 And he had that harsh, dreadful love and a little chisel-shaped fingernail that he'd jab at you. I got scars from that damn thing. He would back you into a rhetorical corner from which there was no philosophical escape hatch. He had you dead to rights. He'd say, Ammon, I'll change. I promise I'll change. Just don't talk to me anymore. Oh, God. The man could talk. Oh, boy, he could talk. I mean, he just didn't do free speech. He flogged it to death.