I think it's fair to say that every damn thing in this life makes sense to somebody. Fucked if I know why The Da Vinci Code is so popular, for example, but plenty other folks up to the eyes in half-arsed thriller plots drenched in shockingly clichéd prose and a couple genuinely fascinating paragraphs about Mary Magdalene, those folks right there know exactly why, and more than this, they'd tell me if I bothered to ask, which I won't.
Every time a fella gets stumped on something, if something just seems to make no sense whatsoever, a fella can be sure someone somewhere sees no mystery, sees a laughably obvious clarity where I see only interloping shifting twisting enigmas.
Why didn't that lass like my song about Oooh, I dig your nose? Why didn't the g-c-g get her in all sortsa states of sexual abandon? I don't know, is the answer, but she knows, she knows damn well, and what it has to do with is that the song was alright, but the singer looked like a sockfull of rancid plums.
And so it is with matters of the filthing.
When one gets to paying a bit of attention to the in's and out's of the in's and out's, he starts to notice a fair few idiosyncrasies, a fairly prodigious level of artistry being utilized in the pursuit of a grimace and a shudder and an "Oooh, y'might a warned me, y'fucker."
Some of these quirks may well appear nothing short of demented to the pious, virtuous likes of yourself or, indeed, The Duke, but regardless, to the folks involved, these adventures are as much a part of the daily routine as waking up, getting dressed, taking a cack, not taking a cack on account of some aristocrats are keeping a close eye on the chamber pots, whatever.
A fella who shall remain nameless once revealed to The Duke how, if truth be told, he doubted he would ever drip a drop of the sticky if his partner in the affair didn't tie him up with the tape spooled out from a VHS copy of Highlander II - The Quickening, all the while taunting him along the lines of "I've saw better reviews etched in spunk on the walls of tavern toilets" or "No amount of songs will ever, I say, ever, make you appear one fraction more attractive to yonder muse". Only when he had been reduced to tears, tears that would be partly assisted by the Bunsen burner held under his anus, would he leak to any worthwhile extent.