081413 #worm His crassness sets the ambiance for everything that happens next. You're taken aback at first, but somehow you sense not disrespect from him, but a profane kind of gratitude bordering on worship. In this, the Snoke, his native environ, he is a despicable yet loveable pornographer; a sleaze-monger with a heart of burnished pewter. What the hell, you decide. You go with him on his trip. You climb aboard his flatulent soul with conscious abandon. It's like climbing into a garishly painted import car tricked out with all the right after-market parts--the bass is going boom! boom! boom! in an unapologetic, puerile, melody-free paean to balls-out adolescence. Don't worry. The windows of the Snoke are always tinted.