(Again, sorry Bear. I swear, I will get back to you on your bizarre alien planet soon. It is clear that some time soon, I will have to do two writing sessions a day, one for fiction and one for angst. I will start that on Monday. )

Been thinking about power lately, specifically my own.

The things is, sometimes I am very afraid of myself. There are times when I feel a great darkness welling up inside me, like a Stygian Cthulhuian Leviathan rising to the surface of a deep underground lake with malign intent.

It is this kind of darkness that frightens me. There is a part of me, a frightful cocktail of suppressed rage, fear, and the sheer madness of the cornered rat, and it is capable of anything.

I repeat, it is capable of anything.

It does not care about others. It is a massive ball of pure cold hate that just wants to take, take, take and fuck anyone who gets in the way. It is so cold as to be nearly sociopathic. I suppose it is my reptile brain.

Now I know why it is there and what part of me it represents. A long time ago, when I was a kid, a lot of bad things happened to me and I have never fully dealt with them so they have, in a sense, been preserved in the deep freeze of my deep psyche.

I have psychological wounds that closed but never healed, and most importantly, I was brutalized as a kid and I do not mean that merely in the sense of brutal things happening to me.

I mean that I was made brutal. I was de-civilized. Those painful experiences of bullying and abuse made me revert to a more primitive, animalistic mindset and even though I am, for the most part, a civilized human being with humane values and a deep respect for order and progress, there is a very deep part of me that is absolutely raving mad and ready to tear apart any motherfucker who dares to hurt me in any way ever again.

So far, I do not know how to communicate with that part of me. I can barely get in touch with my poor neglected inner child, let alone the savage crazed beast lurking within him. I have a lot of emotional growth to do before I am fully human, and capable of experiencing the rich mental and emotional tapestry of life.

I know, I know, I seem fully human to everyone who knows me and certainly all the scientific testing known to humanity would verify my status as a member of the species homo sapiens. Yet to me, it is clear that I am not fully human on the inside. I am too cold, too weak, too isolated, too spiritually and emotionally stunted to qualify. I am a place where a person could be, and hopefully will be.

But for now, I am just too dark and cold inside to feel like I am a real person. I do not feel connected to my other human beings on anything but an intellectual level. I do not feel like part of the human race.

It all comes down to trust, in a way. When you are brutalized as a child, you come to see other people as threats first, actual real human beings second. That crazed animal inside you makes trusting others incredibly difficult, and without trust there can be no emotional connection on a human level.

It is a little like being a sociopath, in a way. Even when it is there, I can’t feel the warmth of others. I can be very warm and caring to them, but that does not erase the distance between me and them, at least, not completely.

That distance is made of fear and mistrust. It is a way to protect yourself emotionally by taking a detached, purely intellectual approach to everything, like you are only here to observe and analyze, and so the emotional nature of something can be completely ignored as it is all “data”, and all so very “fascinating”.

And if it was possible to turn into a robot like Mister Data from TNG, that might be enough. But even the most impressively brilliant of us are still human beings. Despite the lies it tells you, your mind cannot actually transcend your humanity.

All it can do is shove it into a deep dark closet and leave it to rot while it plugs its ears and says “la la la, I can’t hear you in there. ”

Damn, I wandered away from the point again.

My own shadow, that’s what I was talking about. One of the true fears underneath its power is of having to deal with life directly, without that distancing. To deal with life in realtime, as it happens, sans intellectualization.

For someone who exerts power of the world via their intellect, the spiritual exhortation to “be here now” sounds like the worst thing that could possibly happen. Being in the moment scares the hell out of us and makes us feel naked and vulnerable, having to just be without being able to predict and control the outcomes via our mighty intellects.

Only by living in an intellectual time bubble where everything is processed to within an inch of its life by the intellect before it reaches the consciousness can we victims of the icy tower disease feel safe.

Without that delay, we would have to react to situations via emotions and instinct, and we associate that with, and I am not exaggerating here, annihilation. Oblivion. The madness of the void. The ultimate horror.

Because if you base your sense of identity almost entirely around your intellect, then who are you without it?

You would have to deal with life like others do, and that leads to loss of control and “mistakes”. That is clearly unacceptable. Better to stay in your spaceship and view the world from its protection.

Even if it means starving to death.

We are a complicated breed.

As Jeremy “Bear” Barrington pushed through the forest, he seethed with the toweringly righteous anger that can only be produced by the hormonal bouillabaisse that is the bloodstream of a teenage boy.

How DARE they treat him like a child! He was a man now, and could prove it if needed. (How, he was not sure, yet he was absolutely sure he could do it. )

His parents clearly thought that just because they were both highly respected scientists, with more degrees than a thermometer and enough grant money to buy their own planet just to study it, that meant that they knew everything and he knew nothing.

But he was FIFTEEM YEARS OLD, and already he knew more about life, real life outside of the lab, than they ever would. All he was asking for was for them to treat him with the respect he deserved. Was that so much to ask? Is that so hard?

Yet time and time again, they made it clear that they still thought of him as some helpless stupid little boy that still needed to be told what side of the slidewalk went faster. He could tell by the look in their eyes and the tone of their voices that they had no respect for him at all, and that was just plain intolerable.

And this latest incident was the most galling. All he had asked for was a simple puffer bike like all his friends already had. Nothing complicated or dangerous, just a seat, a frame, and six air-effect generators for lift and propulsion.

Everybody he knew at the Academy already had one, because apparently THEIR parents were reasonable. But he had to be stuck with parents who, despite his assurance that Don Jimenez from his Planetology class had told him that you couldn’t crash a puffer bike even if you wanted to, acted as though he was asking permission to wrestle a sharkskinned cavebeast nude with one hand tied behind his back.

He had even saved up his allowance for three whole months so that he could pay for it himself. He had the whole thing figured out. He had visions in his head of joining his Academy friends as they zoomed around Aristotle City, free as the wind, the air-effect generators humming their sweet soft tune around them, playing games like Catch A Fall and Touch The Dome.

It was this vision that had driven him for this last three months, and now, on the crest of his triumph, to have that glorious machine snatched away from him by the cruel and arbitrary whims of two people who clearly hated the idea of him being happy and wanted to suffer as much as possible… it was almost beyond enduring.

Angrily, he pushed aside bushes, occasionally pausing to wipe some sort of heavy, runny sap off his hands. The very fact that he needed his parent’s permission to buy and use a puffer bike was insulting enough. He was old enough to make his own decisions and take his own risks.

But the fact that his parents actually balked at trusting him with this tiny amount of responsibility made him almost choke to death on his own bile. The sense of betrayal was like an icicle thrust into his heart. Couldn’t they see how much they were hurting it? Don’t they understand that not having a puffer bike was making him miserable? Shouldn’t the happiness of their only child come before any stupid set of rules?

Not for the first time, he gave serious thought to just running away. He knew just how he’d do it. Sell his Copper Disk of the Sun (his first ever archaeological find) and use that money to book passage from Mars to… he didn’t know. Anywhere. Someplace cool. He looked old enough to get into the Halls of Glory on Valhalla Asteroid, and he had heard from Tso that they didn’t really care anyhow. As long as you had the cover charge, and maybe a little something extra to look the other way, you could practically be a toddler and they would let you in.

They said every type of pleasure known to humanity was available there, and in as big a portion as you could handle. Tso had run away to there when he was only fourteen and swore it was the best thing ever anywhere, bar none. But when pressed for details, he just put a fatherly hand on Bear’s shoulder and said “I can’t possibly do it justice. I learned so much when I was there. You have to go yourself to understand. ”

That only made Bear want to go all the more, to learn what Tso had learned, of course. His notions of physical pleasure were somewhere between innocent and pornographic, but he instinctively felt that he could learned a hell of a lot about a lot of things (but mostly sex) at a place like Valhalla.

They said that on Valhalla, you could try absolutely anything. Any kind of food, sex, drink, conversation, sport, game, or other human pleasure could be found somewhere on Valhalla.

This intrigued Bear.

So far, his parents had not quite managed to make him angry enough to sell his most prized possession and run off to the best catered whorehouse in the Sol system. But with this latest outrage….

By now, he had cooled off enough to realize he had wandered pretty far from home, and he instinctively looked for Ceres in the sky in order to get his bearings.

But Ceres wasn’t there. Not only that, the sky where it should be was entirely the wrong color, a kind of muddy yellow instead of Mars’ familiar pale, pale blue.

It was then that Bear remembered that this was not, in fact, the pleasant and safe Mars where he had grown up.

It was Exo-planet 18G, a completely untamed world that his parents were assessing for possible inclusion in the human worlds and possibly even becoming the Eighteenth Planet, if it proved terraformable.

And he absolutely no idea where he was.

As part of my continuing efforts to write my way out of depression and force by brain to rewire itself for positivity by sheer force of will, tonight I am going to remind myself that my life is quite nice sometimes.

I need this reminder because I have been going through some heavy emotional turbulence lately and I am a little scared. The pathways for both joy and sadness have never been more open, and the ride gets rockier every day.

I know that, with time, this will all even out and when the storm breaks, I will be a stronger and more solid person, and therefore much happier than a weaker, wetter me.

But you have to survive today to get to tomorrow, and the razor’s edge seems to be cutting me very deeply lately. I feel like I am in more danger now than I was when I was more depressed and less functional.

Certain thoughts pass rapidly through my mind like the light from a passing car’s headlights shining in a bedroom window. They go fast because I suppress them (hard!) the moment I recognize them. These thoughts are not wanted or welcome and I am too damned angry at my depression to permit them the slightest purchase, so they just pass through my mind like clouds through the sky.

Nevertheless, it has me scared. To be afraid of yourself is a special kind of hell, even at this low a level. Turns out the exit from dysthymic depression is a very scary ride.

But it’s not always like that. That is what I need to remind myself of constantly. The numbness of depression can make it seem like all of life is a uniform useless unsatisfying gray, totally blotting out the reality that some of the time life is quite nice, actually.

Logically speaking, we all know that there are times in our lives which are more pleasant than others. Even in a fairly flatlined life like mine, there are times when I am quite happy, as well as times when I am… the opposite.

Invariably, these happy times are when I am hanging out with my friends. I love my friends and we get along incredibly well. Our social times together are quite precious to me. They are my happiest moments in any given week. They are, in fact, the closest thing to joy that this numb and frozen heart of mine can experience, at least within present limits.

Who knows, my bus pass might arrive any day now and that might unlock a whole new world for me. But for now, my socialization is with my friends, and I am fine with that.

We hang out, watch videos, eat snacks, and chat. We enjoy one another’s company. It is pretty darn awesome.

My favorite day is Sunday, because that is the day we can do the full evening. A meal out, then I spend time with Felicity as I shop for my weekly supplies, then back to the apartment for video watching and hanging out.

I enjoy this evening so much that when it ends, I always feel a little sad, like a miniature version of post-Xmas blues. Oh no, a whole week before this happens again? Waaah.

That leaves my alone time, which is copious and burdensome. Partly that is my fault as I do not seem to have enough momentum to break my cycle of spending all day playing video games on my tablet. And while that kills time, it also kills my life and my soul. It is junk food, pleasure without nutrition, and worst of all, it encourages me to just lay in bed all day.

The tablet has actually made my life even more inactive. I don’t even have to get out of bed to waste my time and my life any more. Before the tablet, I at least had to get up and sit at the computer.

Not any more! Thanks to a miracle of modern technology, I can spend all day in bed and not even get bored!

Frustrated, lonely, and depressed, sure. Bot not bored! Never bored. Not with so many toys.

But even my alone times are not uniformly bad. Some days are better than others. Every day seems to have a period when I feel incredibly bad lately, usually between 4 pm and 7 pm. It’s like having a headache throughout your entire body, and it makes me want to scream and break things.

I don’t, of course. But I want to.

But that is not what my whole life is like. There are times in every day when I am, if not exactly blissful, at least fairly untroubled and relaxed.

When I am writing my blog entry, for example. The act of writing relaxes a tightly cramped muscle inside me, presumably from a backlog of words that need to come out of me. My urge to express myself is very strong.

So usually, unless I am having a VERY bad day, I am fairly happy while I am blogging. It makes me feel awake and alive and like something I do matters and has purpose.

All that, and catharsis too? That’s a pretty decent deal.

I am also fairly content when I am eating a meal and watching stuff on Netflix. Feeding my face and my mind at the same time creates a fairly decent island of stability in the tumultuous waters of my mind, leaving very few mental CPU cycles left over for the cancerous self-digestion that is neurosis

So really, it is just a matter of getting through the day’s rough patch as quickly and painlessly as possible.

Convincing myself to get up and move around more would help, but it can’t be forced. If I try to force the mechanism, the whole system shuts down.

I have to coax myself instead. Come on, just do this, and then see if you feel like doing more.

Like I am my own kindly physiotherapist.

Be the parent I never had, I guess.

But… then they will have gotten away with it!

So I did it. I wrote an entire blog entry summarizing all the good things about me. No backpedaling, no minimizing, no negating, just a thousand words of all the good things about me.

And objectively speaking, it is a pretty impressive list. I am truly blessed with a great number of gifts. A lot of people would give their right arms to be half as gifted as I am.

But the list was very painful for me to write, as I suspected it would be. It goes against the entire grain of my warped psyche to praise myself and so instead of being a joyful and heartening experience that unlocked a galaxy of self-worth and emotional stability for me, it felt more like digging shrapnel out of my numb and tortured flesh with a rusty old hunting knife

But hey, I knew it would not be easy. But it was worth it, right? I now have this blog entry I can go back to when I am feeling down on myself and need a reminder that I am actually a pretty awesome person.

That is undoubtedly true. But it’s not how I feel. The exercise has instead left me feeling more hollow than before and it has really highlight a fundamental truth of life.

Emotions can lie. I proved to myself with the blog entry that I have a lot of talent and potential, but just like when I was a kid, that news just makes me even sadder.

Why? Why can’t I let the truth of my good points sink into my frozen, broken heart? Why do I feel colder and more empty inside than before I wrote it? What the hell is wrong with me?

I cannot argue that I wrote lies yesterday. Everything I wrote was true. So objectively speaking, I should be quite happy with myself and have no reason to be depressed or sad. And certainly not reason to hate myself.

But my emotions continue to lie to me. They tell me I am worthless and awful and toxic. After all, if that is how I feel, that is how I must be, right? What else do we have to shore up our self worth but emotions, in the end? No matter how smart you are, you are still a lonely, scared beach ape like the rest of us and all the intelligence in the world can’t keep you warm in the dead of night when you are alone with yourself.

That is where faith is supposed to come in, and I have none.

Some days I don’t even believe in reality.

And the very idea that our emotions can lie to us on such a fundamental level is downright obscene. And terrifying, because now how clever us baked beach apes get, we still experience reality on a fundamentally emotional basis. Our feeling guide us, our intellect only informs us.

Emotion is always king. Intellect advises but it is always emotion that makes the call in the end.

So if something that fundamental it our existence can lie to us, can tell us something is true when it is clearly and demonstrably wrong (and vice versa), what chance to any of us really have?

I am telling you, I think I truly understand all those people who just keep on believing things after they are amply demonstrated to be untrue.

Sure, their way of looking at the world might not be the one best aligned with objective reality, but by continuing to go with their gut and believe whatever their emotions tell them, they at least avoid (strenuously) any inner conflict between reality and emotions. They do not have to face this bitter truth.

Your emotions can lie to you and make you believe unhappy things which are not true. I want to believe in myself, but my chemicals won’t let me.

And that makes me really understand, really feel, how insane I am.

It is actually painful to think about my good points. Every asset that I have is perverted into another reason to hate myself by my dark chemicals.

Look at you, with all that talent and all that intelligence, just sitting their wasting your potential playing video games and fucking around online all day!

And so I never think about my good points. Hating myself is actually easier than dealing with that painful split between emotion and reality. Deep down, all my assets make me do is say “Who cares? None of it makes me happy. It just makes me a bigger idiot for not using my assets at all. ”

It’s like living in poverty when you have a million dollars in the bank just because you think you are no good with money, and can’t decide what to spend it on first.

Logic and common sense would dictate that being an amazing dude would be enough to make anyone happy. But logic and common sense break down when dealing with depression. We depressives have a giant, heavy thumb constantly pressing down on “sad” side of the happy/sad scale, and against that, intellect struggles in vain.

Sometimes your only hope is to feel your way out of the darkness.

So that’s the scoop on me. I know my self-loathing is unjustified, and I have a feeling that a lot of you would agree. I am a sweet, smart, funny, sensitive, kindly, warmhearted fellow and that should be enough for anybody.

But all my chemicals will let me think about is how clumsy and helpless and vulnerable I feel and that just makes me more scared of the world than ever because fundamentally I just plain can’t handle it. It’s all well and good to be a mental wizard if you have someone in your life to take care of the world outside the mind for you, but I don’t.

You turn into an adult whether you are ready or not. And I was not.

Telling you all the good things about myself made me feel cold and hollow. Telling you just how bad I feel has actually made me feel a little better.

And how fucked up is that?

This is the entry I originally had planned for Friday but angst happened. I have been meaning to write it for a while now, but I kept putting it off because I know it will not be easy for me. But it needs doing.

So today I will try to list all my good points and put them all in one document so I can try to cobble together a positive version of myself that I can believe in, or at least try.

Let’s get the big obvious one out of the way first : I am crazy smart.

I have a massive brain (metaphorically speaking). I have been way too smart for my own good for my entire life. Schoolwork was always easy, I never studied for tests, yadda yadda yadda.

This big brain, along with an introverted and introspective personality (aided by having a lot of time in school where I had nothing to do but think), has made me quite the deep thinker. I have a deep understanding of human nature and why people do the things they do (handy for a writer) and a great deal of philosophical insight and political understanding in this bulging noggin of mind.

I also have the maaad verbal skills. I am a wizard of words, and the English language is my bitch. Verbal communication has always been easy for me, and I am a fluent and eloquent speaker with real knack for expressing both ideas and emotion with inspired metaphors and evocative language.

And other good word things.

I am also quite funny. I used to wonder about that, because I did not exactly make a lot of people laugh when I was younger, but something inside me compelled me to keep trying till I got it right and now I have had a lot of people either tell me I am funny or tell me how funny they found one of the skits I have written, and that is enough positive feedback for me to conclude that I must be one hilarious dude.

Why I haven’t written the next Hitchhiker’s Guide yet is beyond even me.

I also have a very sharp analytical mind, good with science and other quantitative disciplines. I am quite comfortable with working with numbers and I think I have a natural flair for accounting and business.

What can I say… I grok money!

But that is all brain stuff, stuck on that overbearing cold circuit of mine. Sure, I have a lot of impressive brain circuitry which could really make me an asset to any enterprise lucky enough to hire me, but what kind of a person am I?

Pretty nice, I think. I am sensitive and understanding towards others and I really, truly want to understand the world from their point of view. I firmnly believe that you don’t know anything until you have looked at the world from angles other than your own, just like you can’t know all of what an object looks like in 3D if all you have seen is a 2D photograph.

And I truly care about people. I really want everyone to be happy and I really feel for people when they are feeling down. I have a strong urge to help people and I have no problem with listening to people vent about their lives or express all the sadness and pain inside because I know how much good can be done by simply listening to people and thus helping them release their inner demons and let the ghosts inside them scream into the night, never to return.

See? Pictures with words!

In fact, when people share their innermost pain with me, I feel privileged. It honors and pleases me to be the trustworthy and understanding voice for someone, a midwife to their pain, a witness to their unburdening.

To me, it feels downright holy. I can’t think of a better way to describe it. It gives me the feeling of reverence and joy that I can only assume is what people get from traditional religion.

Also in my favor : I am an atheist, but I’m not an asshole about it.

I am also pretty charismatic. Not in a handsome actor way, of course, but more a combination of projecting personal warmth and the magnetism of my mighty and mysterious mind. When I am relaxed and not self-conscious, I can be the life of the party, or at least a compelling raconteur.

What else. I have a pretty good intuitive grasp of music, and I definitely could not live without my MP3 collection. In all things, I have pretty broad and far-ranging taste. There is good art and there is bad art and that is the only distinction that matters. All other categories like genre or cuisine are only tools to guide you towards other things you might like. They should in no way define or restrict you.

Go ahead, look around at what other people have on their plates. Maybe you will want to order it yourself some day, when you are feeling bored with your usual fare.

Oh, and I am, if I say so myself, extraordinarily independent of mind. I accept no authority and I test everything in the laboratory of my mind before I accept it. That doesn’t make me a hardcore skeptic (at least, not since I was 20) but it does mean that my point of view tends to lie quite outside the mainstream.

That gets you some pretty weird looks sometimes.

One last thing : I am also brilliantly creative. My mind overflows with ideas and I can come up with unique solutions for problems without a lot of effort.

So with all those wonderful qualities, does it matter that I am klutzy and goofy and not great with physical things? This is the era of information, after all. A good brain is far more useful than big muscles or agile hands in this day and age.

So sure, I have my limits like everybody else.

But overall, I think I am one heck of a guy.

Loyal reader and fabulous human being Felicity Walker has asked me to cover some topics on the ol’ blog tonight, mostly relating to recent events, and I live to serve^[1], so here goes.

Topic 1 : Woody Allen

Recently, the allegations of sexual abuse against Woody Allen have resurfaced because for the first time, his alleged victim has accused him directly and signed her name to it.

Said alleged victim is Dylan Farrow, and the allegation is that Allen abused her while Mia and Woody were still married. Dylan actually wrote a whole letter detailing the allegations and I think had it published in a full page ad to boot.

Well, you have to get people’s attention somehow.

Now I am not normally one to doubt people who make these kinds of accusations. As an adult survivor of sexual abuse myself, I know just how crushing it would be to finally come up with the courage to tell people about what happened, only to be doubted and attacked by fans of my abuser.

But these accusations originally surfaced as part of very, very acrimonious divorce proceedings, and sad to say, that changes things. If there is one circumstance in which people do horrible, unthinkable things like coach a child to lie about sexual abuse, or even convince them it happened, it is divorce.

So I have to wonder if this all started with Mia getting mad with Woody over something. I am not saying Dylan is lying. False memories happen, as much as we wish they did not.

However, none of that changes my utter contempt for Woody Allen as a human being. The deal with Soon Yi was quite enough for me to loathe him forever, thank you kindly. It doesn’t matter that she was not a blood relative. It doesn’t matter than they say the whole thing became sexual only after she was of legal age (yeah right).

What matters is the profound betrayal of trust, and the profound and contemptuous weakness it shows on the part of Woody. The temptation could happen to anyone, and no doubt happens to millions of men every day. Young girls are attracted to powerful, famous, funny, intelligent, sensitive men.

The difference is, most men have the moral integrity to say NO. Let them down gently, but say NO. Even if it is just out of a sense of self-preservation, they say NO.

You didn’t say no, Woody, and to me that puts you in the same category as any pedophile. You are just as bad as any bad babysitter or ‘weird’ uncle. You took advantage of someone far too young to know better just because she fed your lust and your ego.

And this knows no gender lines. Whether it’s Wood and Soon Yi or Mary Kay Letourneaux and Vili, the betrayal of trust for your own selfish reasons and the denial of the inherent wrongness of the actions is exactly the same, and just as repulsive to any decent human being.

So fuck you forever, Woody. When I read about these new/old allegations, I didn’t think “Oh god, how horrible!”

I thought “It figures. ”

Fuck you, Woody Allen. Fuck you till the day you die.

Topic 2 : The Nye/Ham debate ^[2]

I am glad that Bill Nye, unmitigated force for awesomeness, debated Ken Ham, the clown prince of creationism, about evolution et all recently.

I really am. It shows that people are finally taking ideas seriously again, and are willing to engage with them instead of us all hiding away in our ideological cubbyholes online.

Here is the video, if you want to watch it.

But I never will, and neither will Felicity, because honestly, it can only be depressing.

I mean, I am totally on Bill Nye’s side and I am told he totally kicked Ham’s corn-fed ass, but I don’t care. The fact that the USA still hasn’t gotten over the whole evolution thing is just too depressing and the creationist side is so incredibly weak that I can derive no pleasure from watching it destroyed.

To me, it’s like Crispin Glover picking a fight with Mike Tyson. You know who’ll win and you know it will be brutal, but nobody except people with neckbeards and a fedoras will walk away feeling good about the fight.

Not even if Glover really deserved it.

And honestly, I hate the radical fundamentalist atheist bullies who are crowing about this supposed glorious victory far more than I care about “the cause” of reason versus evolution.

So no, I won’t the video. I won’t even watch a highlights reel. Hell, I won’t even read the transcript. I want nothing to do with it.

The whole thing just reeks of sadness to me.

Topic 3 : Monty Python Recut

On a lighter note, check out this brilliant example of the editor’s art.

Fake trailer recuts that change the genre of the movie and thus radically misrepresent the film make me so happy. They are such a juicy form of satire that I can’t help but love them.

And that one is done so well that it makes me glad all over. A few of the cuts are a little cheap looking, and it is probably a little longer than it needed to be, but it’s still a work of genius.

Also in a jocular vein…

Topic 4 : Giant Russian Penis

So, this happened.

I do believe that Putin’s homophobic supporters just received the biggest teabagging in world history.

I support the move to uses penises in politics.

Heck, I still want to put a giant condom on the Washington Monument.

And speaking of humiliated homophobes….

Topic 5 : Rob Ford

Do I really have to bother with an actual story for this one? I mean, the man’s name alone has been a punchline for at least a month now.

Fuck it. I will catch him on the next public disaster.

(And I promise to have a LOC for you by Tuesday at the latest, Felicity!)