Weird things I eat.

I must eat certain foods only when they are symmetrical.

McDonald's Egg McMuffins- The canadian bacon slice must be shifted to the other side of the egg from the cheese. Because the ham and the cheese are both mainly sweet and salty, and the egg is mainly savory and sour. So the ham and the cheese must be separated.

Cupcakes- if no one is watching, I must split the cupcake down the middle, horizontally, then put the bottom half on top of the frosting.

Other things I must eat in ways that no one else will eat them:

I eat all cereal dry. Especially plain cheerios. And corn flakes.

I eat my hot dogs plain. But I can't eat hot dogs alone, because I only like plain hot dogs when they've sat next to hot dogs with everything on them.

I add uncooked tomatoes to pasta right before I eat it.

When I get a mocha, I get the espresso on the side, down it quickly, then drink the milk and mocha syrup like a hot chocolate.


And there are somethings that I won't eat that are paradoxically similar to things I will eat.

I won't eat american cheese, ever, except on cheeseburgers, but I will eat cheetos, doritos, and mac n cheese. I won't even eat grilled cheese made with american cheese.

I won't eat fettucine, angel hair, spaghetti, fusilli, or linguine; but I will eat penne, farfalle, rigatoni, shells, and ziti. I will not eat ziti without lines, or elbow macaroni, except in mac n cheese.

I won't eat white rice, but will eat fried rice, rice pilaf, cous cous, and basmati rice (but only at restaurants)

I won't eat ham, ever. Or salami. Or pepperoni. Or balogna, but I will eat pork loin, bacon, smoked shoulder, and pulled pork.

I won't eat baked beans, ever. I will eat refried beans, black beans, pinto beans, and chickpeas.

I buy microwave popcorn, unbuttered flavor, and add my own butter at home.

I buttered my french fries in college.

Let's make a separation, kiddies.

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$1545

That's my expected yearly contribution to my legal education.
Yes, I'm poor. Very, very poor.

And this time, it makes me win.

I encountered a quote that sums up, nearly perfectly, why I'm going to law school.

I must study politics and war that my sons may have liberty to study mathematics and philosophy. My sons ought to study mathematics and philosophy, geography, natural history, naval architecture, navigation, commerce and agriculture in order to give their children a right to study painting, poetry, music, architecture, statuary, tapestry, and porcelain.
-John Adams

Of course, John Adams was talking about the progressive necessity of nation-building; I'm talking about class fluidity. He meant that in order for a generation to have the freedom and security to pursue the arts, generations before them must lay more practical foundations. And his grandchildren were free to pursue the arts. And anything they felt like. Because by then, they had the connections and the economic power.

My great grandparents were laborers, nannies, prostitutes, auto-didacts and pious catholics. My grandfathers were a postman and a prolific drunk, former navy diver, my grandmothers were a homemaker and a bar singer. My father never graduated high school; my mother has a degree in education.

In order to progress, in order to be mobile, I must enter a profession. Theoretically, if I were to reproduce, then my children might have the money, and I might acquire the connections, in order for them to do things that are creative and meaningful. Or they could put it all up their noses. I'm not having kids. So law school will simply make me a nice living. But it's the only way to achieve.

I went to an elite, decadent, private college before the public brick and cement edutentiary I attend currently. The idea was that with the right education, I would end up on equal footing with anyone. If I worked hard, I would be able to do anything. I could be an artist, an actor, a filmmaker, a painter. (tapestry, poetry, music and porcelain) Anything.

Not actually. Now, two years after graduation (my class at ole' B graduated in 2004), the illusion of elevation through education has finally dissipated. The mistaken, hopeful impression given to middle class students from working class backgrounds, that they too could one day be entirely useless- gone. The students who came in, from prestigious "Day Schools" (Any school that feels it must specify that nobody lives there is obviously elite) with rich parents of rich parentage, are all working in the fabulous low-paying jobs that lead to creative, high-paying jobs. The students who came in like me, without connections, are working in administrative jobs, or dairy queen, or public school systems. The children of teachers and secretaries become teachers and secretaries in slightly more interesting cities with slightly more forgiving dress codes.

If I went to (art,graduate, journalism, film, school), I would come out and work in a coffee shop. It would be just like my current life, but with more debt. If I go to law school, I will come out a lawyer. I will be employable. If I work hard, and make the right choices, someday I may own a home. I may go on vacation. I may be able to retire before my tits hit ankle level. Someday, I may do something that matters. I can spend my entire life pretending that drive, not class, determines what I can achieve, and what is a vocational rather than avocational interest.

Let's not pretend that the professions (law and medicine, dentistry, pharmacy, etc) aren't a traditional entree into the upper classes. Let's not pretend that everyone studies law for a love of the law.

sunt lacrimae rerum...

There seem to be times in life when the past feels closer and more vivid than in other times. I've been walking in a fog of quasi-nostalgia (know what's a fucked up concept? Ostalgie. Hey, remember the time when the secret police killed your uncle? And there was no toilet paper for 20 years?) There's no longing for times past, but the moments of years ago carry this intoxicating salience...

I can't stop thinking about times past. A thinned out mo-town themed muzak cd at work made me think of a potent time of other people's romantic intrigue. Two of the people involved will be married by the end of the year. The third, I am convinced, will beat me out for the romantic ambivalance award. Yes, it was a love triangle. And yes, I was only an observer.

My own exes aren't far from my mind, though. I just don't like to write about them as much. I had this extraordinarily vivid memory of a moment, in my old roommate's bed, when a certain person pulled up my shirt- it was the first time I had ever been alone, in private, with a person who wanted to take my clothes off. I cannot convey how absolutely terrifying and wonderful it was to realize that. Anything could have happened. For the first time, ending that moment was up to me, not a park ranger or police officer or girl scout or rattlesnake.

I'm thinking that there's something special about that moment, something not culturally recognised. We're so obsessed with virginity and teen oral sex and herpes and pregnancy, physical milestones obscure all others. Dick breaches pussy, dick breaches lips, anus, armpit. These are our markers of innocence lost, experience gained. Carnal knowledge, penetration, the consumption of one body by another.

But what about the moments, few or hundreds, where anything could happen? The sudden, absurd plenipotentiality of body heat, contained by walls and soft surfaces and a locking door and no supervision- does it matter? I don't think it's possible to forget that moment, the first time with the lights on, the first time with someone who would have done anything you let them do; no matter what the outcome, there is a line crossed.

It's for this reason I've become, for the first time in my life, sympathetic to the arguments of abstinence before marriage. I continue, however, thinking that waiting for marriage is for most people ill-advised, prohibitively difficult, and out-dated. I was eighteen, that day in the hideous dorm room with the indoor mud puddle, on my roommate's sheetless bed. I was with the man in the bed because I wanted to see what would happen; not because I liked or loved him. It was exciting. It was wrong (I had another boyfriend at the time). He would like me, love me, in the end. I would hide from him. I was cruel to him. I wish I could apologise, actually, for the way I treated him.

I wonder what it would be like to be alone for the first time with someone significant, at the precise moment of beginning something new together. To suddenly be able to take vulgar liberties, completely sanctioned, with someone else's body, for the first time- when love is a factor- would be pretty nice. I can imagine a wedding night, a hotel room, a honeymoon- a wonderful first time to be alone with a beloved willing body.

But that moment, that first closed door, doesn't belong at 28. You're too old. Men are already losing testosterone. Women's breasts are already making that long knee-ward journey. Unless anyone is willing to propose propagating a formal system of time-limited starter marriages, the wedding night and honeymoon are things of the past. I won't spend time telling teenagers that they'll regret at my old age what they are dying to do right now. They'd never listen and it's not my business to say. And that's the problem of adulthood. You're presented with an outline of post-post-post-hoc regrets, and the sudden impulse to prevent those regrets (delicious as they were at the time) in other people.

I don't know if I'd give up the years I've spent in bedrooms and livingrooms and snug in arms to recapture an unplanned moment in a dank room, in a reeking dorm, in a muddy spring, in vermont.

And my bit...Emergency Contraception.

A while ago, I began an investigation into the target boycott.

Here's a recap and analysis. Don't mind me if I repeat myself- this is a combination of notes and crushed up freelance pieces and parts of my law school personal statement. It has a lot of research I didn't fully get into here.



This past fall, Planned Parenthood of America urged people to boycott Target scores. This boycott was inspired by the refusal of a Target pharmacist Fenton, MO to fill a prescription for emergency contraception. Supporters of Planned Parenthood participated in a protest at Target offices in Missouri. A press release blasted Target for a policy that Planned Parenthood said differed from those of all other major pharmacy chains. Dan Savage, a popular syndicated sex and relationship columnist and editor of “The Stranger” a Seattle-based independent weekly, broke the story to his readers on November 1st. He, too, quoted the Planned Parenthood Press release. I wanted more information but there seemed to be none. Major newspapers didn’t mention either the boycott or the incident in Fenton. All internet information could be traced back, blog by blog, to the press release from Planned Parenthood. The press release itself was short on actual information about the incident. I talked to a pharmacy technician, and she raised further questions that could not be answered with the information Planned Parenthood Provided. When I was finally able to find limited coverage by a Missouri paper, the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, the additional information confused rather than clarified the situation.

First, in the article, the patient, Rachel Pourchot is identified as a St. Louis resident. Fenton, Missouri, is more than fifteen miles from St. Louis. Women, in general, do not fill prescriptions for birth control pills, a prescription that needs to be refilled frequently, that far from home. Second, Pourchot says that she uses two forms of birth control with her long-term boyfriend. Birth control pills are the first, so it may be assumed that the second method is a barrier or chemical method of contraception. Plan B would be a third line of defense, far from urgent. Third, she lists fear of assault as a reason to keep the pills on hand. It is true that hospitals generally give rape victims Plan B. Plan B is very effective at preventing a pregnancy after unprotected sex, and most rapes are unprotected. However, Rachel Pourchot was also filling a prescription for birth control pills that day. In case of assault, she would already be protected. There is no additional protection afforded by emergency contraception, as compared to the birth control pill. Plan B is levonorgestrel, the same estrogen as in Seasonale, Allese, Tri-Phasil, and other popular pill formulations. Finally, it is very odd, given that Rachel Pourchot was so casually filling her prescriptions that day, so far from home, that she did not just decide to fill the Plan B prescription another time or at another pharmacy, when told Plan B was out of stock. T
arget agrees that store had no Planned B in stock that day; they dispute whether the pharmacist confronted Ms. Pourchot. If the facts of the situation are as Ms. Pourchot reported them, the situation is still imperfect. A refusal of a prescription that was not urgent, and was out of stock, is thin premise for a national boycott.

Target is a strange choice of target, as well. Despite Planned Parenthood’s claims, their pharmacist refusal policy is not much different than that of other major pharmacy chains. I wrote to Walgreens, Brooks/Eckerd, Kmart, Target, and CVS, and asked what their policy was. Kmart declined to comment. Walgreens has a nearly identical policy to Target’s. CVS’s only differs in that they require a pharmacist to notify superiors of a refusal before it occurs, and it is doubtful that this would have any practical effect. Brooks/Eckerd was the only pharmacy that does not allow pharmacists to refuse to fill a legitimate prescription for any reason. Fenton aside, there’s no reason to single out Target as an offender.

So why would Planned Parenthood choose that specific pharmacist refusal, at that store, to launch a national anti-Target campaign? It could be that it happened in Missouri. Planned Parenthood has not been having an easy time in Missouri. Reproductive rights have not been having an easy time in Missouri. There is only one abortion clinic left in the state. Planned Parenthood has been ordered to pay back millions of dollars of family planning funding to the state. They have been targeted by legislation that would make it illegal to aid Missouri minors in obtaining abortions, even out of state. Governor Blunt has made a personal crusade of restricting access to abortion and contraception. In fact, at the same time as Ms. Pourchot was being refused her prescription, Governor Blunt was proposing legislation to protect pharmacists who refuse to fill prescriptions from being fired. The day before Planned Parenthood demonstrated at the Target district office in Bridgeton, Missouri, a group called “The Coalition against Governor Blunt’s War on Women” protested at the capital against the proposed legislation. Why protest a corporate policy rather than a law? It seems illogical, even useless, to protest against a corporation for following a policy that will soon be legally mandated. However, by centering the campaign against Target in Missouri, Planned Parenthood may have been able to turn the energy of local supporters towards a national target. Thus, they maintain an impression of advocacy on a local level, without spending any energy lobbying an unsympathetic legislature.

Why would Planned Parenthood of America care more about the accessability of emergency contraception to Target customers than the accessability of emergency contraception to every resident of Missouri? Being a Target customer is a choice. It is simple to simply go somewhere else for prescriptions, housewares, clothing, groceries, and all the other goods that Target supplies. While Missouri is not a prison, there are many reasons a person cannot easily move to another state when laws threaten their freedoms. Missouri is a state, growing socially more and more conservative, and more politically hostile to reproductive rights. Target is a store, beloved of young, socially progressive, middle-class, coastal and urban, women. Planned Parenthood put so much energy into changing Target’s policy, and so little advocating for Missourians, perhaps because Planned Parenthood supporters are more likely to shop at Target than live in Missouri. Their mission statement says they support the reproductive rights of everyone regardless of “income, marital status, race, ethnicity, sexual orientation, age, national origin, or residence.” However, they seem to be changing their mission to preserving convenient access to needed services for their key demographic, while ignoring the growing restrictions on choice for those unfortunate enough to live in more conservative areas. This shift could be tragic. By prioritizing the desire of current and potential Target customers to have emergency contraceptive prescriptions filled at they same store where they can purchase enameled toasters in mod colors, Planned Parenthood becomes little more than a consumer advocacy group.

Very, very important.

If you think you're a feminist, if you think you're pro-choice, you must read this

This is the most important bit of feminist writing I've ever read. This is practical. This is political. This is personal.

I am not, as you recall, any kind of traditional feminist. I am, however, rabidly pro-choice. In fact, I'm pro-abortion. This woman details, completely, how to perform an abortion.

If Roe is overturned, if women in red states lose legal rights to bodily integrity- this is what will need to be known.

If Roe stays, this piece is still important. It is important to any woman or man who has sex and can imagine a circumstance in which there cannot be a child at the end of a pregnancy. This is abortion. This is what it is. There's nothing else. Dilation. Curretage.

The anti-abortion movement has always held the procedure itself hostage, as an ace in the hole. They feel it's so brutal, so complicated, so inhumane to mother and fetus, that knowledge of the procedure is enough to turn one from pro-abortion to anti-abortion. And, even if women want abortions, keeping the knowledge of what is involved in medical hands (hands with careers and reputations to lose) means that it's not the woman who needs to be persuaded not to have one, it's a doctor that needs to be persuaded not to give one.

I'm not saying women should perform their own abortions (or their friends'). I'm saying that it might be something that becomes necessary, and that if we fear the facts of a procedure we support, for even a minute, we're sad advocates for it.

Dirty, Sanctimonious Motherfuckers.

Fucking salon readers. Fucking salon.

Salon has an interview with a woman who wrote a book about how tough it is, economically, to be young right now. And, predictably, there's a fucking firestorm of letters about how it's not tough to be young now, and everyone else has had to walk up hill two ways in the snow to work at McDonalds for a bundle of sticks and twigs.

Bullshit.

Let me tell you the differences between then and now:
1. Housing costs.
2. Job Opportunities.

Let's start right up with housing costs.
Let's start with where I live. I live in a one-bedroom apartment. With a roommate, an inadequate stove, and no utilities included. For this we pay $750 a month, which is a steal. My landlord could be getting 1100 for this below-code charmer. And, of all the people I know...I am the only one who is not married and not living with their parents.

Renting is too expensive, period. The shittiest, smallest apartment in Boston is too expensive to even dream of renting if you don't have a serious, non-entry level, non-service industry job. It's expensive because people try to make the biggest profit they can, and everyone wants it now. Some motherfucker dies, and his heirs sell his house for 250,000. Some dirty motherfucker comes along, slams some cheap corian knock-off countertops in there, sells it for 475,000. Guy next door, bought his house for 30,000 fifteen years ago, decides to cash out for more than ten times what he paid. Sells his triple-decker for 450,000. Dirty asshole developer buys it, refinishes the floor, adds a fire escape, sells it as three 'luxury' condos for 275,000. And the next motherfucker who buys the condo expects to sell it for 325,000 in six months.

The rich are now rich enough and mobile enough to buy up any housing stock, anywhere they please. The poor are now richer than they were, but not rich enough to live.

And you know what? This shit drives the economy. Take a generation. Force them to live with their parents. Now, even if they make much less than they should, a greater percentage of their income is disposeable, because rent is no longer the largest expense in their budget. Result? Everybody buys a fucking ipod. Everybody leases a car. Everybody buys every shitty cd, gets credit cards, frequent flyer models, and luxury goods.

Note to assholes everywhere: MY GENERATION ISN'T POOR BECAUSE IT'S BUYING LUXURY GOODS, IT'S BUYING LUXURY GOODS BECAUSE IT'S POOR.

We'd sure rather spend thirty percent of our income on housing, save thirty percent, and spend thirty percent on disposeable goods. But since housing would be sixty percent of our income, the very thought of living within means is absurd.

I made 10,000 last year. My rent is 375 a month. Heat averages to 107 a month, if I were on the budget plan. Phone is 40, internet is 40. (Don't say internet isn't a necessity, I need it for school). Tell, me, folks. What luxuries did I spend my 3000 dollars on? What fabulous consumer goods did I consume?

Not meat, I'll tell you that.

Housing is impossible. It just is. And it's impossible because of selfishness and profiteering at every level. So that's a factor.

2. Job Opportunities.

There are none.
Let me tell you about a magical time, children. That magical time was called the internet boom. During that magical time, there were jobs. There were jobs for technical people, administrative people, creative people. And there were jobs for people without experience.

Then the internet boom busted.

And there was nothing. No jobs. And suddenly, experience was a keyword. As in, years of. As in, young people need not apply. There are no entry level jobs, friend. There are none. Nobody wants to train somebody right out of college for something that could grow into a career, when they can post an ad on the internet and get someone pre-trained.

Anything that doesn't require experience is not posted, not advertised, and only available to someone with connections. So, the middle class need not apply. Too bad for you, you ugly motherfucker, if your parents don't have chums in the industry you'd like to enter. Too bad for you, unfortunate choad, if you didn't get that one internship available. Too bad for you if you were working too much for pay to work for free, and didn't make a connection.

Especially too bad for you, sugar-pie, if you believed them when they told you you could be anything. Turns out you can only be anything useful, profitable and technical. Writers- in oversupply. Need connections. Photographers- in oversupply. Anything fun or creative, anything a child could name as a goal...even policeman, fireman, carpenter, plumber...nope, kid, need to get into a union, take the test they aren't having for another five years...

There are no jobs. The only jobs available are those serving people lucky enough, connected enough, to already have them. Like mine.


Solutions:

1. Penalties for real-estate profiteers. Instead of capital gains, I think we should get to pelt you with shit, for longer and longer periods, based on how much price-gouging you've engaged in.

Say you bought your house for 25,000 at a time when the average salary was 5,000 a year. Now, you want to sell it. The average salary is now 50,000 a year. You may sell the house for 250,000, or get pelted with ripe shit for five minutes for every 10,000 over the set price.

The real estate agent would be immersed in sour milk for the same amount of time.

2. Nepotism=similar solution. If you hire someone recommended to you by a friend or relative over someone similarly qualified, and that can be proven, I get to pelt you with shit. Every other week, on a friday. For 35 minutes. Until you've learned your lesson.

That guy.

He's pretty great, actually.
He's tall. He laughs with me. Even when it's not funny. Even when it's just so I'm not laughing alone. It's a great laugh. Nothing high and squeaky, nothing with a guffaw. It's pretty great.
He's got these brownish eyes. Hazel for real, not like mine, which are lies. Perfect eyebrows. Smile with no fangs.
He gives me all the little things without thinking. He lets me choose everything. I abuse that, actually.
He reads very, very fast. He thinks Stalin is funny. And Mao. He's smart. He makes his own jokes. He knows how to be quiet right; most people don't know how to be quiet without being resentful quiet or bored quiet or angry quiet. He does the right quiet.
His arms are perfect and he's so warm. He is enough human being to be enfolded in. Which is nice. Which is really nice.
He likes the beach in summer and everywhere else in winter.
I love him at the aquarium. I love him in line for doughboys. I love him at the stove. I love him drunk on the couch. I love him on the ferry.

I love him when he loves me back.

Time until deletion: 12 hours. You have 'til nine am to read this, guy. Then it stops gaying up the internet.

Where have I been?

Well, I've been busy.

I've been applying to law school. What a fucking pain. I've been doing a lot of work, trying to graduate. And I've been working for very low compensation. I've been, basically, not myself.

I've never been a busy person. I've always been the person who managed to have free time when everyone else was hiding out, camping under textbooks, working too much. This may be why I failed out of college the first time.

I've always had interests. I have this coat. It's from dollar a pound. It's a long winter coat, but it's a petite so the sleeves are real short and the proportions are off. However, if I cut it to hip length, take in the back, move the sleves in and crop them to bracelet length, trim the edges with some kind of piping, and use the excess to make a mid-length skirt, it would be the sexy hotness as a winter-weight suit.

I have the knowledge. The materials are no problem. What is a problem is the time.

I like to paint. To cook. To bake. I want to start running. I want to get fucking drunk one more damned time. I want to go out with my friends. I'd like to actually be able to become friends with people, instead of just being on the precipice. I want to see a movie. I want to read a book for pleasure. I want to watch television for an hour when I get out of work, without feeling guilty.

I want to watch the still cello-wrapped zombie movies that sit on my fucking coffee table. I want to relax.

But I can't. I don't have the time or energy for what I have to do. Maybe I should start abusing licit substances. From my reading, although there's no guarantee that I understand it, if you don't have the natural propensity to be an addict, you may not experience ill effects from drug use, such as dependency. Which is why I'd sure like some, maybe, ritalin or something. I think that would work. Or even ephedra. That stuff was fucking sweet. Take it all day and all night, and it didn't matter if you slept. It didn't just keep you awake- it kept you from getting tired.

If I could maybe use all 24 hours of each day, I may be able to get through this month without doing any harm to myself or my future.

Let's bring back an age-blind labor system!

Just look at these happy, productive members of society!

Do they look exploited to you? Those chubby cheeks, those shoeless feet, those hollow, soulless eyes that know naught of childhood.

Age-appropriate productive labor has long been a vital part of practical education in every society around the world.

Idle childhood is a modern abberation that may just be destroying our society. Ridding cities of the social disease of slothful pre-adolescents may just solve one of the most troublesome paradoxes affecting american society.

I speak, of course, of the high cost of living in most large urban areas, leading to low-wage workers demanding living wages respective to the average rent and transportation cost in their metro area.

Gas station attendents, waiters, cashiers, bus boys, dishwashers- paying all of these people wages high enough to feed, clothe, and shelter an adult can't possibly be a solution. It might lead to raising prices for these services. And even if it didn't, pressuring businesses to do that would be socialism! (for those who've never studied economic systems, socialism=herpes)

And the solution certainly wouldn't be to change city zoning laws to encourage dense, affordable multi-family development. Single family homes on large lots are just so much more charming! And such a better use of city services! A big expensive house for 4 people uses less water and sewer and creates much less traffic than two triple-deckers on the same lot, and if it's real expensive, the owners would never send their kids to public schools! It just might raise property values, which might make the whole area bring in more taxes.

(And remember, kids, Kelo says: Government is in the business of increasing tax revenues!)

We certainly couldn't subsidize the building of affordable housing, and then sell those units to private management companies, with an agreement that they be rented below market, to the working poor. That would be communism. (communism=syphilis).

So who is it who are capable of performing menial, repetitive tasks, yet don't have to pay for housing, food or transportation?

Children. Middle and upper class children. Let's turn the tired, unstylish idea of child labor on its head, give it a zesty, modern twist. Instead of poor children working to help support their families, let's have middle class children work to keep poor families out of their community! Children don't have to support themselves. Anything they do earn can be set aside for their college expenses, or perhaps a car. They're always covered by their parent's health insurance, so they don't need benefits. They're years away from retirement, so no plans needed there. And what would solve the epidemic of childhood obesity like physical labor? They won't mind making the minimum wage, or even under. My coworker has a three year old niece who tried to buy a ten dollar stuffed bear with a quarter. It's obvious- children do not know the value of money.
Profits would soar.

People are always complaining about how the counter girl at Dunkin' Donuts doesn't speak english, how the surly guy at the oil change place scratches his crotch and leers. Wouldn't it be lovely to be served coffee by an eager, fresh-scrubbed eight-year old who grew up around the words "cream" and "sugar" and even "latte"? (remember, these won't be poor children. These will be Madisons and Dylans and Codys). What about to have your oil changed by a squeaky-clean boy, testicles tucked snugly away in his abdomen, out of reach until they drop at puberty.

They wouldn't have to spend their whole childhoods working. Perhaps from 8-12. Can you remember anything you learned between third and seventh grades? Thought not. You learn to read, to add, to multiply, and then nothing til high school. Then, exhausted, calloused, innoculated with a fine yankee work ethic, they would go off to high school full time. And they'd be glad to do it. What a vacation it would seem! What a privilege! There would be no cutting class, no spitting in the halls, no sass-mouth. Just maturity, hard work, and a few occupational injuries.

I know, I know, some people would whine that child labor is "exploitative". I'm not advocating returning to the mill days. There would be no 12 hour days, no squalid rooming houses, no physical punishment or nutritional deficiencies. The labor of a child would be no more exploited than that of an adult. They would work for wages set by their communities, in safe conditions, well-supervised. Just like I do. They could even take their little tips to the corner store and buy candy and bon bons and magazines. Just like I do.

And what could be more exploitative than deliberately driving up housing prices, co-opting the little remaining affordable housing stock for use by the upper class, while wages remain stagnant, perpetuating a situation where people cannot afford to live near the communities they serve, all in the name of "property values"?

What better solution is there to allay liberal guilt? It is a cherished dream of every blue-stater that the person who pumps their gas, pours their coffee, spackles their walls, washes their clothes, trims their trees- have a clean, safe place to live, adequate food and medical care, and a chance to have a quality education.

The only way to achieve that dream without actually having to compromise cheap coffee and high property values is child labor.

Dream big, kiddies.

The Muddy Concupiscence of the Flesh

A friend of mine doesn't want to watch sexualized violence anymore.
It's a stance shared by many.

Not the Japanese.

Or the Germans.

But many.
The sexual impulse, and the sexual act, is a biological one. It's also psychologically evocative. Sexual behavior is a product both of instinct and of culture, of drive and of pleasure. In that way, sex is like eating. It contains the potential to express all the positive and negative tendencies of humanity. Ascetics of all civilizations have sought to constrain their desires for both sex and food, in order to 'mortify the flesh'.

And sex (or can be, or often does) contain a violent component. Heterosexual sex either involves the penetration of on body by another (male superior position) or the consumption of one body by another (female superior position). People strive to maintain their bodily integrity in all other aspects of life. In sex, however, they do not only sacrifice bodily integrity, they rush to discard it. Normally scrupulous about hygiene and bodily fluids, in sex, an individual marinates in the juices (saliva, mucus, semen, sweat) of another. There's heavy breathing. There's grunting and lack of inhibition. It's a weird position for an adult to put themself in. It would not occur, if not for powerful biological urges. It's simply too dissonant to exist within a society of thinking individuals. Sex persists, however, because humans are primarily biological organisms with psychological capability, not the other way around.

So the potentiality for dehumanization of sex must be reconciled with humanity. And every so often, over the course of a civilization, the mechanism of reconciliation changes. Sexual/Fertility taboos are a traditional mechanism. A ritualistic framework that defines sexual behavior in a spiritual/animistic/cultural context serves to delineate sex(human) and mating(animal), and begins to form a context in which that which is good and constructive about sex (affection, getting of offspring) is separated from aspects of the sexual impulse that can be destructive (violence, injury, possessiveness). Another framework that sanitizes sex is marriage. It defines, very clearly, what is good sex (that which exists within the confines of marriage), and what is deviant sex (that which exists outside- fornication and adultery). I talk more about that here. Now we've begun to move out of that system. There is a new measure that divides good sex from bad sex.

That measure is mutual consent.

Sex+Consent=Sex. Sex-Consent=Rape.

Simple. It's not even algebraic. This is the simplest system yet devised to create a nurturing, humane context for a chaotic biological act. Consent allows love. It allows personal relationships to flourish. It allows sex to become a private act. Ritualistic taboos and legal frameworks require community enforcement. They encourage community involvement in sexual behavior. Consent brings sex into the bedroom and closes the curtains. While community and legal involvement are still necessitated when sex without consent has been perpetrated, no public certification of consent is required.

The problem is, while this does successfully differentiate between good and bad sex, it doesn't actually serve to remove any remaining violent sexual impulses or associations from the psyche. It may be atavistic, but there is an inherent awareness with the violence of sex within all of us. It comes out in different ways. Some women fantasize about rape. Some men do, too. Every woman with an e-mail adress or cosmo subscription is familiar with rape-prevention hysterics.

Somewhere between approach and avoidence lies rape literature; art that utilizes motifs of rape and subjugation. Don't think solely of anime monsters with dildo-tipped tenticles, folks. It can be part of the legitimate media. It can be marketed toward women. Think of Lifetime, Television for Women. Think of Law and Order: SVU.

Of course, my friend's objection is not towards such lauded films as "Someone to Love Me: A Moment of Truth Movie"* it's towards films that utilize sex, directly as a means of violence. Or violence as a means of sex, bringing the acts towards a cheap, titilating, equivalency.

* Inspired by actual events. A high-school student is brutally raped but is reluctant to come forward. She is afraid that her promiscuous past will be used against her. Starring Lynda Carter, Jessica Bowman and Scott Foley.

Meta-foods.

So velveeta got me thinking.

Some of the most popular foods out there are symbols of food, rather than food itself. Sure, they contain thebasic components of food- fats, complex carbohydrates, minerals, simple sugars, msg, maltitol, sprinkles...but they, themselves, are symbols of and substitutes for, other culinary experiences.

Take a product my roommate is quite fond of: Chik Patties. She loves them. They are not chicken. They do not contain chick peas. They are something...else. They are patties, shaped to resemble something that is, in itself, a processed food. (breaded, shaped chicken patties, where the chicken has been shreaded, pressed, water and stabilizers added, breaded, fried, and frozen- in order to resemble- a hamburger patty) There are so many layers of substitution, deprivation and derivation that these -things- have lost all connection to anything that grows, walks, or flies. Anything, that is, traditionally eaten and prepared by human beings from scratch.

And chik patties, at least, can be used as an ingredient on a plate that contains other food products, as the serving suggestion on the box cover suggests.

It's too easy to pick on vegetarian food products. Of course there would be substitutes for childish comfort foods, stripped of meat (actual meaning) and injected with soy (symbolic meaning). So how about something for us meta-omnivores out there. Hot Pockets Subs Brand Stuffed Sandwiches (the full name of the product). This one here is pepperoni pizza style.

Let's contemplate that, for a moment. Pepperoni Pizza is, indisputably, a food. You have crust, sauce, cheese, and pepperonis. It has predictable characteristics: It is round, comes from a flat box, served hot. It can be delivered or picked up, or prepared frozen. Pepperoni Pizza exists. It is known to us. It is a cultural icon, even.

Hot Pockets Subs Brand Stuffed Sandwiches Pepperoni Pizza Flavor...is not pepperoni pizza. It is not even the major components of pepperoni pizza, served as a sub. It is pepperoni pizza, interpreted through the worldview of hot pockets. In a hot pockets context, people are always on the go. In a hot pockets context, people need food portably, somehow. They can't be bothered with sitting and eating! Certainly not with forks! (Pepperoni Pizza is not eaten with a fork). You can't slow the hot pockets people down! They need their pepperoni pizza in...some sort of edible tube. And thus, Hot Pockets Brand Stuffed Sandwiches, Pepperoni Pizza flavor was born. The people rejoiced.

But whither the sub variation? Who demanded a re-interpretation of the Hot Pocket translation of pepperoni pizza into a hot-pockets submarine-style tube sandwich format? Too meta. No more. Not food.

It was probably similar go-getters who fueled a demand for another needless metafood...gogurt. Or should I say "Go-gurt Brand Portable Yogurt" At right, you can see a package of "Scooby-Doo! Rogurt". This is, apparently, tubes of sweetened, artificially flavored yogurt that are somehow reminiscent of a 1970's television show about a group of skeptics who travel around in a van with a talking great dane, which was itself a take off on stereotypes of students from the five colleges in Amherst MA. (Velma is Smith, Daphne is Mount Holyoke, Fred is Amherst, that goddamned hippy is Hampshire, and Scooby is UMass Amherst). So, stripping away layers of intervening metaphore, what we have here is:

Yogurt meant to taste somehow like crime-solving college students in western massachusetts in the early 1970's would, if they were sweetened flavored dairy products, that has been conveniently packaged into tubes in order to be eaten either very quickly, or very sponteneously.

And of course, it's marketed toward children.

All of this makes Velveeta seem very, very simple by comparision. There is only one layer of hidden meaning. Velveeta is a cheese spread made to resemble cheese. It is cheese product created from, and meant to resemble, cheese itself.

Uncultured cheese.

I'd like to talk about circumcision today.

There's a Velveeta commercial that runs frequently on the Food Network, Discovery Health, and other networks that cater to women and the insincere idle. It's cartoon-bright, but live action. There is a very catchy jingle, set to the hokey pokey, that exhorts you to "Put Velveeta in/Leave the Cheddar out/With lumpy, oily cheddar, who KNOWS what will come out/With Velveeta, there's no doubt"

The characters in the commercial seem to be a family. There is a grandmother character central to it, and sundry others. It appears she wants to make a dip, perhaps for an occasion. And she wants to use the microwave. There is no dialogue; this is just what I gather from repeated viewings. And velveeta, the commercial seems to say, is the only reasonable option. Only Velveeta is guaranteed to melt smoothly unsupervised, while cheddar leads to uncertainty. Who knows what will come out? The jingle singer's voice extends the "knooowwws", in familiar comic parody of absolute fear. (Seriously- it's almost like how the guy singing the 'Monster Mash' says 'Monster"- Same extensions). Melting cheddar is something to be feared. Anything could happen. Lumps. Oiliness. Our velveeta grandma would be humiliated, trying to serve a lumpy, oily dip to her family. In what I like to think is a flashback, grandma looks at a bowl of melted cheddar, stringy, oily, and hard. It breaks chips. Grandma looks disgusted, at the cheese. And I detect a little bit of shame.

Velveeta has hit on a surprising honest ad campaign here. Kraft knows what velveeta's appeal is. It's not taste. It's constancy. Velveeta will never surprise. Velveeta will always be the same, melt the same, taste the same. It will melt smoothly every time. It will never lump. And that's why it's bought and used. It's certainly not for taste. Velveeta, if you haven't tried it, tastes halfway between margarine and cheeze whiz. It's no longer even qualified to be referred to as a "pasturized processed cheese food", but now must be marketed as a "cheese spread". The texture is flabby and perfectly smooth, with no tooth at all. Cheddar would win on taste every time. Or swiss. Or even american. Maybe. Velveeta will never delight you, but it will never embarass you.

Velveeta sells on fear of cheese. People don't know how to deal with ambiguity in their sauces. Nobody learns roux at maman's knee; Alton Brown does what he can, but he's not everywhere. Cheese can be hard. It can be inconsistent. It's scary to some. Some people think that when the edges of cheddar get a little dried up in the fridge, you have to throw it out. Some people don't know you can cut the mold off hard cheeses. It's mysterious. It's possibly dangerous. Nobody really cooks anymore. People refrigerate like it's a religion. Microwave directions given biblical reverence, sell-by dates are epistles. We're scared of food. We don't want to get sick, and nobody feels very confident about cooking. Restaurants and fast food are seen as sanitized, clean, consistent. Home-cooked food is foriegn and possibly diseased. Velveeta is manna from heaven in this way; it offers home cooks the sanitized predictability of prepared food.

Americans fear inconsistency because they've lost the ability to tell difference from contamination; and all contamination is suspected to be seriously compromising. I've begun wearing gloves while working on the espresso bar. They protect my hands from the milk rags, not at all to protect beverages from my hands. (There is no reason that my hands would ever come into contact with any component of anyone's beverage. Ever. Milk into pitcher, beans into hopper, shots into shot glasses, shots into cups, milk into cup, done) But many, many customers have taken me aside to thank me for wearing gloves, and ask if maybe I could persuade the other baristas to wear them, as well.

I will fuckin not. Gloves slow you down, need to be changed frequently, make your hands smell funny, and slow the transition between various positions. Nobody else has as severe a reaction to the milk chemicals as I do, so nobody else needs them. And there's no reason to assume that anyone needs them. You can see what we do, if you lean over by the register. You know we're not sticking our thumbs in to check temperature. But people still reacted to my gloves. And at least weekly, someone says something to me about people not leaving the slip of pastry paper in the bag when we hand them a scone. (It's against health codes, by the way- once you put the scone in the bag, it's a food container, so you can't leave something you've touched with your bare hand, it's contaminated) How will they know, they ask, that we used pastry paper to take their pastry from the case, unless they can see it in the bag?

Faith?

So there exists a powerful cultural force, currently, that fears contamination, fears uncertainty of taste, smell, and texture. Which brings us to-

Foreskin.

Not many parents are willing to force their sons to undergo a surgical procedure to cub masturbation anymore. It's not a big new modern motive. (However, if there were a surgical procedure that would place a time-seal on the vagina, only allowing the hymen to be breached at a parentally determined interval- say, 21 years, I'm sure it would be hugely popular right now). Parents are willing to admit that boys will masturbate and it will neither damage nor damn them. In fact, a certain segment of parents think that it's not only normal and natural, preteen sexual exuberance is kitshy and cute.

But many parents still circumcise their sons. Why? Fear. An uncircumcised penis is less predictable than a circumcised one. It's less, well, dry. A foreskin is a mucus membrane. It has secretions. It traps sweat and occasionally urine. It has smegma. Boys must be taught how to take care of their foreskin. (Of course, their parents also teach them how to piss and wipe their asses, but we haven't designed a way out of it yet) It's unpredictable. Its smell, taste, and function might vary on a day-to-day basis. It's this that parents cite when choosing to circumcise their sons. They cite hygiene. Some mothers even state that they can't picture their son getting a blowjob later in life, if he has a foreskin (when otherwise mothers love to picture their sons recieving fellatio). Others picture girls ridiculing their son's penis, and want to save him the embarassment. They want his penis clean, dry, sanitary, predictable- American. It's the only way they can picture it being (sorry) appetizing.

Everything must be controllable. Everything must be presentable. By creating a western wonder world sealed off from grit, blood, death, farming, childbirth, mucus, odor, and uncertainty, something fundamental has been altered. Research is beginning to support the hypothesis that many childhood allergies and chronic illnesses may be getting more prevalent due to the sanitization of society. Children don't eat enough dirt and bugs and slightly rotten food to develop full immunities; they get delicate. It's suggested that feeding children worms may prevent crohn's disease. People are so scared of illness and germs that they hover over toilet seats and crap on the floor; they hector poor baristas about hearing them sneeze in the back room; they throw out eggs, milk, and yogurt on their sell-by date. People are so scared of the unpredictable nature of food and cooking that they'll eat unidentifiable, factory set cheese type spread, which tastes of nothing but failure, to avoid the possible humiliation melting cheddar may bring. (Mmmmm...melted cheddar. Yum. Need Nachos. With Quickness)

And people are so obsessed with predictability, scentlessness, cleanliness, and so on that they have their children's genitals surgically altered (without aneasthesia).

Deal with it, folks.

You can learn to like a stinky cheese.

(knob)

An article

Obviously written by a woman who comes easily from oral sex and clitoral stimulation.

Women's orgasms aren't elusive...women's orgasms aren't elusive...

It's the same go-girl-pro-clitshit that women have been fed from cosmo and ms. and glamour and everywhere. If you're not having orgasms, you're down with the patriarchy. If you're having penetrative intercourse, and expecting to enjoy it...you're a fucking schmuck. And if you think women's orgasms are hard to come by...you're obviously a fuckwit who's never been in an adult bookstore. Or, as our authoress suggests "Freed from guilt over masturbation and barring serious problems, women can orgasm until their fingers get tired or their batteries run dry.". Of course, that's not true. And the qualifying clause makes it even more falacious. There are many women who can orgasm over and over again, but many are good for just one big one. And implying that women who can't are either seriously inhibited or in some way physically flawed went out with frigidity, white lip gloss and fringed leather vests.

Some women come easily from intercourse. Some women come easily from clitoral stimulation. Some women come easily from stimulation of the nipples, lips, and neck alone. Some women are completely anorgasmic. Female sexual response occurs along a spectrum. This has been known since Kinsey.

The woman makes a good argument otherwise.Definitely worth reading. Her reasoning is sound. Her conclusion is novel, and worthwile. Her premise is just so flawed it makes me angry. Just because a behavioral response (or even a reflex response) is common, doesn't mean it's universal. For example. There are some people who can, by concentrating very, very hard, and breathing and using their muscles in just the right way...affect their own heart rate and breathing. Ingrid Bergman could cry one tear out of either eye on command. Some people can move either eyebrow consciously and independantly. I can. Eysenk designed a test that proved that extroverted people produce higher volumes of saliva than introverted people. Human physiognomy is wonderfully diverse. Human sexual response, being both psychologically and physiologically based, is even more so. Any argument that depends on the

A solution to the abortion debate.

The problem with the abortion debate right now is that it's stale.

It is. You've got my side, insisting that bodily sovereignty is a human right, and the other side, insisting that anything that can be even broadly defined as a human life should not be killed. And they're at a standstill, each trying to force into legislative concrete what is really a philosophical position. Of course, my side is right, because if something is subjective, each individual should be free to act according to the dictates of their own conscience. Of course, the other side thinks they must legislate restrictions on abortions, since their principles dictate that it is not subjective at all.
Thus, we're at ends. The side that has more members, more political power, is more sympathetic to the media at the current moment is granted the upper hand. There is no debate. There is only struggle.

So let's end the detante. Let's add a third player. Let's have pro-life, pro-choice, and pro-infanticide. That way, there is some common ground. If we actually have a group of people making an argument for infanticide, perhaps it will inject some life into this tug-of-war, and actually turn a fight into an argument. Groups with common ground are more able to listen and exchange ideas than those who know their viewpoints are diametrically opposed.

And the common ground would be infanticide. Anti.

In fact, both could unite to stop infanticide, using different means. What we need is an infanticide debate. It does happen. If the media could be persuaded to focus on baby stranglings, burnings, poisonings, and smotherings, for a few days- perhaps causing a hysteria like the child-abduction hysteria of a few summers ago. Then, a reasoned, thoughtful, sympathetic pro-infanticide pundit, backed by a group of supporters, might begin to raise questions about the vaunted western (nay, human!) tradition of infanticide.

Points for Infanticide over Abortion
-It's cheaper (does not require surgical procedure)
-Possible to do painlessly (allows administration of anasthetic)
-Can be done without doctor's involvement (physicians would be delighted to not have to be refered to as "baby-killers" anymore)
-Puts fathers even ground with mothers (father's rights advocates rejoice)

Now, of course, these are absurd points. Very. Very.

But, convincingly argued, they'd trick some fringe members of the groups. Pro-lifers already believe that pro-choice folks discount the lives of 'children'. So they'd buy it.

Common ground would be found. Pro-choicers could cry out about preventing the death of innocent babies, the destruction of families, that unwanted pregnancies can bring. Pro-lifers would decry the practice as well. They could join hands and rally together. And maybe they could talk about what death and life really are.

Meditation on "Memoirs of a Geisha"

I saw 'Memoirs of a Geisha' with a friend of mine yesterday. Decent movie. Very atmospheric. Unlike Kingdom of Heaven, the careful cinematography and art direction was backed up with a plot and character development. In fact, the cinematography even enhanced the plot. Which was nice.

There was one shot in particular, where just the interaction of acting, lighting, and camera angles appeared to bring the main character, Sayuri/Chiyo, from childhood into adolescence. Her face, a childs, seemed for a moment completely ageless.

In a word, it was neat.

Anyway. That the movie had a pleasing plot and good narrative drive isn't worth talking about, because it was based on a novel that had both. I'm also not going to talk about the implications of using chinese and malaysian actresses instead of japanese, because, well, I dunno.

But. It did bring up some issues. Like...why aren't their courtesans anymore? Or geisha? Or really, really high-class prostitutes? Why isn't there a demimonde?

Because of fucking romantic fucking marriage. Or, the expectation of romantic marriage. Men expect their wives to like them, fuck them and make conversation, rather than expecting their wives to cook and clean and breed. So we're left with prostitution, because men still can't expect consistent sex throughout marriage, and straight unmarried men keep refusing to have sex with each other, as god intended.

And the sad result of this perverse modern inovation is that being charming, talented, and easy is no longer a career option for women. You have to be charming, talented, and easy for free, or pretend to be so for a few weeks or months, and then return to your dismal skanky self once a commitment is made. Men and women expect to fulfill all (or the majority of) each other's opposite sex needs. Men and women occupy similar worlds, due to feminism. There is no upperclass male world of art, letters, and dirty jokes with a separate supportive domestic female world. Thus, there is no neccessity for a segment of women to cross over into the male world.

If men have a reasonable expectation that their legally sanctioned heterosexual relationships will be in any way fulfilling, the career of professional mistress is dead. It's simply too expensive to keep two women when one will do. Especially now that one woman can be expected to be self-supporting. Why buy the cow when you can marry the milk while she continues working and pays for the cable?

Too bad. I mean, feminism is great and everything, but...I'd really, really like to be witty, learned, and slutty and nothing else, and, you know, eat cheese like nobody's business.

I think I have an inferiority complex.

I'll mail a roll of pennies to the first person who supplies me with the originator of that term. It's in my notes, but why not skip a step?

But my roommate bought that charmin ultra toilet paper. It's so thick and soft and cushy. They should get rid of those fat-bottomed bears and go to a simpler ad campaign. On a black screen, in mid-sized, serifless font, it should say:

Charmin Ultra: The kiss of luxury, on your sphincter.

That's all. That's all you need. Unfortunately, I can't deal with soft, cushy, almost plush toilet paper. It feels like it's too good for my proletarian bumhole. So I bought Scott, single-ply. I feel like after a roll of this corrective toilet paper, I will feel ready for the rippled kind, which is only slightly above me.

Underused Nicknames for US States

Alabama : The Touch-Me State
Alaska: Girls! Girls! Girls!
Arizona: America's Chumbucket
California: Potsylvania
Colorado: Coloraddy
Connecticutt:Grandma
Delaware: Smellaware
Florida: Laos on the Atlantic
Louisiana: The thinking man's Tennessee
New Jersey: The Garden State
New Hampshire: Lil' Smokey
New Mexico: Old Canada
New York: Happy Sock

more later

Lesser known facts about women

That can be discerned from the feminine hygiene aisle at CVS.



True: Women like to smell like food. They will buy nearly anything that will make them smell either like a salad course or a dessert. The dessert part has been known for decades. The salad course is a more recent innovation. It began with skin products containing avacado and cucumber, for their cooling properties. Now women will pay money for the privilege of splashing alcohol and water solutions laced with the scent of cucumber and anything onto themselves, anywhere you suggest they should.

While cucumber melon and cucumber green tea have been fully exploited at prices accessible to any consumer, cucumber and a light vinagrette is, as yet, unpopular. This may be, at least in some part, due to women's discomfort at walking around smelling as if they'd just douched and then pleasured themselves with the pick of the produce department.

False: Women want their vaginas to smell like flowers, seasons, or abstract concepts. The product at right is "Norforms Vaginal Suppositories". It's a waxy, scented, plug that women stick into their boxes, which then melts and releases its scent as the day goes on. People don't believe me when I tell them this product exists. I know it does. I used to put it on shelves when I worked at a pharmacy. But just because it exists doesn't mean that it is needed or wanted; however, it may be used because it exists. While it is false that women don't wake up in the middle of the night, concerned that their vaginas don't smell enough like lilies, ambition, or autumn dew; it is true that there are a certain segment of women who can be convinced that other women's vaginas smell like 'wisteria wanderings', and if theirs don't...well, civilization might be less for it.

True: Vulvae can be terrible, disturbing, disgusting things that must be contained, for the LOVE OF GOD. They lie in wait, in underpants, ready to spew forth, well, just anything at any moment. That is why so many products meant to be jammed into the vagina, or placed in front of it to keep it from contaminating the world, are named after soothing abstractions. Let us consider: Instead.

What is instead?

Why, instead is the feminine hygiene cup. Instead is a little soft poly cup that you brace against your cervix, to catch all the fluids that runs out. For men: This differs from tampons in that tampons absorb the fluids. This cup just..well, dams them up. So they retain all their feminine, runny, gloopy glory. It is, in all ways but one, inferior to tampons, because all fluids retain their fluid natures...just waiting to spill out. So what is it instead of? I suppose, it's instead of just standing pantsless over a bucket with your legs open for 4-6 days. (The maple syrup method) How is instead superior to tampons? It's the only feminine hygiene product that can be worn during intercourse. How's that, guys...INSTEAD of putting down a towel, you get to bang your dick against a soft cup full of 12 hours worth of blood!

Other abstract concepts in women's pants "Serenity" and "Poise".


These are, of course, products designed to keep women who piss themselves, over the course of their daily lives, from being discovered pissing themselves over their daily lives.

You'd think this would be a problem known only to elderly women, and equally so to elderly men.
Alas, no. It's a dirty secret that one in three women, after having a baby, experiences stress incontinence. One in three. That means that if you're into milfs, you're into watersports. One in three women can be found, if laughing or doing strenuous exercises, serenely, and with poise, pissing themselves.

Fat Children vs. Fat Puppies- A reprise

Even on christmas, I hate

















but I love...











not a big fan of...














but I'm pretty keen on