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surgeons, a left brain psychiatrist, and the who knows where in the brain woman chaplain. Peter Belachnik, the most regular attendee, a physiatrist, ran the sports medicine section. Although he was a guru of pathology of metabolic pathways, and very quick witted, he preferred to play on his huge muscle pumped habitus in debate. Laughing that the place was full of smart asses, but who else had his pecs, he struck muscular poses with minimal provocation. Though seated and crowded, he puffed out in a shirt ripping overhead arm flexing hand and finger clawed pose as he spontaneously picked up on a left off notion from yesterday's conversation. " 'Truth is the god of the free man.' I say Maxim Gorki eats Plato UP! 'The function of the intellectual has always been confined to embellishing the bored existence of the bourgeoisie, to consoling the rich in the trivial troubles of their life.' " He paused, rippled his pectorals several times, then raised an open hand and slowly clenching both hands to a fists, " Gorki kicks philosophic ass. Heh? Argue and I'll crush your nuts. Plato was a pussy." He loved contrasting his physique with exotic philosophic quotes. "Meaning what?" Denise Mason feigned insult. "You implying there's something inferior about pussy?" She had her fists on her hips. As he groveled about never considering that angle, she was making teasing tongue gestures at him. Denise, that is Dr. Mason, was a very busy gynecologist who held the 'woman thinking like a man while reflexly putting men down' award. You could count on her to note man-think, in conversation, but also to be equally quick to trounce like a man. From Belachnik, who awarded it, she accepted her title proudly with, "I spit on you. You are nothing but a testosterone pumped sack of stupid muscle with no inkling of sensitivity or appreciation of women for their intellectual prowess. But you do have one big dick, so let's do it!"