Where am I?

Jules asked where I am today.

Kinda crabby. Really crabby, actually. I asked my boss today "Is everyone crabby?" Then I realized it's not everyone, it's just me.

Lots in the brain, not much opportunity to write the past couple of days. It's not as if everyone has read everything I posted, anyway. Five comments on Who's News? Please. What do you people want? I give you Princess fucking Diana with a Hitler moustache, and no one bats an eyelash.

I'm taking Friday off, which means all day for writing, and I intend to do a crapload.

In the meantime, I dunno...help Leab find Tim Sherno, whomever the hell Tim Sherno is. Also, do yourself a favor and read the last portion of Savage Love today. That may be the subject of Friday's hellfire and brimstone blog. Frankly, I'm a little tired of "Culture of life assfucks" (his words, not mine) being blamed for all the ills in the world.

I'm tired of the "Everybody does it" mantra. I'm tired of columns like Savage Love bashing people who are sick of mopping up after everyone else's irresponsibility. I'm tired of people like Savage pretending that there are no emotional repurcussions for wanton sexual behavior. If I'm a "Culture of life assfuck," then I deem Savage a "Culture of irreponsibility dickweed."

Savage is a wonderful illustration of why I wake every day with the fervent hope giant fucking horsemen will appear in the sky. Judas God, last week I read a story that said half of all 15 year olds have had intercourse. Well over half have had oral sex. I go to a community college with a bunch of 18 year olds, and believe you me that kids would do well to concentrate less on perfecting their fellatio techniques, and more on learning how to construct a goddamned sentence in cohesive English.