Mule-Man sports a ponytail and shark’s tooth necklace, which don’t seem to impress anyone over ten years old. His spongy middle tests the pliancy of his spectrum-stained garments as his raised finger studies the sulfurous winds of fickle opinion he scampers to follow. Ever vigilant, his girth guards the bubbling Fountain of Selcouth that issues the Dew of the Mountain he finds so quenching.
His affected piety to creativity boils down to name-dropping and coat-tailing perceived artiste-types for his own benefit. Watch him waddle in his favour-currying grift.
Hear his important words before the maul of the pungle strikes the gavel block.
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