Christon, because of his sheltered bourgeois existence, is so out of touch with the reality that most of us have to face that he dismisses Kinison's hilarious and brilliant commentary on the sheer unfocused rage that permeates life as "reactionary, infantile, pre-verbal."
Such petty name-calling seems to be typical of Nice Liberals such as the greater majority of The Times staff. Rather than "civilize our sexual and theological conflicts," i.e., pretend that they never existed, Kinison dares to reveal them and strike back at them through screaming.
The primal screams of Kinison transcend the "good taste" that Christon is so fond of; the same "good taste" that Picasso held to be the greatest enemy of creativity, whose main purpose is to repress and constrain. "Good taste," fortunately, is no match for Kinison's raw, forceful attack.
Kinison will still be around long, long after Christon and his ilk have been deservedly flushed down the toilet of history.