Consequence-free sex is a fantastic idea, and I am wholeheartedly in favor of (more of) it.
And to all of those who think such sex is a terrible idea, that women/whores/sluts (but I repeat myself. . .) should just keep their legs closed, I say:
I agree!
Women/whores/sluts should not have sex. . . with people who think women should not have sex.
Win-win!
Jesus fucking christ.
Unions screwed, women screwed out of protected screwing.
I look forward to SPEAKER OF THE HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES John Boehner filing a lawsuit against President Obama for, uh, presidenting.
After all, what other options does the SPEAKER OF THE HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES have in dealing with a president?
Sure, it’s possible that some incompetent bastard who slid thru the confirmation process might allow the suit to go forward, but it is far more likely that the judge, after s/he stops laughing, would gavel down the suit and yell at the SPEAKER OF THE HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES to get out of her/his courtroom, quit wasting everyone’s time, go back to Congress and do his job.
Hell, I’d pay five bucks for a seat in the courtroom to see that happen.
I know we’re supposed to love our bodies, accept our imperfections, and work on being fit rather than on being thin.
But.
Nothing like staring at oneself in a mirror under overhead fluorescent lights in a dressing room at an Old Navy to make an old broad want to give up eating.
Jeeeeezus.
To the asshole who’s car alarm went off ALL NIGHT LONG last night: I hope you woke up to a dead dead dead battery.
Or a brick thru the windshield. Whatever.
Christ, am I wiped.
I have words, but lack the zip to string them together.
So, cat:
Yep, that’s pretty much it.
I haven’t lived in the Badger State since the late ’80s, but jeez, this is just embarrassing.
I like Charlie Pierce.
I like his laugh on Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me, and even more so, I like his writing on his Politics blog at the Esquire site.
He can be too much sometimes, but as someone who is rather constantly afraid of her own too-muchness, I appreciate his own constant willingness to lay it out there.
I don’t agree with his take on everything and sometimes roll my eyes at the repetitious “zombie-eyed granny starver” (Paul Ryan) and “goggle-eyed homunculus hired by Koch Industries to manage their midwest subsidiary formerly known as the state of Wisconsin” (Scott Walker), tho’ I do admit to smirking at “Our Magic Lady of the Dolphins” (Peggy Noonan).
But this is a guy who has fun writing, and who’s always willing to toss out bits of verbal absurdity, to whit “up with which I will not put”. (See most recent deployment of this phrase here.)
I don’t know why that so delights me, but it does. That’s enough.
And yes, I got a kick out it even before my brain began turning into hash.
Jasper, who normally leaves me to eat my meals in peace, will grab my plate and try to stick his nose into my food whenever I eat one of my spicy homemade bean or mushroom burritos.
I know it’s the spice which draws him: when I spritzed my plants with a capsaicin spray to deter him from munching on the leaves, he responded by munching avidly.
Trickster, on the other hand, prefers dairy products: yogurt (both Greek and regular), and Parmesan—or, in a pinch, Asiago or Pecorino Romano—cheese. She’s also a water baby who likes to drink from the droplets dripping down her face.
Weirdos.
AbsurdBeats 