Well, guess what? Fifteen-year-old girls don’t want you either, you impotent jackass! She beat the shit out of you, didn’t she? And maybe you escaped her, but you won’t get away from TPD for long. We may joke about them, but they’re actually pretty good. Especially in cases like this, because they have daughters too, and we are all united against you. Nobody hesitates to “snitch” on a child-molester!

And then when you go to prison, guess what? Those guys inside? They’re a lot tougher than you. And you know what?

Some of them have daughters too.

Have a nice imprisonment. Can’t wait to see your ugly face behind bars.

I need my money.

Aargh.

Anyway. Some interesting things from about the internets before I fall back into my smut story:

Mansplaining according to Karen is

[w]hen a dude tells you, a woman, how to do something you already know how to do, or how you are wrong about something you are actually right about, or miscellaneous and inaccurate “facts” about something you know a hell of a lot more about than he does.

Bonus points if he is explaining how you are wrong about something being sexist!

Next up: Did you know the age of consent in the Vatican is twelve? What I particularly love here is how anal sex, that cannot get anyone pregnant, has a higher age of consent than vaginal sex in many places. (Also, that in some places the age for f/f sex is younger than for m/m sex, but it seems the reverse is NEVER true.)

Oh, humanity, how silly you are.

Also on the discussion of anal sex, I found this a bit interesting:

At the same time as anal penetration is held up in hetero male culture as the ultimately painful/humiliating/unpleasant experience, it’s also held up as one of the premium sexual experiences any man can have – IF he’s on the penetrating end. (Speaking, of course, about heterosexual relations.)

The writer suggests we call men on that. I say it sounds like a great plan. Make up your minds, boys! Either it’s a marvelous thing, or it’s painful, humiliating domination.

If you’re not willing to have it done to you, why in hells would we let you do it to us?

And I don’t want to hear a word about your poor virgin asses, either.

Editing Fidelis a teensy bit. It’s difficult to work on both, considering one is YA fantasy and the other is erotic fantasy. I should  let one go for a while, except I can’t decide. The challenge is sort of time sensitive, which is the only reason to stick with it (and the fact I want to *looks shifty again* ). Fidelis needs finishing, and could really be marvelous as soon as I fix that ending, and once it’s edited this time it might be ready for submission…

Bah. I shall stumble forward with both. And those articles I need to write. I really need to get on those.

Specifically, though, I want to talk to the baggers. To the bottom of the totem pole people, the ones stuck with all the worst jobs I’m sure. I don’t want to yell at you guys. You do have a tough job, and God knows you work hard for your money, fetching carts and replacement items and price checks and helping stupid people who can’t find their car or their keys or their asses. You’re pretty damn good at sorting things as they come at you, and bagging them up fast and well. I imagine Tetris is too much like work for you, and that Grand Theft Auto is a great stress-reliever.

I’m not difficult to please. I don’t care if all my frozen stuff goes in one bag except for, oops!, the bag of frozen spinach you toss in with my fresh veggies. I’m not going to scold if you don’t see my bags coming down and start sticking stuff in that planet-killing plastic. And I also imagine that by now, considering how many times it’s happened, I should have learned to keep an eye on my own damned bread.

But still. You should have been trained on this, and clearly you weren’t, so I’ll make mention of it.

The bread does not go under the eggs. If the customer has eggs and bread, your job is easy–eggs, then bread. Ta da, bag done! Just remember that the bread always goes on top.

It does not belong under the eggs, as mentioned. It doesn’t go under the tortillas. Though they are both bread-like products, tortillas are both heavier and less prone to squishing. Especially by bread.

It does not go upright in a bag with a bag of apples. That bag of apples does not stay the shape it is when you put it in the bag, hanging it from your hand.

It does not go in a bag with a gallon of milk, and why are you bagging my milk anyway when I asked you not to?

The problem with bread is that it’s squishable, and it’s just not as edible after it’s squished. It makes my sandwiches be funny shapes, and you cannot mess with my sandwiches and expect me to take it quietly.

The wonder of bread is that it’s light, and can go on top of practically anything without damaging it. So I’ll make you a deal. I won’t buy potato chips, and if I buy flowers I’ll carry them myself. You put my bread on top of any old thing you want to–that’s why I always make sure to send it down to you last–and not next to or under anything. And we will both live happily ever after.

Doesn’t that sound good?

If someone really want to go all out for Christmas, I say go for it. But if it’s making people miserable, stressing them out fretting over cards and gifts and decorations and it’s all got to be done a certain way by a certain date–man, I call shenanigans.

Who are you doing it for?  Is there someone on your card list who will stop caring for you if they don’t get a card before Christmas? Are you buying gifts for loved ones, or buying love?

Jesus is, as so many would remind, the reason for the season. (I am only talking about Christmas as I don’t know anyone stressing about Hannukah or Kwanzaa. I suspect, however, that my argument would apply.) Stop letting the pressures of advertising and Made for TV Movies make you worry about all that other crap.

It’s about love, people. The rest of it is optional.