‘Men’.

A line from Con Air, a Bruckheimer extravaganza. Glycerine induced sentiment where the ex-Ranger moral hero Con tries against all odds to make it back home to his estranged wife and child. His obstacle a bunch of Special effects and a discipleship-plus of deranged Cons of varying ethnicity and sanity.
The line in the title is by the prison fag Con to a retort from nasty, soon to get his come-uppance Con’s, ‘they’re my glasses now, bitch’! followed by some sneering laughter.

We never leave a man behind. That same ethos i feel for our dead author, Will Sh. Keeping it honest, keeping it real, keeping it true. Keeping It Simple Sweetie!
It’s the same ideals he holds up in his sonnets,

‘Fair, kind, and true is all my argument,
Fair, kind and true, varying to other words.’ Q104

Well Sh’s not as bloody a night out in Vegas as Con Air’s finale, though some might say so if you think of Titus Andronicus. Is there a noun to describe the ripping out of tongue? Glossodetachment? Lollygaggery? Imagine being the uncle that found his niece in the forest, two stumps where hands should be, tongue missing, victim of a gang rape…

Act 2: Sc. 5.-
‘Why dost not speak to me? Alas, a crimson river of warm blood, like to a bubbling fountain stirr’d with wind, doth rise and fall between thy rosed lips, coming and going with thy honey breath.’

This rosy verse carries on for another 10 or 12 lines. And all the while she’s standing there thinking,’ Call a f*****g Doctor!’