings are all set out - with actual supporting materials. YOU just call me names! A Commie? That's it? That's bull shit! I've raised serious issues here. Where are your serious rebuttals? Your facts?"