EPT"The Trinity is the term employed to signify the central doctrine of the Christian religion — the truth that in the unity of the Godhead there are Three Persons, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, these Three Persons being truly distinct one from another."
There is Manifesto7, the "Manlyfesto", beloved of TeamLiquid. No further introduction required.
There is man, previous Chairman of the College Republicans at Auburn University, the loveliest village on the plains, home of Cam Newton and the Auburn Tigers. This is a man wise beyond his years; sports a dashing smile, partial to cigars (cigarettes being a somewhat infelicitous pairing a man of his station and bearing), and a sonorous chuckle resonating. He is thought an antiquarian in the political realm, this owing his purlieus' necessity, a man of practicality due respect to principle.
Said he, "the kettle, the pot; neither black, either/or, term each together or parish likewise friend and foe".
To him, there is no Classic preceding Mendelssohn nor since, and in courteous imitation of the past master, this man of conservative politics suffers a gastronomical mind in composition: a marked weakness to seared Tilapia (blackened, and sprinkled lightly with the juice of a single lemon not partially ripened). So led astray when or if he is, rectitude not withstanding, it is as like to be King Crab as Snow; an inevitability of southern fare, with its remarkable predilection to caper sauce, structuring the entirety of the meal as it does around the appetizer, the Connoisseur thus finding himself in the unenviable position choosing Crab or Tilapia, both available only if the hands of one's clock tick more accommodating, or so esteems a man whose precise dining applauds him at table.
The true southern gentleman, drawn however unwillingly into the political realm, aspires not to the place of power so often thrust upon him--quite the opposite, in fact, he is a man characterized by a tragic acquiescence, the tides of time, besot with the cries of 'progress', so spoken, unyielding, wrest a proud and noble culture from what its detractors might term a Victorian-sympathy. To a man immersed in the literature, this is no Marxian struggle of the proletariat; the southern gentleman is not a bureaucrat, and so much the less is he bourgeois; he is not a gilded-king, perching his throne on the collective back of lesser bureaucrats. The southern aristocrat, if to name him so is not a step too far, is a man makes primary the will of a constituency, second only to the honor of his person and those kinsfolk to whom his allegiance makes (the southern family being a long-suffering entity, with pride to match any, and more than most).
