wsc

You break it, you buy it!

That is so de-pressing.

Was this photo taken at a full moon? I'd have to floss after a session!

No experience in that area, but I would imagine companionship there would be a case of (a) luck, (b) an import (Boston or Portland) or (c) BYOB (bring your own boy). But Good Hunting!

A friend of mine, who is enthralled with all things Mark Twain, told me of a conference Twain once had in his home in Hartford to discuss literary language, including -and in Twain's perspective, even fixating on- the n-word. Some at the conference, which included several black men, winced when Twain said the word and stated they were offended by it. But, Twain noted, generally only when used by white people in reference to black people; black people often apply the word to one another in a social and even friendly or joking sort of way. My friend is prone to exaggeration and occasional alcohol-fueled flights of fancy, so I never know how much of his stories to take as "gospel," enjoyable as they may be to hear. He has also told me that, like Twain, he tries to never let facts get in the way of a good story. Some measure of cheerful skepticism is, therefore, clearly warranted. But, like a bible story or an Aesop's fable, allegorical tales not rooted in historical facts can still show us a useful truth. And the truth here is that words like n-gg-r, f-g, queer, cocksucker, et. al., only have the power to offend because we give them that power. The offensive power of the n-word to a black man is rooted in his history and reminds of injustice and oppression. But its accepted use in interaction with equals demonstrates its power can be taken from it and made to no longer sting. Likewise, anti-gay slurs once used to insult and intimidate, can be neutered in their poisonous sting if we refuse to allow them to maintain that power over us. At my current stage of life, I don't care what someone calls me because I define myself, and I refuse to be shaped or limited by how others view me. It wasn't easy to get here, but the view from here is glorious and well worth the climb. The occasions of confronting such invective are much more rare these days, but a typical retort has been, "Your opinion might mean more to me if your opinion meant anything to me." So there!

Or as I have said on occasion, "I prefer my women a little taller and with broader shoulders and a bigger d*ck."

I appreciate the instruction. Sometimes my aging brain makes connections with the wrong data points.

Depends on who wore them and what they're stained with.😜

I don't know if he's had anything injected into his, but I've seen him inject plenty into other buttocks.

Like others we've seen in these spaces, he's probably got a portrait in the attic.

Gore Vidal was asked what is a "f-g." His answer: "A 'f-g' is the homosexual gentleman who just left the room." White Southerners would at least sometimes call you "n-gg-r" to your face. Sexual bigots would only call you "f-got" when you were on the floor getting the sh-t kicked out of you. Clearly, we can sometimes be a disgusting species.

"F-got," in earlier and traditional British usage, referred to a bundle of sticks or twigs set on fire to supply heat or light. The word was later applied to cigarettes as they, too, were set on fire. Then homosexual people (practically exclusively male) were called by the name by those bible-loving, people-hating religious intolerants because they believed the "f-gs" should -and one day, would- be set on fire in the depths of hell as punishment for their gross depravity.

I would only care that he gets one thing straight.

Where indeed? My view of this expanded rainbow of initials has been that if you need that many letters to define you, maybe you don't have a clear idea of who you are. Or want to be. The label is getting so inclusive, maybe we should just use HOMO, as in Homo Sapiens. (Yes, I know; different derivations, one from the Greek, the other from Latin. But still ...) But as a concession to ordinary usage, gay is probably the more universally recognized term today and, for me, as good a fit as any other. (Although I do lament that any label that unites members of one group also instantly divides them from others. Sorry. It's too late at night to be so philosophical. Bonne Nuit.)

If I can write a fictionalized account of an evening with a sex worker, describing the appearance, attributes, attitudes, and appendages thereof, by what stretch of the imagination does the Oklahoma legislature conclude that I can't do the same to describe an actual encounter? Does no one in the Sooner State have a copy of the First Amendment? Or an adequate understanding of the same? This is the consequence to the only qualifications for public office being age and residency.

Big Bill Eld! What a legend.

I find him tempting but would be reluctant. Findom is a red-ish flag.

I was both somewhat stunned but hardly surprised when I read (some years ago) that the most popular freshman college course was remedial English. Doesn't sound as if it helped much.

Knowing talk of politics is verboten, still I must observe that them who oppose the Oxford comma are not only uncultured barbarians but also traitors to the Crown. Whenever that precious final punctuation is omitted, I know Professor Higgins spins in his literary grave. In truth, however, while not universally needed, I think consistent use of the Oxford comma better assures a clarity in situations that without it, could be lost. I compare it to use of turn signals. Use them instinctively without regard to whether someone is behind you or not, and then you'll never forget.

I agree that it was very difficult, but I finally managed to transition from two spaces to only one after a sentence. And I couldn't be more grateful. I estimate that in the years since making the change, I have shaved as much as three minutes off my totaled workload.

In my first visit to London, those oh so many years ago, I and a friend were in line to have our tickets checked before entering to see the Crown Jewels at the Tower. Two British schoolboys, each about 10 years old, were in front of us in line, wearing their school uniforms, complete with the iconic caps. One boy lifted two tickets to the usher saying, "For him and I," while gesturing to his mate beside him. The usher, a volunteering elderly gentleman, who by his dress of a three-piece pin-striped dark grey suit accented by a regimental tie, and which screamed traditionalist and by no stretch a modernist, tore the tickets in half then leaned into the young man to give him back the halves. In a gentle voice and with a grandfatherly manner, the old man then said to the young student, "For him and me," and with that clear emphasis. In my mind, both then and now, I took it to mean "Not on my watch, kid. Not on my watch." No slacker, that, and still one of my fondly remembered every-day heroes. [In fact, in recounting this incident, I now realize that I can't see, hear, or think about the Tower of London without remembering that gracious gentleman. The student got a lesson, but I now see it was me that got a gift.]

Held by the ears. I am so jealous. Of the dog.

Interesting notion, even if an odd one, but I fear it would just ruffle my feathers in the end.

I can help!

Both sides have behaved badly, but this quality of city governance and court conduct is why Franklin added "if you can keep it," to his answer regarding "what kind of government have you given us?"