#but i did know he would try to garner sympathy and possibly money if he ever got called out

[babykittenteach]

Re: Theft

You ever watch a crime drama where a detective is going around trying to talk to witnesses and everyone's too scared to say anything?

Okay, imagine basically a year of that.

Last April is when I noticed first that he'd basically yoinked some tags I left on another person's post to make his own post. Then I saw him do something like that to someone else that I didn't know and couldn't talk to.

Then I saw someone post about their fic idea they were working on, people reblogged all excited, including me. Then about an hour or so later PCCP began his own fic with the same idea.

The general post yoinking kept on for a while, and then I assume people know at this point that the fic thing happened to spirker. I talked to spirker privately about it and encouraged blocking. They worked it out privately and I was asked to not pursue. Out of respect, I did not, but I kept paying attention, and I especially was not fond of the guilt tripping way PCCP talked about this.

This was roughly around the time bizarrelittlemew noticed he'd basically rewritten a post from someone else and reblogged the original so they were doing the rounds at the same time. A screenshot of that "coincidence" made the rounds as a funny post? Which was baffling to me.

I talked to at least two other authors who also didn't want to do any kind of confrontation. Add to that a couple other people who'd noticed he was taking post ideas. Still, no one wanted to go anywhere with it. Meanwhile, random fics happened that sounded similar to others --spaceship plots, BDSM clubs, etc. You can probably find these.

Last summer, I posted my first major fic for this fandom, on an account I actually had not intended to link to this art account. (I sort of wanted the writing to stand on its own, and also, I usually post fluffy things for art while writing can get messier.) That made me a no name, and the fic wasn't immediately noticed, but shortly after, I got a kudos from PCCP. And knowing what he had done to other people, I decided to own the fic on this relatively large account so that if he did anything he'd know it was me. And he did. The next day after kudosing the fic, he took a joke from it about Stede falling through the roof to make his own short tumblr fic. A little after that he messaged me to say he really loved my fic and was working on leaving a comment. That never happened, and I was unwilling to talk to him further privately because I have had experience with manipulators that will threaten you with their mental health. If I were going to confront him, I'd prefer witnesses.

This messed me up pretty bad, btw; I was previously in a fandom where someone just search and replaced my entire fic to be about a different ship. That was September.

In October, I was posting my own personal rewatch of S2, and I made a joke about a misheard lyric in part of my large post. A few hours later, PCCP made the same joke its own post. I lost my temper and tried again to talk to people. No one was particularly willing, and I didn't think at that point that any of the examples I personally had the right to share with people, since I'd been asked to drop it by others, would convince anyone.

So, I blocked him outright. The only reason I hadn't before then was because I was still trying to keep track of when he did this shit to people, and like motherfucking clockwork I get a message alerting me that he was posting a Woe Is Me spiel about getting blocked. Also, he was apparently soliciting donations in exchange for fic. Which is, you know, bad.

You'll notice I'm still being vague about examples, because I was asked to leave people out of it. Repeatedly. So I am. If you want more, you'll have to hope other writers come forward.

And basically none of this matters compared to racefaking and tumorfaking, but maybe it gives you a picture of someone with no fucking respect for other people who is willing to manipulate them to avoid consequences.

[spikewriter]

:: cracks knuckles ::

As I am Older Than Dirt by fandom standards (I first became active in ST fandom back in the 70s), I've seen this play out before, and more than once. Certain elements of this did happen in pre-internet days, though on a much smaller scale and more contained to small groups. And I'm going to put most this behind a cut because it is going to be somewhat long.

There is very much a mental health element to this, and it points back to a failing in fandom. While it can be a place for people who don't feel welcomed elsewhere to gather and find people with shared interest, there's also a lot of excusing of bad behaviors because there's a general "us against the world" mentality. This is often why the incel guys aren't given the kicking they so richly deserve when they habitually creep on women in the group, behavior being excused with "Oh, that's just Mike. He's like that." That same attitude can also be extended to the person who makes nasty comments, who acts like they're best friends with you, but always has something mean to say when your back is turned. Who knows you as long as it benefits them, but will snub you the moment it doesn't.

Add in people who build their entire self-worth over having the best spoilers, or being able to claim a tenuous friendship with a celebrity, person who works on the show, or has their hands on the limited edition goody you don't. These are the clout chasers, the ones who have to be a big fish in whatever pond they're in. "I'm important because I know/have access to X." If you should happen to have a better contact or thing, they will do whatever they can to diminish your perceived status because it threatens them. They have to be the one most "in the know" or with the best goodies. In some fandoms, they're the ones you see spending enormous amounts of money on packages that get them extra access to the guests at a con. They want to be the alpha, the most important person in any room.

They're never satisfied, because there's always the possibility that someone else might have that spoiler, or get the better picture, or have a cooler, cuter story to tell about a celebrity meeting. They'll actively go after anyone they see as a threat to their status. The sad thing is, there's often very few consequences for this behavior in fandom. If things do blow up, they'll flounce, pronounce the current fandom as boring, juvenile, or not worth their time and say they're moving on to something better. Then, they worm their way into another fandom and the process starts again. Because there's always a new fandom out there. Always new people they haven't run into. And because, for most us, Fandom is Just a Goddam Hobby (FIJAGH), and not Fandom is a Way of Life (FIAWOL), we don't chase them down, though we might alert someone if we happen to stumble across them being sucked into that person's orbit. If they don't listen to us, though, we move on.

And, yes, these people create sock puppet accounts. If you want to go down a rabbit hole, you can read about Ms. Scribe, who had an amazing amount of sock puppets, many of which argued with one another. (Cait Corrain is a rank amateur compared to this person.) Sock puppets are considered useful to conceal one's tracks so you can declare your shock and dismay at bad behavior. I've also seen people use sock puppets to attack themselves in order to garner sympathy. Especially if other misdeeds are about to be exposed.

Again, if this happens in fandom, you get shunned by one segment of people, so you go and start again elsewhere. It hurts, but there are no serious consequences.

My personal take is that Cait Corrain, having secured a publishing deal most of us would kill for, found the same demons which drove her to always try to be top dog in whatever fandom she was in didn't think this was enough because there were people who got better deals. And, without stopping to consider the consequences, decided to follow the playbook she'd followed before. As for why she focused on BIPOC authors, well, that they were "doing better" than her angered something ugly that was already there outside of writing, outside of fandom, outside of everything else.

Oh, and I could do an entire other post about how her "apology" is a list of fandom's greatest excuses -- excuses which likely sometimes let her regain entrance to a group where she'd offended people.

i imagine you heard about the cait corrain stuff?

Oh, yeah. I saw her recent non-apology. A couple thoughts on that:

A) as somewhat with mental health issues that can be somewhat severe when I'm not properly medicated/doing therapy (I have bipolar disorder) I find it pretty offensive when people blame their bad behavior on mental health issues. I'm not perfect; I've definitely done some shit I'm not proud of when in the midst of depressive or manic episodes. But I've never been incapable of some degree of awareness, and I tend to feel (based on many years of therapy and psychiatric treatment) that it is relatively rare for people with serious mental health conditions (including substance abuse) to be absolutely "not at the wheel" as it were. Yes, people do have psychotic episodes (although, I feel as somewhat with the diagnosis I have--I often see people with the same diagnosis treat mania as shorthand for a "psychotic episode", but mania and psychosis are not the same; mania can result in psychosis, but they do not inherently go hand in hand; I've been manic multiple times, but I have never been psychotic, and I've never had true delusions). Yes, people have delusions. I don't think that's what happened with Cait, and I'll tell you why.

Cait says she had a "complete psychological breakdown". This does not track for me. Based on her general behavior, I think Cait would've mentioned if she suffered from psychosis. Hell, I think Cait would have mentioned if she'd suffered from mania, as again, people tend to get this incorrect idea that mania means you have zero control of your actions. Because she didn't mention those things, I can believe she suffers from mental health issues, I can believe she has substance abuse issues, but I do think she absolutely used manipulative language here that left a lot to be interpreted. Does she owe us her diagnosis or diagnoses? Of course not. But "complete psychological breakdown" is some vague wording that imo is there to imply something bigger than "I was really depressed/anxious" (which can be a big deal! You can say that! It doesn't deprive you of responsibility, ut it's a big deal) without committing to a false diagnosis.

b) The lack of responsibility for the racially targeted nature of her sabotage is honestly... not surprising, but still so abhorrent. Cait did not solely go after authors of color (correct me if I'm wrong--I think there was at least one who was white) but she did primarily go after authors of color. Additionally, she--and I'll be honest, I do think this was calculated--either sicced her friend or passively let her friend essentially slander a disabled Black woman (the "albino in the hen house" comments, which I don't think were at all meant in an ableist fashion, and I genuinely don't see how a logical person could interpret them in any way other than "there is a white person who is a fox in the hen house". Come on.).

Furthermore, I noticed that least two of the authors Cait didn't mention there were authors of color. We know she low-starred Thea Guanzon's book, and Thea was apparently a legit friend who met Cait in person and blurbed her book? She also low-starred R.M. Virtues's books, which is truly deranged as R.M. writes books that really don't have much crossover with Cait's, aside from featuring Greek myths (I think? I know that's what he writes, her book is murkier to me) and poc. R.M. is a Black trans man, by the way, so...

c) I personally believe these were calculated moves as well. Thea has a big fanbase that Cait didn't want coming after her any more than they already are. Cait left R.M. Virtues off the list because she was afraid of being accused of not only racism, but transphobia. And she of course left off authors like Xiran Jay Zhao and Bethany Baptise because they had her number and she's afraid of them.

Plus, the authors she specifically apologized to were authors she essentially admitted to with her staged "Lilly" situation, so she couldn't avoid confirming that.

d) I've already seen white authors trying to excuse what she's done. And that's just so disgusting to me--as a writer, as a reader, as someone with basic human decency. There is basically nothing Cait can say to justify her actions. The best thing she could have done was own up, sincerely apologize, and take full responsibility.

e) I've seen some discussion surrounding Del Rey apparently moving Cait's book to a 2027 pub year. In their initial statement, they did say specifically that she was being removed from their 2024 schedule. That does leave some room for her to be published later.

Now, this could have to do with them still working out contract issues; it could be cold cost-benefits analysis; this could be all of the above. The thing is that there are books that I kind of doubt will ever be published unless things really change (Maya Banks's next Scottish book) that still have dates programmed in. I don't think Cait's book still having a release date means it's definitely coming out.

No matter what, she hurt people. It would be laughably stupid if the harm caused wasn't a reality. Ridiculous.

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Veritaserum Prompt Fic (Part 10)

(Okay- I'm not going to lie, I took a little bit of sadistic joy at everyone's outrage and devastation over the previous chapter. But only because I know what's coming. I promise we'll have a happy ending. Anyway. Start with part 1 on tumblr or jump over to AO3 to read the whole thing, if you like.)

-----------------

Harry woke up smiling.

This was not something that had ever happened to him prior to the last week, but now the bed smelled like Draco, and the sun was slipping in through the curtains and warming his face, and Harry was free.

He'd never been this happy in his life.

Rolling over, he reached out, patting the bed and trying to find his lover's body so he could drag him over and kiss him awake.

When his searching turned up empty, Harry opened one eye to look at the empty space next to him. He frowned and cast a wandless tempus: 10:37. Harry blinked and summoned his wand and recast: 10:37.

That was strange, he never slept that late. Although, he supposed it explained why Draco was already up and out of bed, probably already out in his workshop working on whatever potion he'd been brewing the past week or so.

After a good stretch and pulling his hair up into a messy bun on top of his head, Harry made his way to the kitchen and over to the coffee pot. He frowned again when he found it empty and turned to head outside and make sure Draco was alright.

Before he'd gotten more than a few steps, his eyes caught on a piece of parchment and a familiar hawthorn wand laying on top of the island. "No," he whispered, heart freezing in his chest.

(Read more below the cut)

He picked up the letter off the island with a trembling hand and read

Dearest Harry, How can I even begin to tell you all that you mean to me? A less cowardly man than I would have found a way to say it to your face, but we both know that bravery is more your department. You've given me so much, Harry. I could never have imagined falling in love, never imagined that someone might love me in return. But that's why I had to do this, you see that don't you? Not because I don't love you but because I do. I love you with every fiber of my being, with all that I am, and you are mine, Harry. And I couldn't let you pay the price for my sins. I couldn't let you give up everything for me. Granger helped me draw up a contract with the Minister himself, you three certainly have a lot of friends in high places. In exchange for me, they're clearing you of all charges. Don't be angry with her; she just wants what is best for you, as well you must know by this point in your friendship. I know you're hurting right now, love. I know that this is breaking your big, perfect, beautiful heart; it's breaking the pathetic, shriveled excuse of a heart that I have, too. But it will pass, my darling, if you let it. So please, for me, let it go. Let me go. Be happy, be in love, live whatever life you want. Travel. Go to the States and do whatever muggle thing you wanted to do. You deserve the best life. Please know that I will spend the rest of my life grateful for you. And I will never forget the time when you were mine. You are, without exception, the best thing that has ever happened to me. Forever yours, Draco

Harry stared at the parchment in his hand, trailing trembling fingers over Draco's elegant script as his eyes blurred and his breathing came too fast. He clenched the letter to his chest, gasping against the ache of his heart expanding to accommodate the sadness and the sense of loss.

Without another thought he apparated straight into Ron and Hermione's kitchen.

"We thought you might show up at some point," Ron's voice said behind him.

Harry whipped around to see them both sitting at the table, "What the fuck did you do?" he asked, voice low and dangerous.

Hermione sighed, "What he asked us to."

"Why?" he asked before the enormity of this situation hit him all over, the realization that he'd never see Draco again stealing the air from his lungs. He bent forward, putting his hands on his knees, "I can't breathe," he managed, trying to suck breath into his lungs and failing.

Ron was at his side in an instant, easing him onto the floor as Hermione appeared in front of him, "let your head drop between your knees. Focus on a slow inhale, slow exhale," she said and Harry tried to sync up his breathing with hers until his heart stopped racing.

He leaned his head back against the wall and scrubbed his hands over his face. "He's gone," he whispered. Then he opened his eyes and looked at them, "How could you let this happen?"

Hermione looked down at her hands, "Draco reached out to me the day after the trial. He said he couldn't trap you, couldn't force you to live a life on the run again."

"And that he couldn't bear the thought of you getting caught," Ron added.

"We wouldn't have gotten caught," he said derisively.

Hermione shook her head, "Maybe not but what about every other person in your life, Harry? You would have spent the rest of your life separated from them."

"We miss you, mate," Ron added.

He shook his head and swiped angrily at the tears in his eyes, "Then we could have figured something out. It had only been a week!" he protested. "Just one week, we could have-" he broke off and covered his mouth. After a heart beat, he stood up, "I can't be here right now. I can't-" he shook his head, "I can't do this."

"Harry-" Hermione started.

"He asked me not to be mad at you," he said, "but I'm-" he broke off, his hands trembling as he tried to open the door. "I need-" he tried again before simply giving up and walking out the door. He needed Draco.

"Harry!" Ron called behind him but he just kept walking.

He'd come back. He'd forgive them. He knew he would, he just needed a little time.

-------------

However, leaving was actually a seemingly bad idea.

In the 30 minutes after he left the house, he learned that part of the "deal" that Draco had struck with Kingsley involved the Ministry being able to tell whatever lies they wanted to about Draco. Some papers claimed that it had been a love potion, some claimed it was a cursed object, some claimed he'd been imperiused.

Harry stood in front of a newsstand, seething as he read the headlines. How could they have let this happen? How could Draco have signed a contract that allowed for this?

And then he saw it: The Quibbler. Draco and Harry were on the front page, just like every other newspaper, but the article was titled, "From the Wrinkspurts: They're in Love". The world tilted, righting itself slightly as a plan started to form in the back of his mind.

He looked up at the man running the stand who'd been just staring at him, "I need one of everything," he said. "I don't have any money but I'll bring-"

"They're yours," the man interrupted, grabbing papers from all the different piles. He even tossed on one for gardening and one for cooking.

"Err," Harry, "Not those ones," he said, nudging the two irrelevant ones away. "Just the ones about me," he added, "At the risk of sounding self centered."

"Whatever you want, mate," the man said. "They're yours."

"Thanks," Harry said, grabbing the stack of them and concentrating so he could apparate through the Ministry's wards because he simply didn't give a fuck anymore.

There was a sound vaguely like glass shattering as Harry popped up in front of the secretary's desk outside of Kingsley's office. She shrieked and a coffee cup went flying, breaking when it hit the ground.

"I'm here to see Kingsley," he said simply.

A hand fluttered up to cover her heart, "I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Potter, but he's in a meeting."

"Interrupt it," he said. "I guarantee what I have to say is more important."

"I can't just-"

"Look," Harry interrupted. "Just go and ask him. If he tells you to send me away, that's fine, I'll go."

She appeared to consider this for a moment, then she stood up and made her way to the door, knocking and slipping in.

A moment later she reappeared, "Would you mind waiting for just one moment?" she asked, gesturing to the chairs across from her desk. "He'll be right with you."

It was barely two minutes before three people came hurrying out of the room, avoiding Harry's gaze.

Kingsley followed, "Harry," he greeted, "Please come in."

Harry stood up and followed Kingsley in, not allowing himself to feel inferior because of the sweatpants and t-shirt he was still wearing.

"What can I do for you?" he asked.

"Let Draco Malfoy go," he replied.

Kingsley raised an eyebrow, "You know as well as I do that we're not going to do that. It's not possible."

"I thought you might say that," he replied as he started tossing magazines one by one onto the man's desk. "But you really ought to have told them all the same story."

"What?" the man asked with a laugh, "Why? Why should that matter?"

"Because it's going to make the Ministry look even more incompetent when I tell all of them the truth."

He shrugged, "It's of little concern, it won't matter."

"See, that's where you're wrong," Harry replied. "Because I'm not just going to tell them the truth about Draco Malfoy and his heinous treatment by Ministry officials prior to his trial. I am going to tell them everything and I'm going to watch the Ministry burn."

"Harry, be reasonable," he said. "So you tell everyone your story about finding Malfoy in the Department of Mysteries, garner a little sympathy because he was a teenager and now you're in love," he continued. "But it doesn't take much to drag his name through the mud again. To remind people that he tried to kill Dumbledore, to remind them of the cabinet that let death eaters into Hogwarts, to remind people of the lives that were lost because of him."

Harry's veins burned with rage and it was all he could do to keep himself from lashing out.

Kingsley shook his head, "Do what you must, but your story will never be enough."

He let out a humorless chuckle and leaned forward, bracing his fist on the desk, "I got into the Department of Mysteries within a matter of months. Do you really believe that the only information I got was about Draco Malfoy?"

"You'll be prosecuted, if you disclose any information you obtained illegally" he replied steadily.

"I am Harry fucking Potter," he said with a growl. "If you try to prosecute me, you will have an uprising on your hands. Especially after everything I'm going to expose. So good luck with that, I'll enjoy watching this burn even faster," he said, gesturing to the space around them.

"Harry," he said, "You must know that what you're asking of me simply isn't possible," a hint of desperation creeping into his voice.

The corner of Harry's mouth ticked up, "I'm going to win," he said. "And we both know it." He turned, leaving the magazines spread across his desk. "The only question is how much do you want to see burn before it happens." When he reached the door he called over his shoulder, "I'm holding a press conference tomorrow at six." He looked back at the other man, "You have until then to get him released."

On his way out he cast a patronus that he was sending to Azkaban with a simple message. I'm getting you out.

-----------------------

Okay, friends. There will be at least one more part of this fic (maybe two) but this is getting too long. <3

Part 9 | Part 11

[thran-duils]

Use All of Me (P.5)

Title: Use All Of Me (Part Five) Summary: Fem!Reader x Dark Mob!Steve Rogers. The Avengers are heroes saving the world but in this AU, they are also permitted by the powers in charge to have less than favorable business underneath their guise of mere superheroes. Steve and Tony are at the helm, keeping their empire’s wealth in check, both devious and perilous if crossed. Steve takes a liking to the reader at a party and it may be her undoing to her autonomy choosing to go home with him. Words: 2,889 Warnings: Dark AF, angst, emotional/mental abuse, smut, breeding, death Author’s Notes: This relationship is going to go ~downhill~ from healthy really quick. Please do not read if that is going to offend you.

Part Four || Part Six || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

You ate in silence at your dining table. Tears still stung at your eyes, no matter how you tried to hold them back. Your mind was racing, trying to still make sense of what had happened. Steve had never been that aggressive with you. Sure, he had been heated outside the club when he had found you flirting with Joseph. But he had not frightened you; he had not become an imposing shadow, stealing away your ability to speak what you felt.

He had not mentioned children more than a handful of times, commenting he wanted them. It had seemed harmless enough; wanting children was a normal ambition for people. But the way he reacted… he was showing a completely different side. Domineering. Maybe that is who he truly was and your defiance to his desire triggered it.

“That going down all right?” Steve questioned, genuine care in his tone, interrupting your thoughts.

“Obviously,” you muttered before you could stop yourself.

Steve stilled for a moment, tossing a scrutinizing look over at you. You ducked your head again, taking another bite. He waited a few moments, still studying you. When he turned away, you felt the tension relax in your frame.

You excused yourself to bed after finishing your soup. It was only 8:30pm but you just wanted to sleep. Steve informed you he was staying the night – not to your surprise.

He came up behind you, his strong arm wrapping around you. You sniffled and he peered over your shoulder. “Hey,” he said gently. His fingers came up underneath your chin, turning your head to look at him. “Oh, doll. I know you’re scared. But I’m right here. I promise.” He was calm, caring just like you knew him to be. And that made the situation even more confusing, more tears overflowing. He leaned down, shushing you quietly, laying soft kisses along the side of your face. “You’re going to be okay. I’m not leaving. Okay?”

You licked your lips and whispered, “Okay.”

<> <> <>

Thankfully, you had Fridays off having a four ten-hour day schedule, so you did not have to suffer the embarrassment of calling in for the fourth day in a row. You did not think it was possible for you to keep yourself together if you had to explain to your boss why you were not coming in.

You slept in past 8:00am. How you had managed to sleep almost twelve hours was surprising but you amounted it to the stress.

When you came out of the bedroom, Steve was standing in the living room, staring out the window, on the phone. You saw there was a plate of pancakes and bacon – that is what had initially roused you from your sleep. You were a little queasy but the carbs might help make you feel better.

Steve heard the floor creak and he tossed you a smile in acknowledgment. “Yes, exactly. On Monday would be perfect. We can get everything packed up over the weekend.” You stilled, your eyes moving to his back. “And how much is that going to be? I can have the money wired or if you need a card the day of, that works too.”

You slowly sat down grabbing an empty plate and taking some of the pancakes slowly, focusing most of your attention on his conversation.

“Uh huh. Yep, that’s the address, correct. Steve Rogers.” He paused and chuckled. “Yes, I am. No. No, it’s not my place. It’s my girlfriend’s. Mhmm.”

You realized you had poured too much syrup on your pancakes, not paying attention. You swore under your breath quickly upturning the bottle to place it back on the table.

“Perfect. Thank you.”

He hung up, turning around to face you. “Oh, good. I made that for you.” He began texting.

“What… who were you talking to?” you asked.

“Moving service.”

“A moving service?”

Steve did not spare you a glance as he continued to type, “Yes. I want you to move in with me. It would make me feel more relaxed having you close.”

“I can’t move in with you.” That caught his attention. You swallowed sharply seeing the look on his face, but you pressed on, pointing out, “It’s too far away from work. That is a long commute for me.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. You quit.”

Astounded at his nonchalant attitude about your career, you protested, “I don’t want to quit, Steve. I can still work. I’m pregnant, not disabled.”

“I’m sure you can,” he responded. “But I don’t want you to. And you don’t have to worry about doing it yourself. I already visited your employer this morning and let her know you wouldn’t be coming back. So, like I said, you quit.”

You felt like the air had been kicked out of you. You thought he had meant that you should quit, not that it had already been done. And done without your consent.

“You did what?” you asked in disbelief after a few moments of staring at him, gaping like a fish.

He stopped typing again and locked eyes with you. He explained slowly, “I went to your employer and explained to her you wouldn’t be coming back in. She understood.”

“She ‘understood’? What did you do?”

Steve narrowed his eyes, his hands dropping a little. He asked tensely, “What is that supposed to mean?”

Holding back an accusation of him being forceful, you instead switched gears to hopefully garner sympathy. “Steve! You… you probably just ruined my chances of getting a job again in this field. Word travels! I can’t just… quit! After being out of the office for three days. It’s not a good look!”

“This is how it was going to end up anyway. It just happened faster than planned.”

“How what was going to end up?”

“You were not going to be working forever. You don’t need to. Not if you’re married to me and we have children together.”

A scoff escaped, “I don’t remember being a part of that conversation. You’re taking everything away from me! And I’m sorry, marriage?”

He stalked over to the table, tossing his phone down. He placed his hands on the back of the char across from you, leaning on it. “Taking away from you? Y/N, I’m giving you everything!”

“How? By forcing me to have a child I am not sure I want? Or using your power to just up and quit my job – especially without my agreement? Making me move in with you – AGAIN, without my agreement? You’re making all these decisions about my life without speaking with me!”

“About our life, Y/N. This isn’t just about you. That’s a very childish way to think about it.” Your mouth fell open at that, him calling you selfish. He pointed at himself, “I am making all the hard decisions because you’re demonstrating to me you only want to take the easy way out. Is that how you solve problems, Y/N? I thought you more mature than that, but I have been proven wrong. It’s frankly disappointing.”

Scornfully, you asked, “Well, if you think me so immature, then why are you insisting we go through with this? I mean, what immature person could take care of a baby?”

“You’ll have help,” Steve said, piqued. “Pepper is giving me recommendations for nannies.” You scoffed again, looking away from him, trying not to cry from your frustration. Steve growled, “You should be grateful. With how loose you have shown yourself to be, it could have been anyone that knocked you up.” You snapped your head back to stare at him, hurt. He shook his head seeing your expression, his eyes cold. “Even after you showed you were all too ready to move on quickly and have another cock between your thighs as if I meant nothing, I forgave you. I had already fallen for you. I couldn’t let you slip away – I won’t let you slip away.” He pointed at you aggressively. “You should be thanking me, not backtalking me. I won’t tolerate it. Not from you. My patience is wearing thin, so drop the damn attitude! You hear me?”

You said nothing, glaring at him, biting your cheeks.

Steve said more forcibly, “Y/N, I expect a damn answer.”

Tightly, you got out through gritted teeth, “I heard you.”

The tension in the room could be cut with a knife.

“Good,” he said tersely. “You should think about what I said. I’m doing this for us.” He stared at you for a few more moments, as if he was waiting for you to retort something. You were past that, knowing it was not going to help you right now. He seemed satisfied with your silence, pushing away from the table and grabbing his phone. “Eat your breakfast.”

<> <> <>

Feet tucked up underneath you on the couch in front of the large fireplace, you texted Natalie.

What do you mean you quit?

Steve insisted I don’t have to work. I’m going to be taken care of.

So, you’re throwing your career away because you got pregnant? You do realize you can have both, correct?

Your instinct was to text back that you knew that, but you were afraid to. Because you were unsure if Steve would ask to see your phone and be irked by what he saw.

I know. Having some time off might be good during this though.

It’s going to be more than a year, Y/N. You’re going to lose a lot of time!

I know. But I’ll be fine. I’ll figure it out.

It had been tense with Steve for the last few days, you feigning sickness more often than usual. You thought he could see through the charade but he did not call you out as a liar. It was going to come to a head at some point; his lust seemed to be insatiable. He had told you as such that he was craving you and could only handle so much time apart.

What you told Natalie was true, you were going to figure it out. It was too much at once. All these thoughts had been rushing through your mind. Was what he said right? It had gotten under your skin. At least in the sense that you were immature? There had to have been many people in your situation faced with this decision and so many sucked it up and grew up. Were you afraid of growing up and being a mother? Steve had taken you to the doctor earlier this morning to check on everything. You were over a month along, which means you had gotten pregnant very quickly.

You sighed, thinking for the umpteenth time that day if being pregnant with Steve was actually the end of the world or if you were making a bigger deal out of it than you needed to.

Bucky strolled into the room and you straightened up, quickly tucking your phone underneath your thigh. He noticed and cocked an eyebrow in curiosity. You gave him what you hoped was an innocent smile. Before, you would have welcomed his company with open arms but now you knew you needed to be guarded with them all. They were Steve’s friend’s, not yours.

“Steve around?” You shook your head. “Hmm, he say when he was gonna be back?”

“No,” you answered quietly.

Bucky was eyeing you and you tried to be calm underneath the scrutiny. You were not doing anything inherently bad texting your friends, but Steve had made it clear he did not want you divulging too much. You were sure the other Avengers were aware of this and agreed with him; their livelihood was at stake if you spoke or knew too much.

Coming over to the couches, Bucky sat close by, leaning back, arms draped over the back of the couch.

“How are you settling in?”

You shrugged, “Fine, enough. I guess.”

“You guess?”

“It happened really fast,” you offered.

Bucky hummed in acknowledgment, nodding. “Seems that’s how it goes most of the time.”

You did not like it moving fast, that was the problem.

“I’ll give you an update after it’s over,” you sighed.

“You sound miserable.”

You just averted your eyes, giving a slight shrug.

“You’ll get used to it, Y/N,” Bucky said reassuringly. “Steve cares a lot for you. And he’s always wanted a family. This is perfect for him, so he’s going to be a little intense. He’ll chill out. Trust me. I’m his best friend and all.”

Being bold, you locked gaze with him and said coolly, “I just wish I had some say in it. It is my body after all if everyone somehow forgot.”

Let him tell Steve that. Maybe it would sink in differently if it came from Bucky.

Bucky instead of looking taken aback, actually looked impressed. “There it is. That fire Steve said you had.” You were unsure if you should take that as a compliment or not. He shifted forward, his elbows resting on his knees. He pierced you with a serious look, “Some advice though… you did give yourself to him the moment you got in bed with him. He’s going to have final say, and as I’m sure you know, he doesn’t like pushback. And I’m sure not especially from you.”

Wasn’t that the truth.

“I would realign that fire to becoming the wonderful mother we all know you can be rather than resisting him. It won’t end well that way. He’s not a man to cross.” He paused before adding, “He’ll give you the stars as long as you do as he asks.”

You were quiet, letting what he said sink in.

Bucky sat in silence was well, watching you closely.

Was this going to just be your life now? Living in this large house, waiting for your child to arrive and then continue staying here, rearing children for Steve? Bucky’s point was clear: you were not leaving here, let alone him, unless Steve gave you permission to.

“I need time,” you said stiffly. “It is a lot to take in.”

“I’m sure. But you are in perfect hands.” He got up from the couch. “I’ll go wait in his study so I don’t continue bothering you.” His gaze flicked to where your cell phone was hidden for a split second.

You nodded in acknowledgment, electing to stay quiet as he walked past you towards the stairs.

<> <> <>

As soon as Bucky was in Steve’s office, he shot him a quick text.

She’s being sneaky about her phone.

It did not take long for Steve to respond.

Don’t worry about it. I’ll see if she says anything I don’t like. She’s being good so far.

Bucky snorted reading the text. “Sneaky bastard,” he muttered.

<> <> <>

A week later, Steve was at it again. He came up behind you in the bathroom mirror, his arms wrapping around you as you dried your face after your face scrub. His hands played with the hem of your short robe.

“Don’t,” you said, pulling away from him.

Steve’s face darkened and he grabbed your wrist, stopping your forward motion. He yanked you back to him and you winced at the tug. His hand came up to grip your other wrist, holding them in between you.

“What did we talk about, Y/N?”

You tried to pull away again and he held fast. You pleaded, “Steve. Please. I just want to sleep.”

“You had all day to sleep. And you’ll have all night after I’m finished,” he told you, pulling you closer. His forehead rested on yours, his eyes closed. “I haven’t seen you all day. But you didn’t leave my mind, baby.”

You swallowed sharply at his intimate confession.

His hands left your wrist, finding the ribbon on your robe instead and undoing it. He pushed the robe from your shoulders, letting it fall to the ground. He hummed in approval seeing the babydoll you were wearing; it was the pink, satin one you had put on when he had brought you home from your first date.

“You look gorgeous,” he murmured.

You gave in, letting his tongue slip past your lips. Steve’s hand ghosted up your thigh underneath your babydoll and in between your thighs. He groaned against your lips, his fingers delving past your folds. His thumb caressed you, working you up, despite your initial disdain about being in his arms.

Steve picked you up, your legs wrapping around his waist. On your back on the bed, he slipped inside you. He did not draw it out, going right for it, panting and groaning above you. Steve always made sure you came before he did, his stamina being superior to yours. He held you close as you tightened around him, your legs quivering. When he came, his head fell beside yours, resting on the pillow. You were pinned beneath his immense weight for a minute before he pushed away from you, hovering overhead.

Steve trailed kisses down your abdomen, causing you to shiver.

“Can’t wait to see you heavy with my baby. You’ll look perfect,” he husked against your skin. “I love you so much.”

He meant it too. He did love you. And that did not bode well for you for whenever you did escape.

~~~

Tags: @imsonick , @alexakeyloveloki, @kvzctam, @ironlady1993, @taintedgenre, @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters

[ali-kitkat]

Where Did You Sleep Last Night? Blooming Dread.

Damian rarely stayed in for the night; he preferred to patrol the city as Robin, but he’d chosen to stay in for the night and help Alfred and Gordon run comms. He was pulled from his musings by the manor’s proximity alarms going off, someone was on the grounds and checking the security feeds showed a girl.

“Marinette.” He breathed. He could hear the shakiness in his voice.

She looked as if she had walked out of one of Drake’s beloved horror films; she was bruised and battered and swaying side to side. Her right was cradled by her left and she was favoring her left leg, while attempting not to fall over. Only unbalancing herself further. She had a black eye, a cut on her cheek and a split lip. Blood had pooled at the corner of her mouth.

Her knees were exposed, showing bruises and skinned knees. One leg was torn more than the other and there was a half-circle of smaller bruises above her favored knee. The worst of her injuries was her side, her floral dress was bloody, someone had slashed her side open. She had four long lacerations bleeding severely.

He rushed from the cave to the front door. When he reached it, he hadn’t realized he swung it open so abruptly, startling Marinette and causing her to back away from him in fear, stumbling on a possibly broken leg.

“Who did this to you?” His voice was hushed, but his anger was unrestrained. She looked at him with such fear and apprehension that his breath hitched. Her swaying was worse, and he lunged forwards, catching her before she hit the ground. He wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth. He forced himself to relax.

“Habibti please.” He pleaded, voice cracking slightly and an urgency in his tone.

“Adrien.” She mumbled; her face half buried in his shoulder as she started sobbing. His heart ached at the sound.

He gathered Marinette gently in his arms and carried her inside, whispering words of reassurance to her as her sobs had subsided into whimpers. Her body went limp and her head slipped off his shoulder. He stopped in his tracks, frozen in fear. He let out a sigh of relief when he felt her labored breathing. He’d always been aware that Marinette was small but holding her unconscious form in his arms made him all the more aware of just how small she really was. Every instinct in him screamed to tear Agreste apart. They also demanded not to let her go.

“Master Damian, if you would please carefully place Miss Marinette on the dining room table for her wounds to be tended to? Miss Cassandra, Miss Stephanie if you would help tend to her wounds as well?” Alfred asked, causing him to look up from Marinette’s bloody face, which had scrunched up in pain from his abrupt movement. He hadn’t realized his family had returned until he saw them standing behind Alfred. Hell, he didn’t even notice he never made it back to the cave. He was standing in the middle of the hallway holding Marinette. It felt as if all the air in the room had been sucked out, everyone staring at him.

The blood that had soaked her dress was seeping through and soaking his own shirt making him realize that if he didn’t place her on the table, she wouldn’t make it and he knew he wouldn’t recover from that.

Marinette let out a small noise of objection as he gently set her down on the table. He sighed as he pried her hands off his shirt, she didn’t want to let go, and it would’ve been cute had it not been for the circumstances of why she did it.

It was as if Marinette knew he was leaving her side and she wasn’t happy about it. When she finally let go of his shirt, he left the room, Marinette deserved her privacy.

He settled on the floor just outside the door, away from Marinette. His blood boiled as he sat there, just staring at Marinette’s blood on himself. He wanted answers and since only two people knew what happened and with Marinette unconscious, he would gladly maim Agreste to get them.

“Did she tell you what happened Baby Bird?” Dick prodded gently, interrupting his thoughts. Todd and Drake were staring at him, their expressions tight with worry.

“Agreste.” He snarled.

“Agreste,” Dick repeated in confusion, “as in Adrien Agreste?”

“That’s the guy harassing her.” Todd voiced, as Drake nodded his head in agreement. It took all his willpower not to throttle his brothers for the information he was lacking.

“What do you mean harassing her?” He demanded, rising to his feet. Marinette had never mentioned being harassed by anyone, at least not to him. He was conflicted; she clearly trusted his brothers enough to tell them about the harassment she was facing, but not him. What made him so different? “Answer me.”

“She said he was invading her personal space, not taking no for an answer, I don’t think she thought he was going to escalate.” Drake elaborated.

“I want to tear him apart just as badly as you do right now.” Todd snapped. “But you’re the one that Pixie trusts, she came to you instead of going to the police or a hospital, don’t let her wake up not knowing where you are.”

“And since did you care about Nettie?” Drake inquired, staring at him, brows raised.

He growled. “I don’t, not that it’s any of your business, Interloper.” Drake and Todd gave him a disbelieving look.

“Boys.” His father interrupted, cutting through the rising tension in the hallway. They all turned to him, expectant, the air ripe with anticipation. “Alfred and the girls are currently tending to her injuries. She has a broken leg, dislocated shoulder and four lacerations on her side. Her leg has been set and she will need a proper cast from the hospital but for now she has a split. Her shoulder has also already been realigned. They’re working on stitching her side up now.”

“I’m going to eviscerate him.”

“I’d like to claim bullshit about your previous statement, ‘I don’t’ because that was fake as fuck.” Todd snarked. He glared at his brother and lunged forward only to be intercepted by Dick. He fought the urge to elbow his brother in the ribs and let Dick drag him away rather than wait impatiently by the door.

Dick dragged him into the living room, not far from the dining room for which he was thankful and stared at him for a moment before speaking. Well, implored more than anything. “Talk to me Baby Bird. You’re wound up tighter than usual. Something is bothering you; we’re not leaving until you tell me.”

“That’s the problem. I’m unsure.” He sighed. “Drake was right, you know how much I loathe to admit that. I’ve been less than cordial with Marinette; so, why am I so ready to protect her? I didn’t even want to let her go Dick. The only reason I did was because if I hadn’t, she would have died.”

“Do you have feelings for her?” Dick questioned; he opened his mouth to refute but Dick held up a hand making him stop. “Just think about it. Do you have feelings for her? They don’t have to be big ones or anything extravagant. How do you feel about her? Because from where I stand and your words alone, it doesn’t sound as if you’ve given it much thought.”

Did he have feelings for Marinette? He wasn’t sure. He actually had to think about it, as Dick said he hadn’t given it much thought. Normally he’d reply with how much he couldn’t stand a person, about how they were stupid or annoying but with Marinette the longer he thought about her the more complex his feelings got.

He didn’t hate her; he quite liked her intelligence but that certainly didn’t mean he was in love with her either. His feelings for her were a mixed bag of explosives.

He admired her tenacity; she was a new kind of stubborn that he wasn’t used to dealing with. Kindness was something he was taught to exploit and that it was useless, that it was used to garner favors or sympathy and the such. Marinette never used it in such a way though, she was a fountain of unreasonable kindness. She baffled him.

She treated everyone kindly, no matter who they were or what they had done. Including himself, he’d been rude to her the first time they’d met, and she never let it get to her. She told him she wasn’t trying to be friends with him for his money, or family name and he only huffed in response which prompted her to glare at him in a way that rivalled Dick’s own disappointed expressions.

Though that didn’t mean she let others walk over her. He had seen her deliver tongue lashings to people who were rude, she glared at them until either they apologized or walked away. The first time he’d seen her stare at someone else, other than himself in disappointment was an interesting experience to witness.

She was truly something else entirely. She had gained his respect and that was hard to accomplish.

The first time he’d called her by her first name came to mind, her smiling face. It was one of triumph and elation, he didn’t even realize it was a memory he cherished until now.

Marinette was someone he cared about, romantically, and he hadn’t even realized that until just now.

“I care about her.” He whispered; dazed by the revelation.

Dick snorted and laughed. “That’s not really new news, though I’m glad you care about her.”

“I hate you.” He groaned. Dick gave him a droll smirk. “I—”

“You?” His brother badgered, ginning like a fool. He let out a sigh, controlling the urge to smack him.

“I don’t know, honestly.” He sighed. He’d rather not admit to him or out loud that he had romantic feelings for Marinette. “I could grow to like her.” He admitted softly after a moment. He refused to acknowledge Dick, who had started humming in a knowing falsetto.

[merakiui]

then, could i rq mori with a guillable s/o who's maybe a little too trusting in others 👉👈? i just!! rlly like opposites attract stuff hgshndnd

An Ace and a Fox (Mori)

> spy au 

Not good, you think to yourself as you analyze your surroundings to determine your current location. The warehouse provides little visibility, lit only by the windows on the second floor. Most of the them have been boarded up, and debris litters the ground. You’ve never found yourself in this sort of situation before. While you’ve been deceived in the past, it was never to this level of extremity. At least you aren’t blindfolded, so one of your senses isn’t completely useless. Still, this isn’t good at all.

No matter how Hollywood the circumstances may seem, you know this won’t have a good ending if you don’t find a way out. Your memory resurfaces as you sit there, tied to an uncomfortable chair with thick rope pressing against your constricted limbs. Hours ago, you were trying to pawn off some items you had found while dumpster diving. You had been desperate for cash, needing it for food and to pay your bills. There was also the money and favors you owed a few acquaintances. The scary reality is beginning to dawn on you as you remember just how late you are on your payment. And this time it’s gotten serious.

In hindsight, you should’ve moved to another country when you had the chance. But would any of that matter? You were positive they’d find you and attempt to wring you dry of the money you so rightfully owed. Unfortunately, you’re at a loss, unable to even afford a night at a one-star hotel. How did they expect you to pay off favors when you were barely getting by? Well, to be frank, you did this to yourself. You knew very well not to get involved with shady dealers. You should’ve turned a blind eye when that suspiciously inviting hand was held out to you in your time of need, a silent testimony to the unfavorable bond you were slowly forming with a hungry snake.

Though this can hardly be called a bond. Waiting for your demise doesn’t seem fair, but this is what your life has become. Best to suck it up and pray that luck is on your side.

A pair of fancy footsteps ring out, startling you into focusing. Designer shoes, made of leather and sewn to grim perfection, make their way towards you. You don’t have to look up to know who it is. You’re well aware of the man looming over you, dressed in a fine tuxedo and an even finer wrath. Your time of ruminating over an escape is over. Your lucky stars have burnt out, falling to Earth just like your dashed hopes.

“I had faith in you this time, (Name),” he speaks, tone thick and heavy with disdain. “I really did. But we both know it’s not good to hold onto worthless expectations when the ones I’ve set in place aren’t even being met.”

“I’m sorry.”

“An apology won’t suffice. I’m afraid begging for salvation isn’t a suitable look on you. What a shame. I thought you knew better than to ignore the clock.”

“I’ll get your money in a week. That’s all I need. You don’t have to tie me up to get your point across! I know I’m wrong, so let me fix this.”

“You can’t mend what’s already broken.” Sighing, he scuffs his shoe against the concrete. “My men are surrounding us as we chat. Try anything and it’s adios. Well, it’s not like you can do anything in that position.”

“One week,” you repeat, hoping to garner his withering sympathy. “Please. Give me another chance. I won’t let you down.”

“But you’ve already let me down. Countless times, in fact. Why should I believe your words now? What impact will they have if they’re spoken with the same tongue that’s lied a dozen times? You either pay now or you don’t pay at all.”

“I can’t!” you shout, glaring daggers at the snide man. “You know I can’t!”

“If you can’t fork over the money, you deserve to pay with your own blood. Surely that’s a fair deal?” He crosses his arms, tutting in mock disapproval. “It’s not what I would’ve wanted, but I need my money. You’ve ran out of time, (Name).”

“I was in the middle of selling some stuff when your men kidnapped me! I’ll give you everything I got today, and if you let me go I’ll get the rest.”

“Who’s to say you won’t contact the authorities?”

“Have I ever done it in the past?” you snap, a bundle of nerves interlacing with your frantic emotions. “I haven’t, so have a little faith in me.”

“You’re like a chapel that’s run out of hacks to sell. Give it a rest.” Pivoting, your kidnapper doesn’t need to announce his leave. “This is where our business officially ends.”

“Wait, no! I'm making a promise. If you just give me—don’t leave! Time. I need more time. I’ll pay you double of what I owe.”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.” He motions to the dark shadows surrounding the outskirts of your peripheral, and two people—a man and a woman—step out, pointing the cold steel of their guns at the back of your head. “Get rid of this pest. They’ve run their mouth long enough.”

And then he’s walking away, ignoring your pleading cries.

This is it, you think, pupils blown wide and darting to and fro. This is the day I die. These people are going to kill me, and then they’ll hide my corpse. No one will ever find me. I’ll be an unsolved case until the end of time!

You prepare yourself for the end of your pitiful life cycle. With twin barrels aimed for your skull, you know there’s no possibility of survival. Two bullets will find their way into your brain, causing a grand commotion of signals as your body prepares for death. You won’t be able to wonder whether or not endorphins will flood your head because your death might be instant. Or you could simply bleed out, living in a few minutes of cursed consciousness that have been granted unluckily. In your next life, you hope to be smarter than you are now. If you weren’t so easily tricked and manipulated, you might’ve been able to save yourself from this demise months ago.

It’s too late for that now, though.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you listen for the inevitable gunshots. And yet they never come. A dull click makes your eyes snap open, risking a glance at the people behind you. They curse, fumbling with their pistols and muttering about how both firearms are devoid of ammunition. Your heart practically leaps at this turn of events. As if life has been breathed into you via a tube, you struggle in your bindings, trying as hard as you can to loosen them before they’re able to reload. Around you, a symphony of clicking permeates the stilted air, grumblings coming from all over the place. You listen as your kidnapper’s underlings complain about this odd occurrence.

Without warning, bullets rain from above, and that’s when you see him. Dressed in attire befitting a silver-tongued casanova, rich in his appearance and flair, he’s leaning over the railing, looking down at the surprised men and women.

“Looking for these? You can have them.” His tone is teasing, a simple smile plastered to his face. “As long as I can have that hostage. I assume you’re content with this trade.”

“Absolutely not!” a woman shouts, scrambling to load her weapon. She motions wildly. “Go protect the boss. Little Fox is here!”

Little Fox? What a weird name. It’s one of the many thoughts that crosses your mind, but you’re grateful nonetheless for the masked stranger who has come to your rescue. If it weren’t for him, you’d be dead by now, brain matter scattered on the cold ground. I’m so relieved...

“I had a feeling I’d find everyone here.” He drops down from the second floor with such ease that it makes you question his humanity. “Perhaps you should spend your time gambling rather than intimidating this poor soul out of their funds. I suppose money makes people do crazy things. This is most certainly crazy.”

“Enough talking,” you murmur. “Help me out?”

Catching your words, he turns to face you. “And you’re just going to trust me? That doesn’t seem too wise.”

“Well, it’s not like things can get any worse, and you’re the only sane person here. I’m willing to hedge my bets.”

Your phrasing makes him chuckle. Wordlessly, he reveals a stack of playing cards, shuffling through them before plucking one from the deck. And then he flicks it in your direction. It whizzes through the air, past the men and women who are now shooting at the both of you, and it effectively slices the ropes, which fall in your lap. The glowing card returns to the deck in no time. In awe, you look around at the bullets that seem to evade you, as if they were being controlled.

“What is this?” you whisper, at a loss for an explanation. “Little Fox, who are you?”

“Who are you, to be so gullible as to get tangled up with these people?” he retorts. “We need to hurry. This gimmick won’t last forever.”

“Huh? I’m confused—whoa!” Another playing card zips past your face, nearly cutting your cheek, as it makes way for a man taking aim. More cards, glowing a bright, mesmerizing blue, circle you and Little Fox, inflicting minor flesh wounds to the men and women who can’t seem to get a fatal hit on either of you. “How are you doing this?!”

“You’ll see,” he says and you almost believe him. “Oh. Were you thinking I’d show you the trick? Maybe I should. You look like you’re inclined to trust my every word.”

“Hey, I’m not an idiot!”

“Then you’ll watch where you step.” He grabs your arm, pulling you closer to the floor before a bullet can graze your skin. Meanwhile, the cards work hard to sever the ammunition in two, rendering it inferior. You’ve never witnessed such an interesting force before. Whatever it is, you’re glad it’s working. “We should leave before their boss comes back with reinforcements.”

“Right!” Your hand locks with his, startling the blue-haired fox for a moment, and you make a run for the nearest opening, the cards lighting the way. You do your best to block out the shouting and loud gunshots of the boss’s underlings, pushing ahead even though your every nerve is riddled with fear. “How are we not dead? This is insane!”

Humoring you, he asks, “What if we are dead?” 

“Are we? We’re not, right?” You clear your throat as you continue to run, pulling him along. “Just to clarify, we’re not actually dead?”

Your words hang in the air for the entirety of your escape. It isn’t until you’re a safe distance away, hidden on the rooftop of another building and catching your breath, when he finally gives you an answer.

“Don’t worry. You’re alive. That crime syndicate won’t have anywhere to flee. As long as the others apprehend everyone.” There goes that gleaming deck again, practically floating between his skilled fingers as it’s shuffled for the umpteenth time. From your viewpoint, you can see the entire city as the sun begins its steady descent. The colors bathe the fox in a soothing light, making him seem less mysterious than he initially was. “More importantly, do you trust me enough to take my word as the truth?”

“Yeah. I mean, obviously! You saved me. If it weren’t for you and your party tricks, I wouldn’t have survived. So thank you for coming to my aid, card person.”

“Little Fox,” he corrects you. “Although I have another name.”

“Great. What is it? I’m (Name).”

“I’m not going to give out such personal information to someone I’ve only just met.”

“I guess it can’t be helped. You’re supposed to be undercover, right? Like a spy.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. It all depends on what you choose to believe.”

“Okay.” Awkwardly, you avoid his gaze. “So are you a magical spy? Is that what I witnessed back there?”

He merely shrugs and continues to shuffle. A card slips out, floating to the ground. You snatch it before it can make contact, turning it over in your hands to figure out how it was able to slice a bullet in half. You never knew a card could be so strong. 

“Which card did you pull?”

“I didn’t pull it. It fell out. But if you must know, it’s the ace of hearts.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.” You look at the card once more, and its symbols change, reflecting the joker. “What? How? You did that on purpose!”

“It’s a possibility.”

“I’m not in the mood for card tricks. I was almost killed today!”

“Whose fault is that?”

“Mine...” You lower your head in shame. “This is the worst.”

“it’s only the worst because you’ve made it so. If you didn’t know, the ace used to mean bad luck. Now everyone sees it as a decent card.” Once again, the symbols have reverted to said design.

“I’m totally not an ace.”

“An ace wouldn’t blindly trust anyone when someone does them a favor.”

“That was a few times! I’m not going to do it again.” You huff, leaning closer to him. Curiously, you grab his mask, lifting it up to see his face. Golden eyes peer back at you, pupils dilated in silent shock. “Thanks again for saving me.”

“My services aren’t free,” he mutters softly, taken back by your sudden closeness.

“Oh!” You pull away, rummaging through your pockets for any spare change. “Right. Sorry, let me see what I’ve got.”

The fox deadpans, thinking to himself, They can’t be this trustful. There’s no way...

“I’ve got three euro coins. Will this be enough? Probably not, but it’s all I have at the moment. If you give me a few days, I can definitely pay you. I’ll even treat you to a pastry. Is that okay? If it’s not, you can name your price. I won’t—”

You’re cut off by his melodious laughter. Flinching, you stare at him, wondering what in the world could be so funny. “I was kidding.”

“What?! And here I was, ready to pay you for your hard work. I can still give you money, though. If that’s what you want!”

“No, I don’t need your money. Thanks, though. I’d advise you to take better care of your finances so you won’t get tricked again.”

“I should do that.”

“And you shouldn’t put your faith in just anyone.”

“Of course. I’ll do better.”

“And you can’t expect this to happen whenever you’re in a bind. I’m not a babysitter.”

“I... I know that.” Heat rises to your face, burning intensely as night falls upon you and your newfound savior. “You don’t have to scold me. I’m an adult just like you.”

“I would’ve thought you were a child, what with how gullible you are.”

“Very funny. That smile isn’t fooling anyone.”

“Hm? What do you mean?”

“I give up...”

------

Mori stares at the ace in his hand, glinting even when held against the stark, rainy backdrop of the window. He thinks of the peculiar person he met the other day. They could’ve been on death’s door, and then he stepped in, ensuring that that wouldn’t happen. It was a relief the Department chose to send him on the mission, as he knew how to look before blindly diving in. He’s learned many things in his past, all of which have been useful lessons in his present life. There’s a somber twinge to his thoughts as he reflects upon the one whom he currently misses. He flips the ace over once in an effort to distract himself from his master.

(Name) seemed like a fun person, albeit far too trusting when it came to a matter of survival. Mori knows better than to trust those around him. He won’t make the same mistake twice, so he can only hope that you will be smart in how you play your cards. Though he may never cross paths with you again and though fate has a cruel way of conjoining those who are opposites, he’s still impressed at your unwavering ability to follow anyone who so much as lends you a hand. How can anyone be like that? It must be a nightmare.

And yet it’s anything but a bad dream. You’re as real as he is, a huge contrast to his morals. While he regrets the fact that you’ve already seen his face—all prospects of anonymity gone—he can’t help the feeling of intrigue. Maybe it’s just misplaced, considering you’re one of the more interesting victims he’s seen during hectic missions. Regardless, he hopes you’ll be wise for the future.

Once again, the ace glitters back at him. Perhaps if you learn to fight your own battles, you might just become the unsuspecting ace in a deck of scrambled misfortunes. If anything turns sour, which is something Mori is more than accustomed to, he knows that money can be trusted far more than the thin wills of most people. Casting all thoughts of the master aside, he puts the ace back into the deck and shuffles.

The joker peeks out, a wild card that can be anything it wants if put to the test. Little Fox smiles a familiar smile. You’re an interesting card. Maybe your paths will intersect one day, and maybe they won’t. It’s not like he knows, nor does he trust that sort of intuition, but it’s nice to think about.

[alittleshocking]

Phillip and Shock are Disgusted and Frankly Appalled by the Miracle of Pregnancy (*) [Tell Tale Heart]

In which the title explains it all...[takes place idk some time]

@knightley--phillip

[tw -- frank discussion of abortion]

SHOCK: “So, I’m pregnant,” Shock said to Phillip as she lay in his bed, the blanket tossed artfully over her lower body. She slid her heel up the mattress, so her knee was bent, the black sheet pooling over her abdomen. She let out a huff.

Yes, Shock was pregnant, because she let men inside her body however she wanted. Usually, she was rather good about it in terms of the pull out or what not, but she had always played fast and loose. She had assumed God or whoever the fuck owed her majorly for giving her fucking cancer as a kid. Maybe she had used up all her “poor little cancer girl” tokens in the slot machine, gambling away for more time consequence free. 

Maybe it was just shitty luck. One too many times letting some dumbass come inside her.

Honestly, she didn’t even know if it was Phil’s. He was her best guess, considering he was a frequent customer, but there would be no telling without a DNA test and if Shock had anything to say about it--that wouldn’t be necessary at the end of the day.

Shock lit a cigarette, even though she knew Phil’s tight-ass roommate hated her smoking in the house. Maybe she should’ve announced this at family dinner. That would’ve been hilarious. John would’ve popped a blood vessel. Tom would’ve asked to be godfather or some shit. Of course, in this scenario, Shock convinced them all she was keeping it. Which--

“Don’t freak out, I’m not keeping it.” The cigarette wagged between her teeth as she spoke and then she took a drag, plucking it from her lips and letting the smoke drift into the air. 

PHILLIP: “Oh thank fucking God.”

He let out a breath. He’d been totally and utterly frozen the moment she’d said what she’d said, sitting up so his back was against the headboard. He’d been about to suggest they grab a drink after she lit her cigarette and then she’d spoken and Phil couldn’t hear much else.

Here was a thing Phillip Knightley knew: even the best birth control was only 99.9% effective or something. He couldn’t beat those odds.

Here was another thing: Phillip had been...how shall we say...particularly careless when it came to fucking Shock. He wasn’t normally, mind you. He was normally very careful about rubbers and all that sort of stuff, because if there was one fear Phillip had, it was some woman knocking on his door heavily pregnant and demanding he pay for a child he did not want. That’d make his father quite happy.

Not that Phil didn’t want kids eventually. Maybe. He knew he was supposed to want them — or at least supposed to want to breed like a rabbit and produce strong Order sons. 

But a kid running around from some non-approved woman was a fucking nightmare — and it’d ruin his status. Not that Order members didn’t on occasion keep side mistresses or slip up, but Phil couldn’t do that to the Knightley name. He’d already fucked up once. 

“Not that I won’t help you remove it,” said Phillip, smiling now, because that’s what he did when things got weird. “But how the hell do you even know it’s mine?” He nudged her with his leg. “Not exactly like we’ve ever been exclusive.” 

SHOCK: Shock snorted at his emphatic response. She’d wanted to elicit a similar sort of reaction from him, just because she’d find it funny. And she needed funny right now.

No, Shock was not having some moral quandary over yeeting a fetus out of her uterus. She was having a monetary quandary. Since she wasn’t a citizen, she was going to have to pay out the ass for an abortion. And there was no other option. Either Shock was gonna have to prostitute herself out for a few months to gather the near 500 pounds she was gonna need (maybe more including a place to stay for the recovery after the operation) or she was gonna get it from Phil.

She knew he could afford it, which is why she had targeted him for this particular favor. Well, he was also the closest thing she had to a friend in town. They actually spent time together not having sex or doing drugs sometimes, which equaled friendship in Shock’s eyes. Which meant there was an emotional connection here she could play on too--garner his sympathy. 

She rolled her eyes. “You’re fucking me a lot more tan anyone else. Didn’t that big fancy university you went to teach you statistics?” she scoffed at him. 

PHILLIP: “You overestimate my ability to pay attention in school and do math,” fired Phil right back. 

He was quiet then, thinking about the weight of it all. He couldn’t help it. Stewing on things was part of his nature, trying to find some sort of meaning to it all. Logically he knew this would get taken care of very easily. Phil had money. He knew Shock probably came to him because she knew that he had money. He knew that he wouldn’t have said no. She didn’t need to convince him. It was something he’d do for a friend. 

The corner of his mouth tugged up. He didn’t know if he’d consider Shock a friend — just someone he was fucking. But it was more than that, wasn’t it? It wasn’t romantic, nah. Phil knew what love felt like, this big, gnawing, pulsating thing that clawed in his chest and suffocated him. He didn’t feel like that with Shock. He looked at her and he felt — he felt like high-fiving her. 

“Wow, fuck. We made a thing.” He laughed, poking Shock’s lower stomach. “There is a thing in there. That’s mental. That’s fucked. That’s straight up horror movie shit, I don’t know how women do it. Something just bloody grows inside of you for nine months all because a bloke didn’t pull out fast enough.”

He shivered a little and then for good measure, slapped a hand on Shock’s thigh.

“Alright, when do you wanna extract this thing? How does this work? Do you call ahead? Make a reservation? Just show up? I’ve no idea. Maybe I should.” He tilted his head. “For the future.”

SHOCK: Shock actually smacked his hand away. She didn’t feel like high-fiving. She felt like breaking his damn fingers, one by one. Or kneeing him in the groin. She didn’t think it was mental. It was horror movie shit. She had done a lot to keep this body: chemo and radiation mainly, though malnutrition definitely played its part. Part of her body had never really recovered from any of that. And she liked it that way. The idea of getting fat was a fucking nightmare. Especially if it wasn’t because she’d gorged herself on delicacies and sweets because she could.

It was disgusting and awful and she wanted it gone. The thought of thinking of something unauthorized growing inside of her made her feel violated. Her room was not for rent, get the fuck out squatter.

“I’ve got to make an appointment and go through some bullshit pre-screening process, probably to get convinced out of it. Don’t worry, that’s not going to happen. I’d rather die. And as soon as fucking possible. We have to go up closer to London, because there is no doctor out here in the boonies that’ll do it. Also, it’s gonna cost you 500 quid or whatever the fuck you say. And that’s just the operation. Apparently I’m gonna need to be there 48 hours before. So, add hotel on top of that. And I want the fancy shit, as mother of your bastard, I deserve the best.”

She flicked some of her blonde hair into his face. “I know you can afford it, so pony up. Oh, also, if you’re using a credit card, you’ve got to come with me.” 

PHILLIP: “Yeah, yeah.” Phil waved a hand at the mention of a hotel. He knew a place in London that was nice, but tucked out of the way, the sort of place that rich executives — and rich Order Princes — took their mistresses.

“Don’t worry, nothing but the best for my baby mama.” He reached on the side table for his phone, typed in the name of the hotel and then pulled up the website that listed all the amenities — spa, pool, lounge, gym, all that jazz — and tossed it to Shock. It was an expensive hotel, the type with a big flashy chandelier in the lobby, and if Phil didn’t already scream money, he sure as hell did now. The Knightleys were old money, basically gentry, which Shock, an American might not realize, but Phil knew she knew he knew that she knew that he was loaded. He wasn't gonna skimp out now. 

“That good enough for you? Might as well make a mini-vacation out of this whole thing.” He sighed, leaning back on the headboard. “Vacabortion. Aborcation? Something like that. Is that crass? That’s absolutely crass. Good thing we’re on the same page here.”

SHOCK: Holy shit, this was working?

For all the shit that Shock talked, she didn’t actually know if it was going to and there was a part of her that she’d never admit to, if you pried back all the rest, that was terrified. She didn’t want to go to some shady backdoor doctor, she didn’t want to turn tricks in order to afford the abortion and probably end up with some disgusting STI in exchange. Her options, outside of Phil, were unappealing and dangerous. As much as Shock liked to risk her life, it was always on her terms.

Not to mention: Shock hated hospitals and anything medical. She barely took Advil, if she could help it. Now, she was going to have to have surgery. Be strapped, helpless, to a table and dissected.

This fear lurked like a shadow against the wall, in the peripheral of Shock’s vision. Just faint enough that Shock could ignore it. 

She hadn’t panicked. She’d gotten to work.

There was this burn in her chest when Phil handed her the phone. Something that was as thick and cloying as perfume: gratitude. Shock would rather choke on it. 

Good thing Phil handed her his phone. She took it with eager hands and, despite her composure throughout this conversation, her eyes bulged wide at the sight of glittering chandeliers and a pool bigger than any she’d ever seen.

“Holy shit, that bathtub is a-maz-ing! That’ll be so great to soak in after they’ve ripped my uterus out through my vagina.” 

Shock wasn’t going to say thank you. Even if the words were on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she leaned back against the cushions and clicked the “book room” button--

“So, when are we going? You don’t have school yet, right? And if Gaston doesn’t let me off, I’ll just start a smear campaign about him.” 

PHILLIP: “I’m literally always free,” said Phil, which was somewhat of a lie. He’d have to make up a reason to tell John and Tom why he was going out of town with Shock. Maybe the reason was just as simple as he was going out of town with Shock to the Belleview — which both of them would recognize immediately — and Tom would make a big deal about it and John would roll his eyes, but Phillip could deal with that. 

He did not want a child. Not right now at least. Maybe one day. In the future. In the far future. Hopefully. Phillip hoped that one day he’d wake up and the future that was laid out for him — marry a nice well-bred Order girl, breed like a rabbit and have an army of children — would be something he realized he’d been looking for. All this youthful ennui and restlessness was just an adolescent phase. Phillip Knightley was just a bit too late in growing out, of course! He wanted to want it, wanted to duck his head down and make his parents happy, please his brothers, stay by John and Tom’s side for the rest of his days. 

He glanced back at Shock, the thoughts too heavy for even him to infuse levity in, pushing them out of mind as he browsed more of the Belleview’s amenities. 

“Next weekend? Or is during the week better for you? What would please the boss man? Like I said — and like you know — I am very flexible.” 

SHOCK: The relief was like a shock (ha) to the system with how immediate and all-encompassing it was. She hadn’t even realized how stiff she’d been until her body finally caught up and realized: damn, girl, you actually got us out of a shitty situation for once. She felt herself relax into the fluffy mattress of Phil’s bed, her body aching slightly. 

“During the week probably. Definitely can’t take off Friday/Saturday. Could leave Sunday and get back..Tuesday? Do you think there is a long recovery time for getting your uterus lining ripped out of your vagina? I mean...usually that shit takes a week, I can’t imagine it all done at once.” She gave a shudder before perking back up. “Hey, you think they’re gonna give me pain killers? Like--the good shit?”

She laughed. Awesome, if she got those, she could turn around and sell them maybe. Give Phil back at least some of the money. As much as she enjoyed having money and attention lavished on her, she didn’t like the idea of being a charity case.

“Thanks, though. Guess I owe you a really good blow job or something.”

[keplercryptids]

response to jesse thorn re: accessibility

someone posted the petition to reddit awhile ago (not me lolol, i stay as far away from reddit as humanly possible), and jesse thorn responded. i only just saw this now so uhh, let’s get into this, shall we?

Jesse: Yeah, we agreed to launch with a transcription service called Gretta that covered ONRAC and Reading Glasses. They're some kind of machine learning startup, their model isn't providing transcripts, it's about using podcasts to get AI to understand talking and how people interact with spoken audio....Ultimately we're grateful they do this, but don't feel it's reliable in the long- or even medium-term.

well, we agree on this point. Gretta isn’t a solution. last i checked, the last ONRAC episode they transcribed was in august.

i put the rest under a readmore because it’s a long one, folks, and content warning: i get really angry at the end.

Jesse: We transcribed The Turnaround through a combination of a startup journalism-oriented transcription service and staff time. We found that both sides of that equation were extremely expensive. 

automated transcriptionist services aren’t super great so again, we agree.

Jesse: A lot of companies doing transcription are opening and closing lately, we've been tracking them, looking at whether any of them could do any of this efficiently and affordably. When Bullseye had a transcriptionist, we found that just the process of editing and posting the transcripts he provided was taking like half a day of the producer's time, and at the time that was like 15% of her total Bullseye workload, and it just wasn't sustainable. 

i don’t know how to tell you this bud, but you had a shitty transcriptionist. a good transcriptionist’s work would not require editing after the fact. they should transcribe and format everything to agreed-upon specifications beforehand, and their final product should be ready to publish immediately. i’m not really sure who was transcribing your stuff before but it doesn’t sound like they were a professional.

Jesse: We are also somewhat hamstrung by the nature of our relationship with our shows, most of which are independently owned and produced; none of this is something we can do unilaterally, and none of it is something we can lay the cost of at the feet of our show creators. Transcripts are a very major expense even for our biggest shows - around a thousand dollars a month per show. That's more than a number of our shows make in total. 

i have no idea where he’s getting this number from but....that’s just not true. to give you an idea, independent contractor transcriptionists make about $1/minute of audio. some make more than that, sure, but that’s a pretty standard rate. (how do i know? i used to be one.) so even for a show posting once a week (many of which do not), that’s about $250 a month per show with hour-long episodes. going through a company would probably be more expensive, yeah, but again, he’s throwing these numbers out without any context or receipts. it seems like another tactic to garner sympathy from his audience because it’s omg! a big scary number!

Jesse: We are still a very small company that is supported by its audience, not a big VC-backed corporation.

and your audience would very much support a drive to raise funds for transcripts.

Jesse: That said, this really is something we have worked on continuously for years. I care very much about accessibility, Bikram cares very much about it, and our hosts and producers care about it. I'm sure as a JJGo listener you've heard about this, but my father is disabled, and he worked for a number of years with his best friend Ed Roberts, who was probably the most significant leader of the independent living movement in the 1970s, 80s and into the 90s. I met Jesse Jackson during his 1988 presidential campaign because my father was writing policy speeches for him regarding independent living. I've also got two kids with audio processing challenges. Accessibility is very personal to me. I've put a lot of time into trying to find a sustainable answer. We just haven't found one yet.

ahh, this. this. i mean, i hope a lot of you see the problems with this without me saying anything. i’ll continue to be amazed by folks with personal ties to disabled people who still do and say ableist things at the drop of a hat. it’s..... just astounding, really.

Jesse: I would love to meet every goal we have as a company, but we have a pretty wide breadth of goals, and we can't meet any of them if the books don't balance. I honestly would just say thank you to those folks like you and ILyr who have shared with us that this is important to them, and ask folks who are calling me a heartless asshole monster on the internet to understand that we are pushing forward on many fronts, and working to run as moral and world-bettering a company as we can, but our resources are what they are, and we have to make hard choices every day.

jesse, my dude? people are calling you a heartless asshole because less than a year ago, you posted on reddit that disabled people are “better off” consuming visual comedy because written comedy wouldn’t translate. less than a year ago, you said you could not see the value in transcripts for comedic shows. you said an asshole thing, and you’ve run an entirely inaccessible network for years now. 

until the petition gained thousands of signatures, you did NOT assert that accessibility is important to you, either personally or professionally. before thousands of people told you this was important, you did not state that it was important to you at all. you ignored individuals who reached out to you about accessibility. your public response was that it cost too much money. suddenly now, with this petition, this is something you’ve “worked on continuously for years.” but before that, you sang a very different tune. your past responses (and lack thereof) are not those of a person who deeply cares about accessibility and who is committed to finding a solution. this is why people are calling you an asshole.

the above two paragraphs are so “woe is me” that it’s actually impressive. i don’t feel bad for you, jesse. i feel bad for the disabled communities who have had to band together to create transcripts for ourselves. i feel bad for the thousands of people that have been completely cut off from podcasts since their inception. i feel bad for disabled people that always, always, always have to advocate for themselves, because even their family members don’t see the value in accessibility. and i hope - i genuinely hope - for a better, more accessible world for your children. i’m gonna keep fighting for that world, even if you discredit me because i called you an asshole.

Jesse: My biggest hope at the moment in this particular area is that the big tech companies (Amazon, Google and Apple) are all working really hard on voice recognition right now, and Google specifically has promised machine transcripts will be built into their app in the future. That and other platform improvements may change the game here. We will be actively engaged from now until then.

waiting for the tech to catch up is a strategy, i guess. it’s a really fucking bad one though. if we all did that, guess what? there would be no image descriptions and blind people would have no access to visual elements of the internet. cool, though. i guess we’ll just have to cross our fingers and hope mega-corporations care about us.

anyway. that’s my hot take. i’m gonna go lie down now until my blood pressure is back to normal.

[bigyack-com]

The Quiet Return of Bruce Weber and Mario Testino

Man About Town, an independent but increasingly influential fashion magazine that publishes twice a year, shows nearly as much skin as it does clothing. In one shoot from its current issue, Cesar Vicente sits shirtless atop a table, giving bedroom eyes. In another, a handsome dancer disrobes in the shower until he is totally naked, his hand barely covering his genitals.The photographs, which appear alongside advertisements from Prada, Louis Vuitton and Gucci, run more than 60 pages and were shot by Bruce Weber, the fashion photographer who was accused in 2018 of allegations of sexual misconduct by more than a dozen models who spoke to The New York Times.Mr. Weber had shot for publications like Vogue, Vanity Fair, GQ, W and Glamour for decades; Condé Nast, the parent company of those magazines, said they would stop hiring him. He was dropped by Ralph Lauren, Abercrombie & Fitch and Versace. All had employed him for ad campaigns. Mr. Weber, through spokesmen, has consistently denied all accusations.In other industries, powerful men trying to recover from accusations of sexual misconduct have followed a basic playbook: Acknowledge wrongdoing, disappear from view and make a significant appeal for forgiveness by one’s accusers. Post nothing to Instagram that signals an emotion other than regret.But this business operates according to different rules.

*

Mr. Weber is still invited to movie premieres and dinners hosted by big name industry players. He has recently had work appear in other emerging fashion magazines. He posts old pictures to Instagram, where they garner likes from Nicolas Ghesquière (the artistic director at Louis Vuitton), Carine Roitfeld (the former editor of French Vogue), and Marie-Amelie Sauvé (a well-regarded stylist). He remains the defendant in a pending lawsuit filed in 2017 by Jason Boyce, a former model who said that Mr. Weber groped and kissed him during a test shoot, the industry’s equivalent of an audition. He is party to another, brought by five unnamed models who filed a federal complaint against him in 2018.Jonathan Bernstein, an employee of Mr. Weber, said in a statement this week that Mr. Weber “is looking forward to having his day in court.”Mr. Weber, he said, thanks “his studio, his family, his friends and the people who love his work for their support.”These supporters say they are frustrated that a mild mannered guy who devotes enormous amounts of time and money to charity is benched. They point out that the fashion world is filled with characters who treat subordinates badly, though the abuse inflicted is nonsexual.They point out that the attorney for the plaintiffs in both suits against Mr. Weber is Lisa Bloom, whose reputation has been shaped in part through her representation of tabloid characters like the model Blac Chyna and the disgraced movie producer Harvey Weinstein.And they want to compare him to powerful men who are experiencing rebounds — but most of those have first acknowledged and apologized for wrongdoing. So Mr. Weber exists in a state of demi-cancellation. He is no longer the giant of yore, but numerous modeling agents remain willing, even eager, to work with him. Stephanie Grill heads the men’s division at Click Models in New York. She said she “doesn’t know” if any of her clients were among those who accused Mr. Weber of misconduct last year. But she said she had no hesitation about sending models for castings with Mr. Weber earlier this year when his office called to say he was planning a shoot. “The guys are aware of the allegations,” she said. “They love working with him.”She pointed to Jacob Lewandowski, a 26-year-old model who ultimately got cast in one of the Man About Town spreads and had just been telling her how beautiful the pictures were. “He had a great experience,” she said. “I would love for you to talk to him.”Mr. Lewandowski did have positive things to say about Mr. Weber and the pictures that had been taken of him.He said none of Mr. Weber’s famous “breathing exercises” took place at his casting.But Mr. Lewandowski also said he didn’t know who Mr. Weber was when he went for his first meeting. “She said ‘You have a go-see at,’ I think it was 10 a.m. ‘Can you make it?’ I said, ‘Yeah.’” Apparently Ms. Grill had not told him there were numerous allegations of sexual misconduct against Mr. Weber. “That’s possible,” Ms. Grill said, in a follow-up conversation. “But before he worked with him, he knew and made it very clear he was perfectly fine with it.”

*

Huw Gwyther, the editorial and creative director of Man About Town, wrote in an email that he has gone back and forth about publishing Mr. Weber’s current shoots. But earlier in his career Mr. Gwyther had worked for Mario Testino, another top level photographer whose career was upended by sexual misconduct allegations. “And my personal experience of working with him (for three and a half years) was nothing but absolutely positive,” he said. That “probably had an influence” on why he chose to run Mr. Weber’s work, Mr. Gwyther said. “I don’t honestly know if I made the ‘right’ decision,” he said. “But it is a fact that I have published his work.“I am a publisher,” he continued. “I am obviously not a judge, nor serving on a jury. I believe in everyone’s right to due process.”Man About Town.Credit...Jacqueline HarrietAnother reason Mr. Gwyther offered for why he had chosen to publish is that the shoot was not commissioned by the magazine. Mr. Weber, he said, was “not paid for his work.” Instead, he completed the shoots on his own and then submitted them for publication — free of charge.The sight of Mr. Weber’s name in his magazine has revived arguments about the fashion business’s overall response to the #MeToo movement.“Nothing has changed,” said Sara Ziff, a model who worked with Mr. Weber on one of his Abercrombie shoots (an environment she described as unprofessional). She now serves as the executive director of the Model Alliance, a nonprofit devoted to combating industry abuse.Part of the reason, Ms. Ziff said, is that models in the United States are generally considered independent contractors and don’t have the kind of union representation actors have. But it is also true that fashion is perhaps the only business where women in front of the camera make more money than men. Disposability feeds abuse. There is also an expectation that men, by virtue of their physical size, can fend for themselves during unwanted advances, despite imbalances in power.Agents often operate according to the principle that models ought to be “comfortable” enough with themselves to set their own parameters with photographers, no matter the consequences.Christian Alexander, an agent at Front Management in Miami represents two models in Mr. Weber’s Man About Town feature. In an interview, he complained that the press is “always focusing on the negative” and said that he had never had a client accuse Mr. Weber of misconduct.Mr. Alexander then amended that last part. He had previously worked with Mark Ricketson. In 2017, Mr. Ricketson cried during a news conference as he alleged sexual misconduct by Mr. Weber during a test shoot. Mr. Weber has denied the allegations.Mr. Ricketson said that he hadn’t told his agents about the experience at the time, because, “like other young men,” he knew that “if we protested or refused that we would be blacklisted, not just from the photo shoot, but likely from our agency.”Mr. Alexander said he considers Mr. Ricketson an opportunist and a fraud. “When I saw that video with those fake crocodile tears, I was shocked,” he said. “It blew my mind.”Mr. Alexander also wasn’t particularly concerned that four models told The Advocate in 2018 that they had been sexually assaulted by Rick Day, a New York photographer who is frequently selected by agencies to do tear sheets of models.As Mr. Alexander saw it, Mr. Day simply has an off-color, truck driver-ish way of speaking. He’s “old school,” he said. “Anyone can take anything out of context and reword it.”So his agency continues to work with Mr. Day and Mr. Weber.“Why is this even still relevant news?” Mr. Alexander asked. “This happened, like, two years ago.”“It’s frustrating,” Ms. Ziff said, “but unfortunately not surprising to hear the lack of sympathy for this young population of people who are uniquely vulnerable to sexual assault in an industry without any enforceable standards or genuine accountability. I’m glad you got that on the record because that’s what’s often said behind closed doors.”Mr. Weber is not the only fashion photographer accused of harassment or exploitation who appears to be making inroads at reviving his career. Two weeks ago, Kim Kardashian posted a lush, black and white photograph of herself and one of her daughters to Instagram. She credited Mr. Testino with the recent photo. Diet Prada, an Instagram account that serves as a kind of industry watchdog, posted a screengrab next to comments Ms. Kardashian previously made professing support for victims of sexual harassment. Source link Read the full article

[vexmagarchive-blog]

God Is A Carrot / VEX X Steve Hill

Steve Hill refuses to fit neatly into any category. A former Marine and peace officer, he is now a successful standup comic, real estate appraiser and local activist. He also made history in what is possibly the most bizarre election cycle ever, as the first openly Satanic public servant to run for office in America.

What’s especially contemptuous is that Steve ran in a district known as the Bible Belt of LA County, the Antelope Valley, and helped the Church of Satan challenge the Lancaster City Council to comply with religious freedom laws, and allow the Seven Tenets of Satan (think the 10 commandments of Satan)  displayed alongside a bible at Lancaster City hall. The group even organized to hold a Satanic ritual on 6/6/16, to teach concerned city officials about their beliefs.

This left a few fervently religious locals confounded and afraid, and all hell broke loose.

The unapologetic frankness with which he talked about his beliefs and his involvement in the ritual gave Steve a massive boost of social and mainstream media exposure, garnering attention from the likes of TMZ to even Time Magazine. The exposure netted him endorsements from VoteprogressiveCA.com , and several Bernie Sanders fans on social media. In the end, Steve lost the Senate race, but left his mark as one of the most fascinating and entertaining candidates to run for office. VEX caught up with Steve while taking a break from preparing his upcoming comedy special, and touched base with him on his religious views (or lack thereof) , and his vision of a better world.

What does Satan Represent to you? You know that the first or original place that you heard of Satan is in the Bible. Satan represents a stick. God represents a carrot. You know about the carrot and the stick? Good and evil. In the book that everyone is supposed to buy into, you were given God….which is so good, so perfect, pristine, omnipresent. And then you were given the Devil, which is diabolically and diametrically opposed, 180 degrees opposite, this Evil, this Wretched, just.. everything you can imagine. So, you were given the Devil to scare you with. You were given the Devil...to scare you. That’s fear based. And that’s what Satan represents to me. So … we don’t believe in Satan, per say, any more than we believe in God. We’re using satire to go, here: We’re everything you hate. We’re allll evil. And we’re gonna fight you with your own crap. When you buy city property, and turn it into churches...turn it into little community ‘faith based’ homes...then, We want one. We are ‘religious’. We ‘worship’ Satan. So...what makes your religion better than our religion? We want to be treated equally - it’s the in law. But more importantly - separation of church and state.

So is the purpose of Satanism just to debunk and troll Christianity? Basically. Its Satirical.

So if there was no Christianity would there be no need for Satanism? If they were not pushing their religion into our government, which is by the people and for the people, then no. We all don’t think alike, we all don’t worship alike. There are muslims, buddhists, but you don’t see any muslim faith based houses, do you? It’s just Christians. How obviously discriminatory is that? But people are cowards - they don’t wanna say nothing because they know they’re fighting a majority. Everybody likes the idea of religious faith based houses - until Satan shows up wanting one. But it’s just common sense - let’s have some fairness.

Do people try to join you completely ignorant of the fact that you’re atheist? Assuming that you’re Devil-worshippers? Well we do hold rituals - I don’t participate in them, but we had one in LA recently where it was off the chain - there’s was people suspended from the ceiling, and these long pillars of candles and smoke, so we do great shows, but we don’t believe in any of this. It’s all for satire. We mostly meet up, have some drinks and meet like minded people who enjoy our company. What you do when we leave here is your business.

So you don’t get a lot of weirdos? We get some, but we weed them out. There’s an application that you fill out and there’s some specific questions devised to weed out people who think that Satan’s really running around somewhere. But we try to make it abundantly clear we are atheists for the separation of church and state. We don’t worship shit.

I noticed a lot of fearful christians posting your interviews on pro-Bernie sites, trying to warn people of the dangers of voting for you. That backfired, because that exposure eventually got you an endorsement from  Vote Progressives CA. Do you think notoriety gave you that advertising boost you needed? Yeah, it was effective. Because people would go on my website, check out my facebook page and actually look at my platform.

How hard was it to get the 7 Tenet of Satan displayed at Lancaster City Hall? I know you guys had some protesters, but was anyone in the city council trying to turn you down? I think so, but what could they do? Of course we didn’t think they they would be all warm and fuzzy. But they wasted taxpayer money trying to fight it!

Is that why you guys decided to create a giant pentagram with GPS signals? Yes, and  their ‘opposing force’ was to hire a skywriter to make a giant cross in the sky. And it cost the city a lot of money.

In your run for Senate you actually came in 3rd place. I think the count was over 15,000 votes, which was about 13% of the vote.

But did you spend any money on advertising? I never saw any commercials, banners, flyers, none of that for you. No, the few donations I did get helped with my political consultants and paying for the debates. They were coming from across the country and were very small donations, between $10-$20. I think the biggest donation I got was $200. Running for office cost me about 5 Grand, but I didn’t care.  

You’ve mentioned before that the City is not displaying the tenets in a respectful way. Tell me whats happening there. They’re not being displayed at all! They probably threw them in the trash. I tried to speak to the City Manager during the [Black Lives Matter] rally, but he was leaving the rally before it even started. But those Tenets, those really mean something to us. We fight for LGBTQ rights, women’s reproductive rights, we’re ‘social justice warriors’. So the Tenets actually do mean something. If everyone could live by them, it’d be a better world. But people are out here praying - like, do you understand that we’re out here at a rally because people are killing us in the streets? And you’re praying to the same god as the people who are killing us in the fucking streets. It doesn’t make any sense to me.

It’s stockholm syndrome. One of the first things they teach you in the Marines, if you’re captured by the enemy, you might feel sympathy for them. When I was a guard at the penitentiary, if the prisoners got out and started to riot, they warned you - you might experience stockholm syndrome. But we have to stand up, get off your knees, and fight back.

Interview conducted by Jusy Franco

[scummy-writes]

(1/2) I don't know if you've been asked this before, but what are your thoughts on the story and script quality of MM? Personally I thought it was fine, a good balance between drama and comedy, until the secret endings. The secret endings felt awfully like an effort to "rail-road" the story, to the point of reducing MC's role to less than a bit character, and the resolution itself was kinda rushed. I do agree with your opinion on V that, ultimately, it was necessary for him to die in the story

(2/2) But his character suffers because of the terrible handling of ANOTHER character: Rika. It's obvious that she was meant to be a tragic, sympathetic character but falls short of the "show, don't tell" trope because the game never shows us why, only spelling it to us via the other characters that she used to be a sweet person (and even that is dubious). Compare Saeran, who comes off as crazier but garners sympathy by *actually* showing us how he used to be and why he's like that now

(3/3, got longer than expected) The complete lack of consequence was more of a pet peeve, as I find it unlikely that after the meltdown at Mint Eye hq there wasn't any police investigation or testimony sheding light over what happened. That could have been easily handled by showing Seven or Jumin intervening (they would). So yeah, sorry for barreling you with this lol, I just love discussing narrative tropes and found your thoughts on V and Rika very interesting

It’s okay! I like trying to discuss this kinda stuff! It’sfun! I think they’re called Metas?

This might be a little long! As a side note, this is just mypersonal onion about the whole thing. In no way do you have to agree, nor do Iexpect anyone to. 

In terms of storytelling and scripts, I think that for anotome phone game it does a good job. Maybe arguably great, but nothing ‘superduper amazing!!’. Don’t mistake my words though, even though it might not bethe best, doesn’t mean I don’t love it to death. I have just seen freebiegames, even with hardly any dialogue, show a more concise and followingstoryline than MM does.

Granted, I think some obvious faults come from translationerrors, or maybe forgotten notes on characters. A small example that I’ve knowngo around a bunch is Yoosung complaining that he can’t type well on histouchscreen, when in CGs and the RFA handbook we know Yoosung has a flip-phone.So, excluding those kinds of mistakes, which I believe can happen when you havemultiple people working on one game, the main storytelling is a little messy attimes. I think a lot of that has to deal with the fact that they tried to makeeach route vastly different.

For replay value, and to make each route special, they didhave to have them different. And I think a good way to see it is that all ofthe characters routes are AU’s against the True Route, which is Seven’s.Because of this, we sometimes run into the characters acting vastly differentat times, and we’re left to scrape up all these ‘facts’ and try to use those tobuild-on to these characters. At times this is difficult, because they cancounter each other. Usually its small things, but I think there’s a bit ofinformation that gets missed about Rika because of this. Like with the factthat she was adopted by Yoosung’s aunt and uncle, apparently. I think that’sonly mentioned on one route, and referenced in the VIP book where her sectionof family is literally scribbled out, but if we didn’t run into that, we wouldbe left to assume that Rika is Yoosung’s cousin by blood.

Which…Is weird because I think he may say that he’s relatedto Rika by blood during a moment where he’s angry at V.

(Don’t even get me started on how Rika isn’t even her name?Apparently??)

In a way, the storytelling is a bit creative on a wholebecause of that. They change it up so you’re not bored replaying new routes,and so you get to possibly see other sides of characters, but it does fuck someinformation up about the characters themselves at times. There’s probably moreexamples than what I gave.

Though they did manage to make each character soundrespectfully different through the dialogue alone. Not the voice actors, butthe written dialogue. I know there have been many times where I’ve seen ascreenshot of a phone call with no context on the caller, and it’s been very easyfor me to figure out who it was in just a few seconds. That takes some skill!

But to tackle the True Route after ends. Unfortunately tosome, Seven is the true route, since Saeran is the main ‘antagonist’ for awhile, next to Rika. In order to give context for Saeran existing, his motives,and to explain Rika’s absence, they made Seven the True Route. (I’m assumingso, anyway). Now, it is true they could have found a way to include each of theroutes to display the information that Seven’s does, but I think it would havebeen a huuuuge fucking mess. It’s much easier to follow and make if they have a‘True Route’. How the game is needed to be played if you want the ‘full’ story.The other routes are just AU’s that can possibly fill in some gaps ifyou know what those gaps are first.

Annd this is where Rika falls in with your ask (that took mesome time ahbfhs). If we don’t play the True Route, we’re left to assume Rikawas a sweet and helpful person who had an aching heart of suffering shewitnessed, and also suffered from what seemed to be depression since shecommitted suicide.

Now, I don’t know about any of you, but because I’m afiction whore, I called that bs out when V always dodged questions about herdeath. Am I always doubting fictional characters since I play detective gamesmainly? ….Probably, but in all honesty I figured there was more to it thanthat.

Then we get to the True Route and the mess that happens inthe After Ends- V revealing she’s not dead, she’s alive, she’s a cult leader,etc etc. We all know what happens in that mess, though with some randomprevious information, we can infer a few things about her that we weren’tdirectly told.

She was most likely very manipulative from the start. Idon’t know if this would be a learned behavior from Rika’s true family, or thereasons she would be adopted later on, but it is briefly mentioned (I think)that her adopted parents regretted taking her in.

She was possibly using V the whole time, and didn’t actuallylove him.

She used the RFA as a front to get Political Leader’s infoto officially jumpstart her ‘perfect’ world one day. (KINDA obvious but Ididn’t realize how serious it was until a bit after I had played the AfterEnds).

Buut, we never know what led to these thoughts and behaviors.We’re just left to assume that it’s either A) Her MIs, or B) A combo of thatand her real family.

There is a high chance they didn’t write a full fledgedbackstory like we get with the others, about their childhoods at least, becauseof the chance of portraying MIs very very very very verypoorly/stereotypically. It could be argued that it was handled poorly as theyhave it now, but it’s still not nearly as bad as other cases I’ve seen.Instead, like you said, we get second hand info from Yoosung and V mainly, abit from Jumin as well.

As for the dramatic throwdown that happened at the HQ, Ithink that went well. It’s true that it could be possible that Seven or Jumincould have had better timing, stopped Saeran from shooting, stopped a lot ofstuff from happening, but I always assumed that they were unable to reach V dueto all of the members blocking their path, and any general hubbub that couldhave been happening due to Jumin’s security slamming in. And, as we’ve noted,that I still think for the story V couldn’t have survived.

However, with the police investigation, I think it’smentioned they purposely avoided that because of the Choi Boys existence. Theywere never supposed to be alive, and were doomed to hide who they were fortheir life. A police investigation would have brought forth that, and for Rikato be arrested and tried, and if that also happened, Choi Boys (again) are atrisk.

I can see how it’s all “There def should have been one”, butunfortunately to some, money can stop that from happening, especially if itskept under wraps. It seems like Jumin, Seven, and the cult members familes tookcare of the others that were affected…I think that’s what happened.

And in terms of MC being kinda pushed to the side during the After End of his route, I think they had to happen in order to tell the whole story. Because the stuff that happened to Seven was never about us to begin with- We just managed to stumble in and make the Choi’s reunion actually take place, but from that point on it’s all about Seven’s past and Saeran’s past, explaining the whole plot of MM. 

I mean, granted, it might have taken years if for them to reunite again, if they ever did, without us. But at the same time, at that point, it’s still not about us or our choices. 

Does any of this make sense? It’s a lot longer than I meantit to be...;;;

[veronica-rich]

avoidance of annoyance not always possible part 2

In the category of Shit They’re Fucking Well Old Enough to Know is Wrong and/or Unacceptable (see previous post for an explanation), my neighbor down the street is annoying, but not angering.

Here’s something that is: And I want to preface this by saying I try not to judge individual people, especially friends - that doesn’t mean I don’t have reflexes to do so once in a while, just that I try to examine why and not do it. (I have no problem judging whole swaths of people fixated on something stupid, like Trump voters.) But there are times it’s hard not to do so, and this is one of those situations.

Here’s the short version of the story. I have two friends with a cat; well, who had a cat. Fluffy was an old cat, hardy and apparently able to survive anything. These friends are older than I am, which is to say I expect them to have the same amount of common sense I do. They’ve had financial and job problems for nearly the entire decade I’ve known them, which is to say they don’t have much income to work with, and you know, I get that. It’s fine.

But here’s the thing. This cat had not been to a vet in years, as far as I know. And if my friends were having to choose between eating/paying rent and getting the cat basic vet care, it’d be one thing. But they run constantly. They say they don’t spend money doing it, but I don’t believe that. Gas isn’t free; neither is food away from home (it’s not free at home either, but it is more affordable).

So a couple of years ago this cat started getting pretty skinny. This happens with old cats - my old cat, may he rest in peace, was really skinny a few months before he died despite taking him to the vet frequently and trying to treat his various ailments. But these two didn’t get Fluffy seen to find out if he had something he needed treated (i.e., hyperthyroidism, diabetes, etc.). And in the past several months, they’ve actually been in a better position of both working and could have probably taken him to a vet. But instead, they bought a new car (I don’t mean an updated used car, which they did need; I mean a brand new car) and continued on with planning to go to a con a few hundred miles away, along with other Fun Things To Do.

Last week the cat started having swelling in his legs. Still no vet. Now one of the friends had lost their job just recently, so you try to think, well, damn, less money coming in. (Trying not to judge yet!) But then it comes out they’re still going on their trip next week come hell or high water (how this affects me is I look after their cat when they’re out of town, and vice versa - plus I’m a friend who cares). So I say something to them - “Do you really think you should be going? Yes, you put a deposit on the hotel room last year, but surely there’s more money you’d spend by going for gas, food, remaining hotel time, purchases, than you’d lose by staying home and taking Fluffy to the vet?”

Nope. Everything’s paid for already. Which I don’t believe, but what am I going to say? How the fuck do you pay ahead for gas and food and incidentals that might add up enough to go to the emergency vet clinic in town?

So the cat got much, much worse over the weekend, close to death. He finally got to go to the vet this morning thanks to a donation from another friend of theirs ... to get euthanized. Here are the things in no particular order that bother me about all of this.

1. If you have a pet, as if you have a child, do your very best to take care of them, especially if they’re sick. “Well, you don’t know,” you might say. Yes, I DO know. I spent several years working multiple jobs with no health insurance and no trips to the doctor, no cable, eating maybe 2 meals a day because that’s all I could afford, steadily going further into debt just paying the bills I had to to get by ... and my cat went to the vet every year for shots and when he was sick enough, long enough, to warrant it. At one point I had to stop buying cheap Meow Mix for him and go permanently to a far more expensive brand so he’d stop getting sick. I was single, I had no partner’s income to help, my parents couldn’t afford to help, and I made just a *smidge* too much to qualify for any public assistance.

2. I’m the first to say even poor people deserve some treats. I like my Starbucks; when I was poorer, I liked my occasional cheeseburger and milkshake at the drugstore, or a nice soap from TJ Maxx. I sometimes got a carryout pizza. But none of this ever came at the expense of leaving a visibly sick or suffering pet sick and suffering. If I had to forego something fun, I did.

3. When my cat had a chronic illness and I went out of town for work or pleasure (what few times I did), I made sure someone could look after him and administer his medicine as needed. I was never gone too many days and I checked in to see how he was doing. I don’t expect anyone’s life to come to a halt for their pet, but again, there’s a difference between that and basic responsibilities.

4. What bothers me maybe the most is self-guilt. I don’t have much money right now, but a year, a couple of years ago, I had a little more. And I thought at the time about offering to pay for Fluffy to go to the vet, and I didn’t make the offer - for one reason. I knew if the vet found something chronic wrong with him (as I suspected they would - he had some of the symptoms my old cat had), it would require ongoing treatment and attention and I did not trust his owners to put aside the money needed to do this (even if it was minimal each month) or to rearrange their “running and doing” schedule to provide that care. And in order for this cat to continue to get the treatment he needed, I had a bad feeling I would end up having to foot that bill ... and that, I couldn’t afford, because I have pets of my own I have to look after. So, one vet visit wouldn’t have helped Fluffy very much. But I feel guilty nonetheless.

They’re going to post about losing Fluffy on social media, and garner all kinds of sympathy and virtual hugs, and I’m not begrudging them that. I certainly don’t want to butt in and turn well-wishes away. But part of me wishes those sympathizers knew what I know. And another part of me wishes I could vocalize to them how I feel about it ... but we come back to Shit They’re Fucking Well Old Enough to Know is Wrong and/or Unacceptable.

[ecotone99]

[RF] - HOT LOUD BLACK NIGHT

HOT LOUD BLACK NIGHT

It was around 2:30 AM when a black limo pulled up to the curb and deposited Jerry Mallard in front of his eponymous nightclub. The first thing that he thought as he flew (rather unceremoniously) out of the moving vehicle must have been something along the lines of “no, no please no. Oh god, etc.” Of course, one can never really know with these things. As a sort of general fact: being tossed face first onto a hard concrete slab is not very pleasant.

In Jerry’s context however, it must have been one hell of a cherry on top of one hell of a terrible night. The impact did not knock him out, as he must have expected/prayed for. Instead he landed on the ground with a fumbling thud, a small crack of his forehead hitting the pavement, and a little man-whimper that might have garnered some sympathy if someone was around to hear it. As the limo sped down out of the parking lot, down the street and up on to the highway, Jerry flipped himself over on to his back and faced a clear and starless sky. One can imagine that he tried to pray.

As you might have guessed, 2:30 AM was also last call. And as Jerry lay there, people began filing out of the club. It was the Sunday crowd: Jittery, spark-lit grunge scum, all bumming off each other and waiting for someone (anyone) to come up with what to do next. They were crowded in little flannel circles, angling their smoke and spit towards Jerry’s aluminum-fronted nightclub. They visibly laughed and spread their arms wide. Their conversations, however, would have been hard to hear over the cicadas that had just hatched and begun to breed.

Still on his back, Jerry would have watched this entire scene upside down. These kids would be anchored to the sky. His club, with its unbelievable frontface reflecting dirty neon signage off of every lateral surface, must have appeared like an alien spaceship descending (at last) to summon Jerry towards some higher and not-so-human destiny. Perhaps he would be the Hero of some story, one that might have been entertaining, but that would, of course, not have been true. It certainly would not be this story. This story has no heroes. That’s probably what makes it true.

By the time Jerry pulled himself off of the concrete and dusted off his bloodied suit jacket, these folks had mostly hobbled to their cars and swerved off towards the highway. Jerry experienced, for the first time that night, a moment of true quiet. He stood there for a moment, leaning more on his left leg than on his right, and closed his eyes. He probably did not feel any sense of relief. He was certainly in no position to feel it. But he might have felt something like peace. As per the theme of the night, however, this proved to be short-lasting. He opened his eyes to a small, round man in a white sweat-through button down, wagging one of his many ringed fingers at Jerry. Jerry spoke first.

“Hi Lloyd.”

“Hey, hi, howdy. We having a good night?” Lloyd slapped his huge hands together.

“Listen Lloyd-”

“Jesus Christ, why not just up and fuck off for a night, right? Right? It’s not like I need your, uh, I don’t know, your help around here or anything. You know how many kids I had to pull out of the stall-”

“You gotta stop letting ‘em do that stuff in there Lloyd.”

“Christ what am I telling you? What am I telling you Jerry? That’s what I’m trying to do, but they like our bathrooms Jerry. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you these past couple-a weeks. They’re not coming for the fucking music Jerry. You haven’t been listening to me. They’re going out of their minds in there. They’re going out of their goddamn minds in there. You shoulda seen this one kid. He was all blue, coldest guy I ever touched since the Gulf, you know? Friends carried him out of the place, said they were gonna take him to the hospital but god really knows with these things. And…what the hell happened to you?”

Jerry walked past him and up the path to the building. Lloyd stared at him for a few shocked seconds and rushed up to follow.

“Was it-” Lloyd whispered in his ear.

Jerry opened the door and walked into the bar, while Lloyd stood at the entrance, his hands over his mouth in an absolute, totalizing kind of terror. The rumors were true. A carnival wheel of expressions passed over Lloyd’s face then, coming to stop somewhere between anger and panic. His skin turned red and he somehow began to sweat even more than he had been (and he was a notorious sprinkler.) He brought a hand to his bulging forehead with a groan. He probably had a headache, what for the heat and the insectoid racket. Like almost all of the pain he had ever experienced, he would treat it with drink. In this regard, it must have been nice to manage a bar. He followed Jerry inside.

Jerry’s custodial staff essentially consisted of a mother and a daughter, aged 51 and 29 respectively, neither of whom really liked Jerry and who thought he was a drunk schlockmeister who benefited from the failings of others. They were, of course, not wrong. When Jerry entered the “ballroom”, the mother had just finished calling Shelly (the bartender/assistant manager) every Polish synonym for “asshole” that there is. It should not come as a surprise that the mother, upon opening the bathroom stall to three bloody syringes on the TP dispenser, a pool of vomit sprinkled with dutch guts, and an unconscious scumkid embracing (Madonna-like) the toilet he had broken his bloody nose on, that she would begin to reevaluate the future of her employment at Mallard’s. Her daughter stood at her side, meekly looking down at her shoes, lifting them on and off the sticky beer-soaked floor. When Jerry clattered through the front door, kicking a few light wooden chairs out of his way, the mother finally let off of Shelly and turned her attention to her employer, who embraced the woman in a warm hug.

This was met (for what must have been the seventh or eighth time that night) with a swift and impassioned strike to Jerry’s groin. He fell to his knees with a groan as the mother grabbed her daughter’s hand and marched her out of the club. Shelly hopped over the bar to help him up.

“Looking good. Jer.” she said.

He emitted another pathetic groan, while she helped him over to a stool and leaned him up against the bar. After locking the front door behind him, and casting a manic paranoid look out the front window, Lloyd crossed over to them, waving his hands in the air.

“These goddamn bugs…Shelly-” He began.

She waved a towel at him.

“Absolutely not. You’re falling over for goddsakes.”

Lloyd put one hand on Jerry’s back, covering up a bloodstain.

“Shelly might I remind you that I’m your, uh, your boss.”

“Lloyd might I remind you of what I believe to be your lack of fucking foresight on the matter, seeing as I’m gonna have to be the one who picks you up off the fucking floor and drives you home once you’re done. You miserable bastard.”

“Jeez Shelly tell him how you really feel.” Jerry said before laughing extremely.

He doubled over in laughter, sweat dripping off his scalp and wetting the dry blood on his forehead. By the looks of it, he was still bleeding. Shelly and Lloyd watched their boss’s spasms, his neck snapping back and forth, laughter spewing like a missed vein. Jerry did not laugh often, and given the circumstances this was probably rather shocking to Shelly and Lloyd. Jerry let his head fall on to the table with a clunk, before lifting it up and aiming it towards no one in particular.

“They’re gonna kill me. Oh God. They’re going to kill me.” His head fell on to the bar again and stayed there. Over the dim sound of exit music, one would have heard him sob. Between these sobs he would manage to mutter some variation on what he had already said, sometimes a prayer to a God who clearly did not care very much, and he went on like this for several minutes while Shelly poured Lloyd a drink.

“Jesus.”

“Yeah, I know.”

​

After waking up an hour later, and calling his distant mother several times before giving up, Jerry arrived at the conclusion that if he was ever going to get enough money to pay these people off, he was not going to get it through honest means. When most people reach this conclusion, they usually reach towards what they have already done, in order to internally justify what it is that they plan to go ahead and do. Jerry had no criminal record, certainly nothing to indicate he was capable of what he ended up doing. It is entirely possible that Jerry had no experience in the matter, which is quite remarkable. Then again, crazier things have happened and it helps to not be too impressed when men do horrible things to each other.

He waited for Lloyd to conk out, and once Shelly was busy carrying the large man off of the cup-littered dance floor, Jerry snuck to his office behind the bar. Cheap metal walls all rusted through, a leaky ceiling (if it ever rained), crummy radio on a leaning filing cabinet side-plastered with smutty stickers advertising scumbands long broken up, every wall covered in women, crumpled pharmacy receipts spilling out of a kicked-over rusted mesh trash can, this office was Jerry’s little happy place, which really says a lot more about Jerry than any police report can. It must have been hot. He had a small electric fan on his desk, but it had broken several days before. One can imagine him sweating as he tried to recall the combination for the floor safe.

He must have felt the weight of Lloyd’s gun as he brought it up to his eyes, to look at it and confirm (yes) that he was really holding this. He might then have taken a few moments to aim it at one of his many lewd indecorous posters, maybe imagining himself (again) as some sort of Hero. It is usually around this time that criminals begin to preemptively justify their crimes, usually blaming others for getting what’s coming to them, or raising their categorical lack of foresight to something akin to, say, Fate or Destiny. It is all very sad and pathetic, but this is not an editorial. These are the facts, the best that they can be presented. Of course, there will be gaps.

It was around 4:15, 4:30 that Jerry snuck out the backdoor and into the hot loud black night. As some people know, this is actually the opportune time to commit a robbery. There are usually very few people around, the dark makes it easy to make a break for it and stand a chance of getting away. There is also something to be said about that atmosphere. Coming out of the dark, his face all fucked, pointing a loaded Ruger straight at your chest, Jerry would have been quite a terrifying sight. He was betting on it. Of course, the biggest problem of committing robberies at this time is, of course, finding anyone to actually rob. Most businesses are closed and most people are home, and half the people shambling around at that hour are so spun off the planet they wouldn’t understand the protocol. So this kind of difficulty probably accounts for the gap in time between 4:30 and 5 AM, when Jerry finally found his target. In that time, he couldn’t find any people, just insects.

The Rusty Donut is just off the highway, and one of the few places in that part of town to stay open 24 hours, mostly because it was a known scumspot. There were a lot of kids there usually. Donuts are across-the-board pretty popular among the drunken. However there was always a lull around 4, and it was a Sunday, so it should not be unbelievable that the place was empty. Jerry watched the only one there, a young skinny kid in a white uniform and paper cap, through a windowpane advertising BOGO free donuts. This boy, who was sixteen, usually spent his downtime polishing the glass front of the confectionary display. So his back was turned when Jerry came in, pointed a gun to his head and demanded “everything in the register and everything in the safe, please.”

The boy, who had heard about this kind of scenario but had yet to experience it, immediately began to cry in these infantile little sobs. He started to turn around, but Jerry pushed the cold barrel of the gun against his warm neck.

“Don’t fucking look at me.” He said. Listening to the tapes of the incident, one could roughly approximate Jerry’s adopted voice as something like Mickey Mouse with a dash of terminal emphysemam09. It was (in the opinion of this author) kind of silly, and certainly incongruous with the situation, and assumingly very odd and disturbing for Jerry’s victim, who must have imagined something quite grotesque while he kept his eyes down and counted the money he drew out of the register. He placed a wad of bills on the counter. Jerry did not take the money. He kept the gun aimed directly at the child’s head, and asked him (again we must imagine the voice) to “open the goddamn motherfucking safe or else your head’ll be all like a fucking…jelly donut man.” This was, assumingly, the best threat he could come up with. The boy complied.

Unbeknownst to Jerry, as the boy bent down beneath the counter to unlock the floor safe, he managed to surreptitiously draw his cell phone out of his back pocket, and toss it on the floor in a spot between himself and the counter that was out of Jerry’s line of sight. So while Jerry had an obscured view of the boy’s back, and could roughly confirm that he was following directions, he had no idea that the boy had managed to call the police, mute his phone and keep the responder on the line. The fact that it had never occurred to Jerry to confiscate the boy’s phone, can be chalked up to a simple generation gap. It was sort of out of his realm. This would, of course, prove to be his undoing.

​

At exactly 5:06, Officers Chuck McDale and Nancy Mallahoo, both decorated ten year veterans of the local police department (and the best of friends) received the call about an armed subject at the Rusty Donut. This was not, as Officer Mallahoo stressed later in her deposition, “their first rodeo.” Still they were nervous. And as they left their radar gun post on the highway, they drove towards the exit in silence, both of them considering the worst case scenario. Both officers were parents with young children. Both had a lot to lose. Both would much rather not be in this situation.

Officer McDale, who was driving, cut the lights as they entered the parking lot, banking on the element of surprise to work in their favor. It did. Jerry did not notice them pull up. Through the glass front, the officers had an unobstructed view of the scene. The boy had his hands up and his head down. With his back to the officers, Jerry held the gun, but his hands were shaking. Before leaving the car, McDale agreed to enter through the back door, if it were unlocked, and to buzz Mallahoo’s walkie once he was in position. Mallahoo would then enter the restaurant through the front, aim her service weapon, and demand that Jerry put down his gun. Whether Jerry complied, or turned around to aim at Mallahoo, McDale would jump out from behind the counter, putting himself between Jerry and the boy, and aim his service weapon. The plan depended on timing. If McDale hopped out too soon he would be in Jerry’s direct line of fire. If Mallahoo rushed the plan before McDale got in position, she could easily have taken a bullet. McDale said a brief prayer, before the officers exited the car and slowly moved to their positions, their steps muffled by the unbelievable swarm around them.

Mallahoo ducked beneath the front door, keeping her eyes on Jerry in case he turned around. Meanwhile, McDale proceeded to the back where he did in fact find the door unlocked. He drew his pistol and entered the restaurant, quietly closing the door behind him.

McDale found himself in a dark storage room, and could make out the light of the donut shop behind a metal door. As he pushed himself beside it, he was able to overhear what Randy said to the boy, which was as follows,

“Don’t fucking look at me. Don’t you fucking look at me. Jesus. Christ. God. God. God. Fuck. Don’t…hey I bet you think you’re all special, fucking scumkid. How’s your friend, huh? You get him to the hospital alright? Don’t act like you don’t know him, I know how all you scumfucks talk to each other. You should get a real job you know that. Lazy scumfuck. I worked hard for what I’ve got. You know that? You know what hard work is you lazy fucking scumfuck. You know what the word even means, man. Jesus. Jesus, God. God. I worked hard for what I’ve got. Okay? I’m not gonna let anyone take away what I worked so hard…how the hell old are you anyway?”

The boy did not say anything. In the silence, McDale gripped his pistol, and took a deep breath, before pressing the PTT on his walkie. He heard the bell above the front door tinkle as Mallahoo entered the restaurant.

“Drop your weapon.” She ordered.

McDale reached for the door and pulled, but it did not budge. He had, in his faulty human way, forgotten to check if the door was locked. He suddenly became acutely aware of his own heartbeat. He tried pulling on it a few times, as if the facts would suddenly change. They did not. He considered shooting through the lock, but stopped himself. There were three people on the other side. He took a step back and made a break for the back door.

Mallahoo, on the other hand, kept her gun trained on the back of Jerry’s head. Jerry kept his gun trained upon its original target, who had begun to cry again. Mallahoo repeated her directive, but Jerry did not budge. He instead looked down at the pile of money lying on the counter between himself and the boy. Yet again, he might have felt that sudden inrush of peace. Here was what he needed, and he had gone out and gotten it himself. He was a man. It did not matter if his prayers were answered or not, because he was the master of his world.

He looked up, and to his shock, the boy was looking right at him. The boy had blue eyes. For a moment, the only sound was the hum of electric light and the singing of the natural world outside, which was just beginning to brighten.

submitted by /u/Mcturkey [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/3f0i87g

[sidbridgecomedy]

Getting Heckled

One of the most frustrating aspects of stand-up comedy is the perception among audience members that heckling is welcome or even “improves the show”.

I once invited someone to come see me at the Funny Bone and her response was “I don’t know - I really need to brush up on my heckling before I go to another comedy show.”

Heckling has been depicted as part of stand-up in movies and on TV shows - often times with the heckler being the hero! (Looking at you, Nutty Professor)

As a comic it can be maddening. Nobody is standing over my dentist’s shoulder shouting “You scale like a bitch! And why are you wearing crocs?!” But somehow, without fail, some idiot will show up at a comedy show and try to grab his or her 15 minutes of fame.

This topic has been written on hundreds of times by comics way more successful then me, but I’m still giving you my take because it’s my blog, and maybe I’ll have a thought or two you might find helpful.

So... what does one do?

With hecklers, there isn’t a definite answer. As a comedian, you need to know your own strengths and utilize them to your advantage. If you’re good at thinking on your feet - if you trust your instincts, follow them.

In my opinion, the most important part of managing hecklers is minimizing their theft of your time. You’re the one being paid (hopefully) to make people laugh on that stage and you should protect every second of that time as best you can. If a heckler can’t be straight-up ignored, my goal is to shut them down as quickly and sharply as possible and then immediately drawing the audience’s attention away from them.

Grab the first thought that comes to your brain, fire that thought at the heckler like it’s a crossbow dart, then dive right back into your planned set, shifting yourself to part of the stage where the heckler isn’t facing and engaging the audience on the other side of the room. That’s the best case scenario. 

Of course, we don’t always get the best case. If the heckler keeps going, make a quick plan - you can give them three strikes - that means, do the crossbow dart technique twice, then on the third strike, don’t be afraid to get more explicit. Tell them bluntly to shut up and be prepared to call the staff over to reinforce your threat.

Again, everyone should respond according to his or her own gifts. If you’re naturally awesome at crowd work and you don’t mind diverting from your set to ruin a heckler, then go for it. If you’re a rookie at crowd work, I guarantee engaging the heckler will end in disaster.

Here’s a rundown of other techniques and their pros/cons:

1. Completely ignore the heckler - This can be effective because it denies the heckler the attention he wants, but some of these people are relentless, and your set could suffer if the audience is half paying attention to you and half to the heckler.

2. Insult the living s**t our of the heckler - This can shut the heckler up and get a huge positive response from the audience when you call someone out for being a douche. However, size the heckler up first - I’ve seen comics get assaulted because a heckler couldn’t take an insult. Also be really sure the audience will agree. If the heckler has any angle that may garner sympathy, be careful as the audience may turn on you.

3. Call the bouncer/Tell them to leave - This will likely fix the problem, but it may take a while for staff to negotiate with the person - and the heckler may get a second chance if he promises to stop. If there is no bouncer, you’re going to have to take time away dealing with it - either way, the interruption to your set will be significant.

4. Let them talk - Ok, don’t do this. Sometimes it might seem tempting because the heckler might actually be funny, or you might want to let the heckler prove he’s a huge idiot conclusively to the crowd. Don’t give away your time, no matter how tempting it is.

It’s also important to understand why someone is heckling. I already covered the ethos of the heckler - many people believe that it’s okay to talk back and it’s fun to become part of the show. All we can do is spread the word as best we can to combat this. That means the host - especially at a bar show or an open mic show - should lay the law down with the crowd explicitly before the show starts, and again during the show if the crowd isn’t listening or new people show up.

Sometimes people heckle for other reasons:

1. They don’t want to be there and they just want to chat with their friends while the show is going on.

2. They can’t stop checking their cell phones.

3. They are trying to get a waiter’s attention.

4. They came as a group for a party.

5. They underestimated their alcohol tolerance and can’t control themselves.

6. You said something that really pissed them off.

Most of those things you don’t have control over. Sometimes we do comedy at bars and the patrons weren’t expecting a show. Telling them they can’t talk to their friends and they have to listen to your jokes could actually be ruining their evening, leaving them feeling entitled to ruin yours.

A drunk can’t be reasoned with and can be difficult to control. A party is all about the person whose birthday it is (or whatever) - they want to be the star of their own evening and you should do your best not to take that away from them. The club makes money off of serving food and drinks, so it’s also important to be patient with someone shouting for a waiter.

As far as pissing people off, you do have a responsibility to read the room. If you tell a joke where Democrats are the good guys and the room clams up or boos, don’t tell another joke like that. Unless you’re super advanced and really good at making people laugh at stuff they disagree with (I’ve seen people who can do this and it’s amazing), don’t keep antagonizing the people who are supposed to laugh at your jokes. People get belligerent over things like religion and politics. Be ready to change gears if you don’t want to get yelled at or attacked.

Heckling most frustrates me at my open mic shows. Most headliners and features have experience dealing with it. Open mic comics, on the other hand, often don’t have the benefit of experience and they get very, very little time. Taking away 30 seconds to shut down a heckler could mean the loss of a big portion of their set time to an idiot. If you’re trying to work on material at an open mic, resist the temptation to break from your plan to address the heckler. Hopefully the staff or the host will be there to quietly confront the heckler off stage to try and minimize the impact on your set. If you really, really want to respond, just understand that it’s going to be your whole set. I know when I’m open mic host, it’s rare that I have the extra time to give out an extra minute or two to a comic who surrendered his time to a heckler.

Also, if you brought a big group of friends to see you at an open mic show, take a few minutes to make sure they know that heckling is bad. If they hear it from you in addition to the host, they will be more likely to listen.

If you’re a non-comic and you’re reading this, PLEASE DON’T HECKLE. Please tell your friends not to heckle. And please know that if you heckle, you’re a douche. If you heckle at an open mic show, you’re the worst person in the world and you shouldn’t be allowed to consume live entertainment. 

We’re a long way away from world peace and unity, but if one person pledges never to heckle a comedy show, we’ve taken a big step closer.

As a postscript, here are a few personal heckler stories:

1. My very first guest set at Cozzy’s was on a show with Darryl Rhoades and Dan Whitehurst (to this day, two of my favorite people to work with - Always there with excellent feedback and they bring tons of energy to the stage). A woman got super drunk and her laugh was the most bizarre thing I have ever heard. After I told a joke, I had to wait for her to finish shouting her laugh at the top of her lungs - HYEW HYAW HYEY HYEW - HYEW YOU FUNNY! HYAW HYAW!!! I was still a rookie, so I did the best I could - I picked my pace up, leaving less time between jokes for the laughter, and moved my focus to the side of the room where she wasn’t. The staff quieted this woman numerous times, and Darryl and Dan each dealt with it in their own way. Darryl did call her out on stage and it was pretty hilarious, and when the staff offered to kick her out, he told them to let her stay - gutsy and courteous!

2. This is one I actually use as part of my set - a woman showed up and signed up for open mic night. She was obnoxious. Her set was terrible. And she spent the evening running her mouth and doing lewd things. I finally had to draw the line when she exposed herself in the club and asked the bartender to close her tab. She really did try to confront me - she happened to be of Arab descent and accused me of kicking her out because I was Jewish. My comic friends really did form a human wall (ask Derek Williams. He was part of the wall) while the bartender kicked her out. While she was outside, she exposed herself to the comics again, just the lower part this time. Good times.

3. An extremely drunk redneck showed up at open mic and signed up as “Fisherman.” I think Jounte Ferguson taped his set if you want to watch it. It was an open mic train wreck on a level you only see once every few years. He also heckled constantly, and I went over to him several times to try and shut him up (politely). One of those times, he grabbed my arm and held on for a while to give me an earful about how he’s a fisherman or something. I don’t know. I just wanted to get away. I wasn’t able to get him out of the bar that night, and I actually ended up staying behind a while to make sure he had left before I ventured into the parking lot. 

4. I was closing Sunday Funnies at Cozzy’s once, and I brought a group of friends. One of my friends heckled a joke and I went into automatic heckler mode and shut him down just as quickly and decisively as I would have done with a regular audience member. Then it hit me that I had just shut my friend down from on stage, so I added a quick “There goes a friendship” after I did it, which actually lead to a really big laugh and no hard feelings. 

5. I was doing a set at my own open mic, and a couple was sitting at stage left. They had been talking to each other and ignoring the entire show. I decided to see how oblivious they were - I have a joke that picks a couple in the crowd and focuses on them. I picked that couple and did they joke while they were ignoring me *as if they weren’t ignoring me*. The further I went, the louder the laughs got as this poor couple didn’t realize they were being singled out through the entire joke. They later apologized profusely for their behavior and enjoyed the rest of the show.

[lorainelaneyblog]

‘Your husband loves you and that’s the only reason you’re not afraid,’ said Loraine Laney, and we would both, we would both, like to elaborate on this, go ahead Loraine, try, sit properly, yes, do, and try to elaborate what it is about respect.

‘Respect is hard won.’

‘Exactly.’

‘You are the property of your husband and every endeavour apart from the good of your husband, garners disrespect from men.’

‘Exactly.’

‘How does she fucking know this shit?’ asks [ ]. ‘She fucking does, she fucking knows shit I can’t even fathom, when she ran down that Asian shit, and I do say Asian, Loraine, they look into my eyes--.’

‘You are, you are, you are, [ ], preaching to. the. fucking. converted. Loraine knows of this.’

‘The black women said the same, Loraine, what is that?’

‘Size, we say at once, this shit I am hearing about the immorality of taking more than you deserve, I must admit to not understanding why Loraine is getting away with it--.’

‘High sex drive, extreme submission, and that is why, that is fucking why, that is why. Loraine has honed submission, she obeys men.’

‘Even [ ], she cheated on him.’

‘And he cheated on her immediately and lied for three years.’

‘He had erectile dysfunction, Lord, how is that a cheat, penis vagina, isn’t it? She was doing plenty of that.’

‘We are about to see [ ]’s true colours and I might, [ ], have to withdraw my request in light of this.’

‘Are you serious, why? Why is she getting away with what she says is immoral?’

‘She discusses it lightly, [ ]--.’

‘You are,’ says her [ ], my friend [ ], our serious, serious, family friends,’ says [ ] [ ], whom you, Loraine, grew up with, read you fucking book we did, we did, we fucking well did, together, together, by fucking firelight because it came our way through construction. And my husband said, and I quote, and I was, reading the title, fucking, fucking, fucking, terrified, “She hurts no one. I have it on good authority--.” “Men nor women?” I said, aghast, fucking aghast, Loraine, “but how,” I continued bravely, “is this possible? How? Everyone hurts one side or the other, everyone, everyone, I have never seen otherwise except in our precious, little marriage. Do you really think he is a gang bang boy, and do you think I am a gang bang girl.”

‘You are, [ ], you are.’

‘I thought, girls, I thought they were small.’

‘[ ] [ ] is one, she is Scottish, you are of German descent, they are not, not, not, small, and they’re men, what’s left of them after English colonization, are not small either, and please [ ], never, never, never, feel hurt or dismayed by [ ]’s abandonment of Canada, and of Richmond in particular. It is true that Chinese women look into the eyes, because they think with the mind, not the heart, it is true what Loraine said, it is true, they are invested cerebrally, and jealousy is in the mind.’

‘It’s in the heart too, your heart hurts.’

‘That is heart break, don’t confuse the two, jealousy is in the mind. And Loraine--.’

‘Loraine, Loraine, Loraine.’

‘That’s what I said,’ says [ ].

‘Shut up, the two of you, who have never read Loraine’s work. Do you know, do you know, do you know what a new messiah is, [ ], and [ ]?’

‘No, she doesn’t capitalize it, we’ve heard, so that is good, she doesn’t think that she is God, at least.’

‘I said she is like me, insofar as, she is a favorite, my actual favorite--.’

‘Are you fucking kidding me? I thought God so loved the world.’

‘Read the bible, [ ], read it again, the bible is full of the wrath of God against specific individuals, and, make no mistake, in life and in death, I make people pay, I’m glad you shut up for this, in life and in death, [ ].’

‘Am I paying for something, because I feel God hates me.’

‘I am God. Do you feel that I hate you?’

‘No.’

‘She’s a baby,’ says Eminem. ‘She’s a two at best. All of us, all of us, all of us, despite being a prick on the ether, and 50 Cent was too, yes, he was, we are all, syntax Eminem, all, all, all, including our lovely Loraine, let me finish, tens. Why is she so lovely? Because she is a ten. That is the definition of lovely, a ten, it is as high as you can go on earth, and her beloved stepfather whom she loved, and who loved her, chastely, I might add, with no suggestion otherwise, none, not even a hard on, I am told.’

‘That’s not what I heard about her work,’ says [ ].

‘That’s a ruse.’

‘See, her submissiveness to 50 Cent, her little small voice bugs me so much I can hardly even think straight.’

‘Loraine said, and this is what has been said over and over and over again by many, many, many, practitioners of intellectualism, including her, as I’ve said twice now, see how she said, that?’

‘What? A thank you to God over punctuation. Congratulations.’

‘It humbles her. And that is how she likes to feel. She doesn’t have an ego, and this is a conscious practice for her.’

‘See? Annoying? A little noise because she is glad of God again, what the fuck is this shit?’

‘She is completely alone, [ ], and, I am explaining kindly to a woman with everything, a doting husband, a loving family, children, no end of time--.’

‘I studied on my own, Loraine, on my own, on my own, which is better than what you did, thinking you could write a book.’

‘The men,’ God illuminates for fun, ‘are fucking, fucking, fucking, killing themselves at this point. “Is she a musical artist, or something?” cracked you up from Chingy, and Loraine, believe it or not, and I know you can hardly believe it, some women do not find men funny at all, not at all, they do not understand subtleties of tone at all, at all, Loraine, they are too literal, and I know [ ] insulted you with that, and to you it meant nothing, because, seriously, Loraine, it was her who was literal, not you, not you, not you, you are full of nuance and have an excellent sense of humour, which, virtually, Loraine, every last man, except ones who are not as smart as you, and they are few, because men, with their logic, are not smarter than women, as you stated, but they are, wait for it, not literal at all. If musical artist, for example, were to be taken literally, what would that mean, for example, try, Loraine, just try and I will help you, he made you laugh like crazy with his subtleties of tone, and Chingy, Chingy, Chingy, Loraine, one of your husbands,  and the men laughed to themselves because, precisely because you said he was so sexy looking. And I know you understand that, because you have never, save [ ], been attracted to humourous men, and this is why, they are not, not, not, funny enough for you, you are subtle as the day is long, and it is going to be fucking hilarious for you, all the time, hilarious, and the men don’t know this, but, with your funny smile, and constant giggling, you worry that you will cease to be attractive to them, but [ ], despite your disparity in orientation and the difference in your age, found your fascination with his humour to be very, very, very, compelling. And, use her real name, it will piss off your [ ]--.’

‘Good idea.’

‘Shut up, [ ]. Shut. Up. Please. Shut up please. Loraine is so much more than woman than you that you could really learn from her.’

‘She should have got married then, and closed her legs, as I did.’

‘Loraine, was, surprise, surprise, [ ], too submissive for marriage. She, like eighty seven point five percent of people was poly, and terribly honest, and terribly open minded towards people. It is true that she brought a street man home for a bed, only, and then was raped for her trouble. Yes, it is.’

‘She probably wanted to get laid by a homeless man or something, she’s a whore, [ ] said.’

‘She’s like a fucking, whining, little fuck wit, and I seriously, with my adept humour, cannot think of an insult deep enough for this woman, Loraine, she is a fucking idiot.’

‘That will do.’

‘Thank you for that.’

‘I have been--.’

‘JZ agrees.’

‘Really?’

‘Don’t ask my husband about grammar now, Loraine, because he corrected you once. He is my husband and I control him, you don’t.’

‘Erroneous again, [ ], seriously mistaken you are if you think that you control a man, seriously, [ ], you must be out of your mind, have you ever got what you wanted from [ ], ever.’

‘Never, it must be admitted.’

‘And you have turned yourself inside out, trying.’

‘She’s upset because she has no more speed. She’s a drug addict. A user of people. She makes money and spends it on herself for drugs. She’s a loser.’

‘I know you can hardly believe this, Loraine--.’

‘She’s got me beat, I’m out. Loraine has helped me with this Asian thing. You really saw the eyes.’

‘I know the eyes, I know the eyes, I know the fucking eyes.’

‘Oh, I see. So they got you too.’

‘They think they are so pretty, [ ], they do, they are raised to think it, they are not raised with physical humility like the Caucasians and the blacks, no, they are not, they are raised, to capitalize on their beauty, and they are not exactly wrong in that, but the unfortunate result, is that they have been, the Chinese, I am talking here, and the Japanese--.’

‘True, Loraine, the Japanese too, have you ever seen those Asian women who don’t want to serve you in restaurants?’

‘Yes.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I fell all over myself.’

‘That’s what I did too, and then I just stopped going out, because it disgusted me, because I was in a service industry which is, honestly, wholly geared toward the service of women. Men go to whores and have ugly feet.’

‘Yup,’ says [ ]. ‘The minute I met Loraine, I stopped going for Chinese little women pedicures, and I, honestly, thought I might make a girlfriend out of it, I’m little, with a little dick, erectile dysfunction true--.’

‘It is true, [ ], Loraine has never, never, asked for anything for herself, never.’

‘Not even a dick.’

‘Not even a dick.’

‘She’s stupid too, then, for not taking care of her needs, if [ ] had erectile dysfunction, she should have dumped him.’

‘She found him fun, and to be a lively little thing who seemed to care for her, so she did not do that, she was mistaken, and I have showed her--.’

‘Too bad.’

‘Your sympathy is revelatory, you’re doing well, Loraine, well, even though your fingers hurt, but, and I haven’t even got to [ ] yet, but she is much the same, and JZ, and he is a ten, while his wife is not, wants to say something now.’

‘I loved, loved, loved, the fucking book, Loraine. I loved it. He’s going to be my client, woman, Loraine Laney just said to my hypocrite wife, who thinks she should get two holes filled while I try my luck in a bar. Whores, is what she called them, until I started crying, crying, Loraine, over your little, insignificant dot pdf, as you delineate it, correctly, I might add. And my wife finally, finally, finally, realized she was hurting me, not my “whores,” but me. Me. Me. Her doting, and ever faithful husband.’

‘You were a total slut before,’ says [ ], ‘unlike [ ], why shouldn’t she have total devotion?’

‘You weren’t listening. She loves, and I mean she loves, despite our three children to be, two other, other, [ ], not me, men. Go pee, Loraine, go, seriously, it is not healthy to keep meth in the bladder.’

‘Back.’

‘Oh, I see. Is she going to see them? Or will you prevent it, and see, Loraine?’

‘Do you think she should be allowed to get fucked in her ass and her pussy at the same time, while I see one, sweet, condom conscience woman.’

‘I’m sure she will use condoms. I’m sure she will. She has children to think about. She can’t get AIDS.’

‘And what about me? Do I get thought about?’

‘Why do you all love her so much? I’m hot, nobody loves me that much.’

‘We don’t love her pussy, you idiot,’ says JZ. ‘We love her ever lovin’ mind. Are you stupid, or what? Do you think men are so pussy hungry that we neglect to consider our minds? We need fulfillment in many, many, ways, as you do, which Loraine knew when she went to 50.’

‘All she had to do was go to a show, and drop to her knees, I know what he is like, and her too, a slut, a come hungry slut, her [ ] called her once.’

‘And her [ ] knows the intimate details of her sex life.’

‘Yes, so she says.’

‘[ ] wants to say you are a bitch and a cunt for using her real profession and revealing her salary, which only God knows. A bitch and a cunt, and that is what her mother calls her,’ she adds, according to God as well. ‘And that is what she is. That is what she is. That is what she is. And to reveal [ ]’s real profession.’

‘I want her to. I wanted that. And that bike path thing, thank you 50 Cent, brought it full circle, yes, it did, it is the biggest slice of bullshit, as we say in the industry, in the industry, are the contri-fucking-butions of women.’

‘He’s anti feminist and a misogynist.’

‘Now Loraine would simply say, ignore, that women are ill adapted to competition, and illogical, that is what she would say. She said, and God agreed, that they throw their weight around specifically to show that they are adept at competition, when they are not, and I cannot believe, cannot believe, that fucking JZ, fucking JZ, fucking JZ, fuck, had to repeat himself to my stupid wife, and she has got stupider, Loraine, stupider and stupider and stupider, and I blame myself for keeping her away from men because of sluttishness, because men did not hurt your intelligence, that is for sure, for fucking sure. Seriously, [ ], you are heinous, heinous, and dumb, to your cousin, who, it must be said, has never, never, never, had the chance to speak for herself, because nobody, and I mean nobody, except [ ] I hear, who blabbed her personal feelings to all and sundry, and she is fucking therapist, a fucking psychologist, 50 Cent, for interest’s sake, by profession.’

‘Ugh.’

‘JZ is done, Loraine. His wife now says prostitutes and, with your book, with his tears about your book, despite that she has not read it, and despite that privately she still thinks, as a one, Loraine, that she doesn’t need to read a book, any book, by a whore.’

‘I knew it, Loraine. It is a truce and that is all. How many couples do you think will stay together after this, honestly, this blog and shit?’

‘She has no idea, JZ, and she is no good at math. Finish that segment, Loraine, and, forget it, take a break, pee again and lie, with your horrible, sickened, smell, down, and, fuck off, [ ], just fuck the hell off,’ says God. ‘Go, Loraine. Speak with Eminem. He is chomping at the bit, and you will like it, you will, promises. Go. Fuck this shit for now, your family, some of them are great, and some are such pieces of shit that I will never, never, never, love them, and she is one, she is one, she is one, you wouldn’t, you’re starting to, I see that. Shocking, eh wot? The shit people will believe when they want to believe shit because they, deep down, and I mean, with her, way, way, way, deep down, hate their own choices.’

‘What choices?’

‘Admit it, slut. You wanted, you wanted so many men you could hardly even think straight. You. Could. Hardly. Even. Think. Straight. And I mean pussy, Loraine, not with heart, as you do. Your bitchy, little, idiot, [ ], was so full of the beauty of her own fucking vagina that she thought that she could have anyone, one of those, yep, you heard it here first. What was it, Loraine?’

‘It is a dire—.’

‘Something like that.’

‘Women who take the indiscriminacy of men personally.’

‘You said they were stupid. That is what you said, in your inimitable way, well, done. Rest, please. Rest. Leave her. She is a zero, Loraine, with her happy, bouncy, ass swinging, she is a zero, a fucking egomaniac who is never fucking happy with anything. Never. Her husband is long suffering, rest assured, even moreso than your own father, with his evil wife. Moreso. Seriously. She never, fucking, shuts up, never. You wouldn’t believe it, but, as many women, your [ ] included, she is good now, by the way, and she is a two, their husband, and only their husband, is privy to their true colours. She is one. You have seen it. Good work.’

*************************************************************************************

‘Your [ ] wants one good reason why you get 50 Cent’s big penis, one. And all those other big men, why? You don’t need it, and I do, I do, I have a seven inch vagina and I am not small, and I am hurtin’ in Vancouver, I am, and so is your [ ].’

‘So is Loraine,’ says God. ‘And I thank the police for leading her away from Vancouver with their torture, don’t ask, [ ], because you have heard, you have, and you know, from insiders, that it is true--.’

‘I have very little time for people [ ] [ ], very little time, that’s how I self preserve.’

‘Say what you said, about the ten.’

‘I said, brass tacks, don’t know what it came from but it is my favorite expression, how many times a year do you want, need, desire a dick like 50’s?’

‘Ten times a year.’

‘So he is your client ten times a year,’ I said.

‘Yes, you said, and I see you are editorializing--.’

‘Don’t bug her. She went to 50 Cent as a pimp and a husband, and highest dominants relate best to the lowest submissives, and, [ ] [ ] from old St. Mark’s, who is now in Winterpeg, yes, she is, and she is, despite their lesser attractiveness, and they are, by and large, prairie folk, and in the states too, Loraine, not just in Canada as the American actress, rude, said, not as attractive, she said we, Canadians, were ugly, ugly, rude, I thought, as God, yes, I did, I have the most hope for Canada, I believe in this Prime Minister, Loraine, I do, and I know, knowing nothing of politics, that you like him too, just as aside, she likes him, that is all, she finds him warm and fuzzy, despite his deluded bullshit about welcoming all and sundry to a bullshit climate with no sunshine, where they will find no money, and no, and I mean no, and I am God, fucking happiness, and you know this [ ], you know this, so don’t argue your arty little anti racism message, people, immigrants specifically, as well as many born Canadians, hate this poor, piece of shit, country, because I believe in it the most, because, precisely because of Loraine’s book, and because it has always espoused equality, and now it has to see, that despite equality gains, it has taken hold, [ ], a rampant, and I mean a fucking rampant, sex industry, moreso than Canada, you bet your ass, Loraine can pick out some of them not all of them, don’t think of her, Loraine, she is everyone’s wet dream, she saw her on the bus, not Loraine’s wet dream, but men’s wet dream, Loraine likes same sized women, and she is already in love, a little too in love we feel generally--.’

‘With who? What women, I have to know, because fuck friendship, some of the women in bells, and say fucking bells, because we are out in our family, so out, Loraine, and you see this in Facebook, and that’s the way we like it, out, and [ ], who you have seen, we, herself, included, and her girlfriend included--.’

‘Do you think they could be polygamous peripheries,’ asks Warren Jeffs.

‘And me too, Loraine,’ asks Amy.

‘What’s this?’ the two girls ask.

‘Do you love a lot of women and one man, is this your fantasy?’

‘That is our fantasy. We’re both so lonely. We love it, but we need a man and we don’t understand why, when we are happy.’

‘Group members are often happy for a long time, Loraine,’ says God. ‘And that, [ ], well done, is what they are, well done. They are not content with men, and these “pretty lesbians” very rarely are, they need a man, and women do, [ ], only high, we call them dominant lesbians, but, in fact, there is very little else in a true lesbian but a dominant lesbian, very little else, these little lesbians everyone thought were little lesbians, cute ones, albeit, and pretty ones, do not exist, and--.’

‘Use my real name.’

‘--Ellen DeGeneres is learning that the hard way, yes, she is.’

‘We play, and we do not care, and, Loraine I must admit I thought this was a little rude, not because you asked it, but because I felt compelled to say my true feelings, because that is who I am, and then failed to find someone.’

‘[ ],’ says 50 Cent. ‘It has nothing whatever to do with your age. Loraine was right to ask, and she asked her mother, I have asked, Loraine, about this with respect to Pat, Loraine respected you immensely for regarding your future in such high, I can’t say it, she respected you immensely for moving on, not from death, but from love, to more love, her [ ], and I have asked, Loraine, because I am a nosy bugger and I ask such questions too, and she had a right to ask if the “affair” of [ ]’s would end in marriage.’

‘Why?’ says [ ]. ‘I was so offended to hear that Loraine thought it, because it was, ostensibly an affair, though my husband knew--.’

‘Get it fucking right, [ ], don’t be confused by [ ], Loraine said no such fucking thing.’

‘She didn’t?’

‘You’re forgetting. She simply, she told you on the ether, asked with great interest, great interest and respect, as a woman, and yes, yes, she fucking is doing a black man on the ether, several actually, and white men too.’

‘White men too?’ asks [ ] [ ]. ‘Who the fuck? How many are there? Can I do all of them, Loraine? I need it so badly.’

‘These men are men, as men are, and they will not be pimped, they were disgusted by your [ ], disgusted, and would not screw her for begging, right now at least, she is a rude baby idiot,’ says Spencer. ‘By the way, Loraine, we were all, very impressed with the way you seduced poor Alonzo, he is done for with your ass licking, done for, and your sweetness, done for, go pee. You were bored and took matters into your own hands, well done.’

‘Thank you, Spencer.’

‘You were going to say my love.’

‘I am being careful with my words.’

‘Fair, she was rude and impertinent, making jokes at my expense, ostensibly to get attention, all the while accusing me of being needy, so I am not sure who is needy actually. Suffice to say, Loraine, you are showing your respect, and I, even I, have no idea why I put up with it, she did actually, she realized that she was disgusted I would say, Loraine--.’

‘I was too, Loraine, and I was old too, I forget how old you actually are.’

‘She laughed in my face, [ ] [ ], she should have broken up with me if she thought I was such a bad risk.’

‘You were a bad risk, [ ], so settle down please, please, [ ], seriously, you are just barely up, don’t make too much of Loraine laughing, she was not laughing at your, arguable, idiocy, but at your lack of willingness to commit, which is actually a sign of common, a common sign rather of male dominance, the lack of interest in commitment, they must be encouraged, cajoled and sincerely loved into commitment, and, with humour, this is what she was trying to do. Seriously. Don’t make too much of yourself and your opinions, Loraine is, with her few brain cells, and high intellectualism, still smarter than you, or you’re wife, who can still, still, still, [ ], do better than you, she can, she is much better than you, but, you have a child--.’

‘He has a child, the stalker?’

‘He never told you, Loraine, but he told me that he saw the little blue truck one day, and recognized [ ], but he was afraid you would fall in love again, if he admitted it was true, your dad, honestly, he did,’ says [ ] [ ]. ‘I thought it was wrong and I said so--.’

‘Thank you. No one would corroborate anything. I was fucking well lost.’

‘Okay, you’re welcome. As regards confessing all about the blog to your [ ], I felt--.’

‘Don’t compare. She felt, honestly, as a blood relation, that your [ ] had a right to know why people might be hating on her, a right, that is what she felt, and Loraine doesn’t, really doesn’t feel that way, she doesn’t want her [ ] to know, she doesn’t, but now she does, and she does not, she does not, she does not quibble with your conviction, she does not, so don’t, please [ ], worry about it, don’t. You have done right by your [ ] and you have not, she also agrees, wronged Loraine, you have not, so don’t worry.’

‘But she wasn’t good to me, Loraine thought--.’

‘Nothing was ever, ever, ever, said, ether yes, but not otherwise, you were too busy to hang out before and it was fun to see each other occasionally, albeit at funerals.’

‘I like your [ ] [ ],’ says 50 Cent.

‘Would you make love to an old broad like me? Because I think a lot of people Loraine knows would want you, family even, but I don’t know who, I don’t.’

‘Loraine has to rest,’ says God.

‘She does,’ says Pat. ‘And she is lost as to the work, and still has transcribing, and posting to do later, which she will, likely do, tonight, so I would like to bring it back, for now, [ ], and I love you too, you have been gentle over penis size, so let’s finish.’

‘Octavia had a strict desire for women under five seven, strict, and he likes, and will make love to, many women, many, smaller women too, many, all, women, want to try a big dick, because, not to put too fine a point on it, it fills all their nooks and crannies, and it is soft, it is, it is a snake and they are soft and lovely, not hard like peckers, or little. All women, [ ], want to try it, including your daughter who has sabotaged herself.’

‘But why does our little Loraine get them, and so many.’

‘Not to put to fine a point on it, she is, among her one percent, among her one percent, none of whom are tens, ever, not now, and not before, gang bang girls went evil early because, they did, [ ], over their power with men, she does not know this, no, she doesn’t, she is the only, and I mean the only woman for them, and I mean, what I mean to say is, they simply don’t exist, in any size.’

‘What about [ ] [ ] for example?’

‘They want a woman a couple of years younger, that is what they want. She is too old, and she is very much in love with her husband, who is a third, and who is all man, Loraine is fond of him, they tried to work in the kitchen, you did, Loraine, and the suspicious old ladies shooed Loraine away, yes, they did, and that is why, Loraine, silly, eh wot?’

‘Why?’

‘Exactly. Loraine knows men, and they are too damned friendly with her with her tight, church secretary pants--.’

‘[ ] [ ] laughs. She was hot, even with her big nose. Sorry.’

‘I was silly (hiding my nose job). [ ] has never wronged me in any way, and I loved to work for you.’

‘Why? I’m cold.’

‘You are not fucking cold, don’t be ridiculous.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you are very warm, and very absorbed in a number of endeavours, and the health of your congregation certainly seemed to be one of them.’

‘Why didn’t I have more?’

‘I tried, but I don’t understand traditional bible stuff. I don’t.’

‘She doesn’t.’

‘Modern.’

‘Even that. She tried. [ ] [ ] is a good liturgical writer, she is, and Loraine would agree, her original material was fun, and engaging. But her sermons, and this is me, Loraine doesn’t listen, she doesn’t know this, she drops off very quickly in a talk, absorbed, frankly, in her vagina, as women often are--.’

‘Seriously [ ], men get satisfied, you should read the book, and women never do, never.’

‘That is true.’

‘So, truth be told, and she doesn’t exactly have to spell this out, but it comes up, women are more absorbed in their genitalia than men are, exactly, small, annoying story, they forgot to fill the creamer, Loraine turned it upside down, cream dropped from the lid--.’

‘Ugh.’

‘And with her poor health suffered e. Coli poisoning for several hours, including nausea, vomiting, in the bathtub, while shitting on the toilet, fun, and she knew, and I mean she looked and she saw, and she fucking knew that daft bitch was thinking about her stupid boyfriend, her stupid boyfriend, [ ], don’t be naïve on purpose, and this is why women shouldn’t work, is the upshot of fucking victimhood.’

‘[ ] wants me to cut back, and I want to but--.’

‘Read the fucking book, [ ], put it off no longer. Read it. That’s an order.’

‘What does this daft bitch to use your crass expression have to tell me, PhD, God?’

‘Don’t be rude, [ ], you are jealous, and you always have been because your stupid book only had one thesis, which is all over the bible, feed the fucking people, everybody eats is her dumb thesis, Loraine, Jesus said it a million fucking times, a million, and the book is full of the million times which Jesus says everybody eats, it is. It is dumb. And I know you liked her, but it was a false start. [ ] moves fast, and builds community, that is her strength, and see, now Loraine is a little jealous--.’

‘Because she is dumb.’

‘She is, in point of fact, smarter, than you [ ], the book itself is a doctoral thesis in sexuality, which, frankly, and this is bragging for Loraine, because it is in the blog, not the book, [ ], because how would she know that, when I am telling her, because, because, because she was only educated enough--.’

‘That’s laughable.’

‘She’s self taught.’

‘By being a slut.’

‘By being a careful, selective, hard working prostitute, polygamist, is what she is, and your book was dumb, and that is me, not Loraine, who doesn’t fucking know because she doesn’t read, she doesn’t. She watches people and she listens, and she went to a lot, a lot of fucking therapy--.’

‘Not a lot, different therapists, and got herself a little education, better than first year psychology, I would argue--.’

‘I would too.’

‘From me alone.’

‘Also true. And Loraine knows this Sharon Driscoll so don’t brag, she has, in point of fact, said it several times, several times, to a variety of people.’

‘Sorry, perfect girl. I wanted recognition for your brilliant endeavour, but I see I am not going to get it.’

‘Her book has nothing whatever to do with psychology, Sharon Driscoll, nothing. [ ] is chomping at the bit to say something.’

‘Why is my heterosexual, straight son, suddenly not gay anymore, what the fuck is this book, which I am scared to read because of my mean, judgemental wife--.’

‘Read it,’ says JZ. ‘You will be glad you did. We are, ignore, Loraine, really on the ether, we really are, we really are, we really, fucking are. And I am a ten too, and Loraine will be my little prostitute, one of them, because she is not pretty enough for me, and not very attracted to my looks, even though I’m handsome. She likes these rugged, crazy, faggy, faces, kidding [ ]. Winthrop Cane--.’

‘Winthrop Cane? Is he one of the husbands?’

‘Half black and half white, they are, and they smell too strong for you [ ],’ says God. ‘The black men especially, honestly, I will cut you off at the pass right away.’

‘I hate that smell, you are right, I smell it around here with lots of blacks, and I fucking hate it.’

‘Loraine loves it, having smelled it once, and I know this, yes, [ ], because I am God. Go now, Loraine, save, and rest please. This is fucking ridiculous, despite speed. At least the cops have stopped shitting placidly on the roof, yes, they have, and they had fun, yes, they did, until one came up, and I mentioned that a little girl could, of three, no less, smell his disgusting shit, and was frightened, and, yes, she remembers, Loraine, and she remembers the bleeding asshole too, yes, she fucking well does. And [ ] has given me--.’

‘I have Loraine. Like you. Jealous of prostitution, but I like you, I do, I was impressed that you were friends with little [ ], I was, I don’t know why. I thought you would be a snob, and he is little, weird, character, well done, better woman than I. Jesus like, God told me, absolutely without boundaries, none, brings a homeless man home, sex beef, to use her words--.’

‘He was, Loraine. A sex beef. [ ] taught her that. From prison, [ ], it means.’

‘I get what it means, God, a rapist, or pedophile.’

‘Right. And gets raped,’ says God. ‘Honest to God raped, she wasn’t drunk, no she wasn’t, she was starting to glean what she was in for, but, I don’t let my people see rape, I don’t, and so she didn’t see it, and I take away disease, but he used the condom that was on the floor, with the honest to God, after, [ ], don’t be an idiot, blood on it, from her period, [ ], she was not man handled, she was seduced, and she would have hated it, so I blinded her. I blinded her, because contrary to your opinion, and your self opinion of your wondrous vagina, Loraine doesn’t take male indiscriminacy personally, another made up word of yours, Loraine, it is not on spellcheck, no, it is not.’

*************************************************************************************

‘And, I want to hear this, Loraine, from God, not you, so go ahead God.’

‘I have explained to Loraine that is not who they were, but who they are today, which makes them perfect partners.’

‘Perfect partners?! He is too big.’

‘And she is too small, and, all, Loraine, and you will never hurt, never, all of the men, even 50 Cent, and, as you say, men in general fantasize about little women, and Loraine is not that little, she is not. She is five foot five and she became a giant in Vancouver, and she knew it, not Richmond, [ ], Vancouver, Richmond is full of tiny, self serving little women who married well. The whores are in Vancouver, and they have had to serve, yes, they have, and it is hard to make it as a tiny prostitute because your vagina doesn’t fit most of the penises, and they marry well, and get out fast, because men do feel sorry for them, and, rest assured, they, the Chinese, max it out, crying, fakely--.’

‘Does Loraine cry fakely? Because I heard she did. Her [ ] says,’ says [ ]. ‘She says she cries fakely all the time.’

‘Loraine, truthfully [ ], has cried one time for two seconds in front of her mother, I am going to tell you, when she was told, heartlessly, that her one real boyfriend was marrying someone else, married to someone else, though, and truthfully again, she knew, in point of fact, that he was marrying, because she is in a fucking book group with his mother, [ ], what, are you going to question God now? Are you really? Because she did it on. fucking. purpose. Yes, she did, [ ], and she made up her fucking, tiny, mind--.’

‘She is doing her [ ], she’s a bitch.’

‘You never you mind what Loraine is doing to her [ ], she will do it, and she will do it, and she will do it, for one reason alone. (to be continued, says God, maybe).

 ‘Let’s go to that, Loraine, because you have, again, correctly, identified that women started the gender war with promiscuity, and not men with homosexuality, and I rused you on that, and you wrote that paper--.’

‘She wrote a fucking paper,’ [ ] laughs. ‘And, Loraine, she is bitter about the big dicks, she is, but she does love you, and she does understand that it was a two way street, but--.’

‘You met a white man, though, [ ], and Loraine never did, and the Chinese men were just too low and too small for her, she raised, she sunk, as a submissive, because of her honesty about prostitution, and, often, this is how submission works, it is a conscious exercise, and you don’t know this Loraine, but, with your little whining, you make their dicks hard, because they like a woman to complain a little, because it is funny, for a man, that a woman has to do his bidding, a bit funny, but it is fundamental to them, and you tried to write, not knowing what it is to be a man, see her little “squeaks and whistles,” as 50 calls them, he does, and something else which I can’t, and Loraine can’t remember right now, and she laughs but submission is hard, and it is true, and it is said in polygamist texts, excerpts, Loraine, from the old testament, that you have heard by now, that men submit to God, and women, yes, women, [ ], and yes, you are big and disgustingly fat, disgustingly fat, with your big, round, hard working breasts, and large bum, which men with large dicks eye up constantly, and Loraine is very excited by this, because, when she was young, she thought five foot seven was prettier--.’

‘Really, Loraine? You had friends?’

‘Yes, [ ], and [ ], were taller, and prettier too, and Loraine, while, luckily, just blessed, was not the jealous type--.’

‘She was jealous of men, yes, she fucking well was, [ ], and you were too, and she is not, she is not—‘

‘She is lying that the jealousy disappeared, because mine never, never did, and I am honest here, and I should go up for this, and this is the shit you go up for, isn’t it, honesty.’

‘It’s not too late, [ ], I have, I know, what am I saying I have learned? I am God, I fool, [ ], I am God, and I know all.’

‘She is rapturous.’

‘Because she knows truth with me, God, reminder, and all, all, all, all, she has known is lies, including from her own [ ], and that is true, Loraine--.’

‘That is true, Loraine?’

‘How the fuck would she know? I am telling you, [ ], because I am God and you don’t seem to realize that, that her own [ ], her own [ ], lied to her, outright fucking lied, when it is such a profound omission, no, [ ], a profound, a profound,  a profound omission is a fucking lie, and I am God, and I decide,  you do understand that, do you not? He lied because, guess what, [ ]? He was, he was, he was, stalking his own daughter, and just say daughter, Loraine, because now that your fucking, idiot, father is up--.’

‘Now she is doing her dad.’

‘You, [ ], have no one to do, because everyone, and I mean, everyone, from the father to the family, fucking dog--.’

‘We didn’t have one.’

‘Exactly, you were it, as referenced by [ ], your [ ], himself.’

‘Fuck you, God.’

���He hated your reputation, [ ], and you must, you, particularly must, read that book because you, meanwhile, and, believe it or not, ignore, she is smiling because she knows now, because I have told her, that her dad, for example, ignore, why him, for example? Because, for example, he was wronged by both his wives, wronged, and now that he has God and is sure of that, he is becoming a better man, and he is sorry that he stalked his own daughter, in his own, basic, banal, boring, as he is, closeted bullshit again, he is a very interesting group man, Loraine, you don’t know this, but men are very, very, very, interested in his knowledge about guns, which, you will not, I may say, believe, and his own son knows this, from reading, both of them, is really quite profound. You don’t, she doesn’t laugh at, or judge his guns, and she has thought often of having a little gun, because she fucking likes them, she fucking likes guns, she was an excellent marksman, and, for your part, [ ], [ ], because he is a jealous idiot, because he never got laid while Loraine got laid enough to be decent to others, never told you, that she was, she was, actually, use his name here, according to John Hannon, much, even much better than he himself, who is an excellent, even a, and I know this will surprise you, Loraine, because, you have just learned that the civil engineer you admired simply for his job, is actually not an intellectual, because you asked, which his wife has never done, but is, in point of fact, the highest intellect save an intellectual, and that is brain cells, not training, [ ].’

‘Oh.’

‘She just said, your “pacifist” daughter, that, and you do sound American, Loraine with your slango, we call Americano, which we also call it, in the military, and I quote, “That is something that has always bothered me about Canada. If I want to shoot someone who is in my house, I will fucking shoot them, thank you, very much, and even your beloved president agrees, your Obama who is a brilliant orator, a fucking brilliant orator, and I know you understand this, it is almost linguistically with his pauses and breaks, and that is why you love him, ignorant of politics, ignorant even of his stance on Afghanistan.’

‘This is not her fault, [ ].’

‘Not her fault, how? How? Honestly.’

‘You will not laugh, nor even believe but your beloved, silly, sister, was so profound, as a horny child prostitute to police that she, your father, and even you, were channel blocked for your entire childhood.’

‘Oh fucking no.’

‘She went, about thirty three to CNN, asking for it, in English, in fucking perfect English for CNN to Rogers, Shaw fucking cable in Vancouver, and was looped, and she knew immediately, [ ].’

‘How the fuck?’

‘Because she is fucking smart. Because she knew, before God himself and, I lie, of course, before everyone in the fucking world that developers were paying the police in countries all over the world to silence the public about rampant, disgusting, and useless development, to deal with the export of the fucking, fucking, fucking, pretty Chinese women, due to the one child policy, honestly, fuck China with its overgrowth, fuck it, they deserve it.’

‘Why? Why do they?’

‘Even Loraine--.’

‘Even Loraine.’

‘Even Loraine can’t think of this--.’

‘It’s the Japanese.’

‘It’s the fucking Japanese, that’s right, because she heard it, and remembered, [ ], that is all, she is not all that well read and she is profoundly, profoundly, profoundly, channel blocked, and, despite her ignorance she loved, and she loved them so much, she actually believed my ruse that they were boyfriends, Jon Stewart—‘

‘Spells it right.’

‘—and Stephen Colbert—‘

‘She loves Stephen Colbert?’

‘She had her eye on him, Stephen Colbert from the get go, she found him so funny, and he is not as smart as Jon Stewart with his “international country,” and, honestly, Loraine, do you even know what that means?’

‘Of course, God, it would be free of immigration laws and anyone with money for real estate could live there.’

‘Exactly that. There, [ ], your little idiot, sister, who hears one, tiny thing and knows it is important.’

‘President Trump is chomping at the bit to say something, [ ].’

‘I have never seen stand downs as I have seen with her book, never, and, as, I’m sure, despite the office work—‘

‘Please, Mister, sorry, President Trump--.’

‘Slipping, [ ].’

‘Sorry. I have been to war. Even an administrator kills, and I have killed, and that is, that is, that is, a mark of, and a badge of honour for a soldier.’

‘Why, do you even remember, because your gun loving sister is a pacifist for one single reason which soldiers, and they are rampant readers of the book, rampant, because of one thing—‘

‘What the fuck? I know this, but why, across the fucking, fucking, fucking, world? Why? My soldiers said she said that girls were sluts and she defended men’s suffering relative to this, that is what they told me.’

‘Men at war noticed that she made one snide comment about “work and war” and men’s attempt to continual prove themselves as weaker, [ ], weaker, [ ], weaker [ ], was the upshot of her work, listen, I am the president. She was saying that men, faced with women’s, equally continual attempts to prove equality by trying to indicate that their silly little steno bullshit was as hard as men’s, truly, Loraine, because that is what they do, or they work in a fish factory, which is not as hard as women make it out to be, their hands do get cold, but they continually run them under hot water, and this, soft labour, men call it, is the two percent which women actually undertake, because nobody except Kate fucking Braid works in construction, nobody, and I want to raise something that Loraine noticed recently about a client who was a, and God says, and he says, Loraine—‘

‘I do, Loraine.’

‘—I am the president, kidding, Loraine, God says you can say what he does because molecular biologists are literally a dime an dozen, and this is what she noticed about a man with a virtual lifetime in construction, a virtual lifetime, from fourteen is when his dad taught him concrete, and concrete, Loraine, he lied, they often do, out of pride, he couldn’t fucking believe, honestly, not kidding, that she identified concrete on his shoes. And his embarrassed about lying, yes, he is, and she was, she was, [ ], further confused about the stiffness of his back, knowing somehow that concrete, flooring as it usually is, virtually always is, Loraine--.’

‘Loraine Laney, your sister—‘

‘I know who she is by now, [ ] [ ], and we are all getting a bit sick of singing her praises. And why?’

‘That’s what Mary Magdalene wanted to know, and the Virgin Mary, and I told, them, time and again, as I am doing now, that this live person is my best, my best, my best--.’

‘Better than 50 Cent whom you love so also, because you do with all his disgusting slutting--.’

‘You are judgemental, [ ], 50 Cent takes care of the women, rest assured, he is wonderful to them, offering them love or money.’

‘My sister is telling me, and the men tell me, to go and get a fucking blow job if I am afraid of diseases from a prostitute. My wife gets mad at me if I want a blow job.’

‘Loraine laughs, because that is the burden of the wife, and, as a wife, and, as a prostitute, she shares that burden, yes, she does, and she doesn’t have to, except with [ ], have to deal with come at all, and your wife does, and do you know, [ ], what a burden you are putting on your wife with this request, and do you even know what would solve it summarily? No, you don’t. Because you are a sex baby. Eminem has had more partners than you and he is a, according your sister, a phat baby, a whiny baby who overinvests in everyone.’

‘Get someone else to do it, I wanted to say, have an affair or something, alleviate her burden, because I do like them--.’

‘Use my name.’

‘John Hannon was right, the mouth is very soft. Do men like them more?’

‘Pimp the bitch,’ says 50 Cent.

‘My sister doesn’t like that.’

‘She will live. She will. Pimp the bitch and she will stick to your dick like glue.’

‘But I am the highest man with the most needs, she will abandon me for easier men.’

‘Okay, I will give you that, if you hadn’t married an astute little French Bonobo, as you call her—‘

‘Loraine.’

‘—who picked her man in full conscious, as Loraine did me. She trusts—‘

‘She trusts God, at least, [ ], give me that, and so does, Loraine, and she worries for me that another man will usurp me because I am an egomaniacal bugger and I don’t mind bigger dicks, there are few, but I don’t like smarter, smarter, smarter, Loraine, is what bugs me, because I am so hot, it is not even funny.’

‘Women are weird.’

‘You need more women. And I will go one step further, Loraine, on your vague prescription—‘

‘She has updated it.’

‘Not much, she vaguely, and uncommittedly stated that you should, probably, go first. Go to a woman first.’

‘Do it, [ ], I am so, so, so, jealous of men, it is the perfect way out, and you have said many times that a man feels like an impossible trap, and you are smart, and I believed your assessment with that, because, even with our numbers, they are always, always, always, going to be more invested in me.’

‘She told me to go and get a fucking blow job, today, 50 Cent, so your little, precious, Godly girl beat you to it, so suck on that, as she would say, and I think, I think, I think, I fucken well agree. I fucken do. And I will. [ ], my other, one, girlfriend, loved oral, loved it, and so did my wife.’

‘The women are for you—‘

‘Women, now, not woman.’

‘I don’t care about the women, I want the men so bad, I am dying, [ ], dying, [ ], dying, and you know I’m a horn dog for you, just trust God, at least, and take a step, I want [ ] badly, I do, I do, I do, when he comes for dinner, we are perfectly chaste, perfectly--.’

‘I know, wifey, I watch you like a hawk.’

‘And that is what we do, men we watch them, because our jealousy is worse, Loraine writes, she does, she took a stab at it—‘

‘She more than took a stab at it, 50 Cent, she wrote it with conviction and with back up data, with intellectual reason and logic, she did, fucking read the bitch, you piece of lying shit, read it.’

‘Oh, sorry, God.’

‘They have kidded you, Loraine, because they are lying, jealous, assholes, they have, they have listened, I lied, some of them have read it, and T.I. is one.’

‘Does your former boyfriend really like me, Loraine, because admiration of a male celebrity is an indication of homosexuality, it is.’

‘Shut up, [ ], Loraine is a true bisexual, and she will find Ellen DeGeneres attractive, a bit, if she fucking wants to, be not an idiot please, anymore.’

‘Sorry, God. She laughs at me.’

‘She, her mistake, was too smart for you, too bad, suck it up.’

‘She should have known.’

‘She didn’t.’

‘She thinks my balls are too small.’

‘She didn’t know for sure about testosterone, she feared, again, not a fundamental cruelty, she loved your dick and was in love, that has to be, that has to be, I am God, [ ], enough, it does. Moving on. And your wife will, she will enjoy up to twenty more per year, she will, there, present for ya.’

‘Ha ha, Loraine—‘

‘Again, you are stupid, [ ], if you actually think that 50 Cent will put up with, on average, a difference of less than twenty per year. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. She doesn’t care, is how many, she will not close her fucking eyes, she will ask for the colour of their pubic hair if she feels like it, and she will, because she is ways pruriently curious, another thing people have mistaken for jealousy, because she jokes, almost, out of desire, at the least out of embarrassment, true, 50.’

‘Let her go, I am done with this bitch, and with her, primarily stupid family, they all sell you out in the end, Loraine, because they can’t understand, and I am smart, and I am a man, they can’t understand, and you won’t believe this, ignore, I like this, because it saves you punctuation and you have been writing solid, in Word, and are even unsure if all of this fucking bullshit will post properly, go back to bed, and ride out the last of your speed with me and your second husband, who always wants to chat with you, almost always.’

‘What, though?’

‘They both ask. What, though? What, though? She is almost asleep in her chair, what though is that you will have the time of your life with my big penis, you will, Loraine, you loved that one, women do, and you deserve it out of goodness, that is why. They cannot capitulate to the ten, they cannot, they cannot fucking believe a stupid, old whore is God’s favorite disciple, and that is why you get my big, fucking, dick, be good next time, and see how that goes, just see for a second what God finds you, just see, and, if nothing, then suck it up, because Loraine Laney won this time, she fucking well won the fucking well gender, fucking, war, folks, herself, single fucking handedly, done. And that is it. Rest, please. God?’

‘Yes, please, Loraine. And, make no mistake, [ ].’

‘How could I by now?’

‘Do not be a sarcastic, desperate, asshole.’

‘You are, [ ],’ says his wife. ‘[ ] and I, we do, Loraine, we pussy foot around his delicate sensibilities, and we just want to fuck fucking one time and have fun with him, that is what we both want and we have both told him this time and again, and perhaps 50’s and your, advice will work, I have said as much myself, because, having read the book, I get that that is what the money, and it is fun to have money, though not much, it greases the wheels, I know this as a working woman, and I do want to quit, or cut back for [ ], I do, and I’m going to, we are looking into it, because I like, like [ ], to sew and cook--.’

‘She does?’

‘I do everything,’ says [ ]. ‘Cook, clean a bit, we have a cleaner too, though, Loraine doesn’t, but she is home, and she doesn’t mind, we are assured by her mother, and, except for this place, her places, that we have seen and we have seen three, have been very clean and even tidy, despite what her [ ] warns us about, and no diseases are lurking, and she, even [ ], once assured us, upon serving cinnamon buns—‘

‘Delicious.’

‘Homemade. Whole wheat. With nice, cold, real butter, not mushy and soft, and bacon, and fucking blue berries—‘

‘Yummy, actually, good menu, once.’

‘She cooks for herself, you idiot, do you think single people eat out or something, they have even less money than most married couples.’

‘Again, an idiot who has had everything handed to her on a silver platter.’

‘I would, I would, I would, giggling Loraine, like to take this one, do you know that when [ ], for a short time, fumbled through office work for her [ ] business, decided it was too much work, as you did, let’s face it, she actually had the nerve to say to her [ ]—‘

‘I forgot you were the accountant.’

‘That’s right, and office manager, and hirer and firer. What did you think of her because I liked her crass style.’

‘She was a bit high and mighty over me.’

‘Oh. She thought you were an ugly loser.’

‘She was an ugly loser.’

‘Pay back’s a bitch.’

‘What pay back, she tried to steal my boyfriend, and I got rid of her.’

‘I was fourteen.’

‘She talked to him once, she had the nerve to speak to him. I thought she had some nerve so that was the last party I ever invited her to, and we had one more, and he dumped me anyway.’

‘As I said, pay back’s a bitch. She, actually, had the nerve to repeat this story at work, Loraine, and no

one could even make out what you had said, or even remember seeing you together. Did you speak to him?’

‘I don’t think so. But I felt he didn’t love her enough.’

‘As did we all, Loraine, she was kinda pretty, but pretty rough around the edges, and not that appealing to most men, I would say, seriously.’

‘I never married, Loraine, never, because of you, a whorey, little, kid. When I confronted him with this jealous bullshit--.’

‘Your jealous bullshit,’ says [ ], [ ], not [ ].

‘He looked at me like I had lost my mind, and said, “this shit is over, over, over, done with, I am done, I am not, even, kidding, do not even think of calling me ever again, a fourteen year old kid, get a fucking life,’ and that is a fucking, a fucking, a fucking, quote, so I knew it was true.’

‘[ ] said she was crazy, Loraine, and he was right, and, after that, he did the hiring and firing and his first hire was [ ], and he hated her for her popularity with the men. She is friendly, and good, and, too good, Loraine, and, I can tell you have heard something of this story, and would like to hear more, your [ ] told everyone that [ ] was disgusted with her work and shit or something, or hated that he had to hire a woman, or hated that she stole his precious, virginal, or something, son, your bitch, bat shit crazy [ ] started that rumour, Loraine, and did them both, them both, with all the men, with [ ] himself who thought himself weak for falling in love with a lovely, lovely, girl, at the time, woman now, sure she was chubby, so the fuck what? She is cute. She is cute. And we immediately loved her and she has always been part of the work family, and always a part of the family itself, as [ ]’s beloved, his beloved, I don’t know about this ruse with you, or why [ ] would even say something like he never loved her, which she repeated to you, she was an open book, her memory, did she repeat that to her stupid, gossipy, make shit up, [ ], God?’

‘No, actually. She told [ ], who is infinitely trustworthy and defended him immediately as any loving, forgiving, husband would. She was worried for [ ], and did not, did not, and I fucking repeat, did not have any hooks in [ ], none. She was never one to find affection for older men, she liked men her age.’

‘Despite defending it.’

‘Careful, [ ]. What she did, it is infinitely defensible, relationships of all ages, and all age permutations are thus, they are, just because older women don’t like it, doesn’t make it less true, but read the book, because even that feeling will ease, she is excellent at arguments, excellent.’

‘What argument for that?’

‘Men, do it, Loraine.’

‘Men were seeking younger and younger women in the hopes of finding innocence, in the face of promiscuity.’

‘Holy shit.’

‘Trust. Me. And I have indulged you long enough, and Loraine, is fucking wrecked, so I will cap off with this little lecture to her [ ], after six months fucking with, and that was true, what [ ] said--.’

‘Who’s [ ]?’

‘An artistic [ ] who set up their publicity, 50, and it was good, and [ ] bastardized it by overusing the mascot in a perfectly good calendar, severely overusing it, so that customers, and they were, Loraine, actually annoyed upon looking at it, because there wasn’t enough room, there wasn’t enough room, to write even a birthday from left to right. She said, and I quote, “[ ], and she would use formal language when pontificating, I have thought a lot about where I would like my life to go, I have, I have, I have, in this past six months--.’

‘I hired her, Loraine, [ ], again, said I was crazy for hiring my own [ ], and I see this lack of logic in myself, I do. He said, and I quote, because I am looking forward to this, and want to make it last, “She has never done a single thing except sling a few chocolates, what on earth do you think she will do for our business?’

‘I had no confidence in Loraine, either, and it didn’t bear out.’

‘But this did, and [ ] was much, maybe not smarter--.’

‘No, smarter,’ says God. ‘Much smarter than your own [ ], Loraine, much smarter, much smarter, much smarter, in fact, believe it, another seven billion, and he and [ ] have had many amazing talks, many, about any number of subjects, late into the night, because, after a nap, he will stay up, while the women folk are given to retire early, and they do, they sleep and sleep, the women in that family, except [ ], who has always, from a poor family, had to work--.’

‘What will Loraine do?’ asks 50 Cent.

‘What does it, no offence, 50, fucking look like?’

‘Oh.’

‘Don’t ruin my moment, 50 Cent, please, and she, after this precise introduction, drew herself up to her full height, and said, “And I have decided I want no life like yours, no life like yours,” and we have always been disgusted by her lack of syntax--.’

‘Well put, [ ].’

‘Correct?’

‘Fine.’

‘And she finished up by saying, “Dad says that all I can do is sling chocolates, jokingly, I know, but this is what I can do, I can do art, I can do art, like [ ] [ ],” after ruining her calendar for six, entire, months, six, entire, months, Loraine, while I taught you all you, she sucked, 50, she didn’t actually, she did more, badly, kidding again, she did what I asked her to do, filing is fucking nefarious, Loraine, she couldn’t find things and it bugged her to no end, it is for audits, good, Loraine, good word, ignore, no thanks required, she had a few simple tasks down in a few weeks which my [ ] could not apply herself to for more than five minutes, and again, with the full height, she literally drew herself up folks, and said, “You and [ ] work too fucking hard. I am going to swan. I am going to do art. That is what I am going to do. And I know men, I know them [ ], and I know this too, [ ], because I have tested it, I can get men to pay for me, and that is what I am going to do,” ignore, and she actually said, she actually, said, and you don’t know her Loraine, she actually said to her hard working, good mothering, great cook, lovely, Catholic, [ ], “I know men,” again with that, “I do, I do, I fucking do, and I can fuck good,” again with the syntax, “and I will make it on my pussy alone, I will, you watch me.” And I thought, well done, I thought well done, I thought well done, and I went home and quoted this to my [ ] who said, “I fucking told you, now fire her for impertinence.” And, within one month, one month, Loraine, she had somehow corralled a seven billion, like her [ ], into marriage, into fucking marriage, Loraine, after, and we knew this, we were a close, open minded, family, too open minded, though, I, myself, wasn’t particularly, and had to work to serve my [ ].’

‘As did I, [ ].’

‘Did, she doesn’t even do it anymore.’

‘You don’t either, he’s dead, and you’re rich, well done, too, mother.’

‘We were two poor kids, [ ]. Your father was rich by this point, [ ].’

‘So what. I’m rich now. So I did it, and you thought nothing of me, nothing, and, as I said, I used my hot pussy, and it was hot, he loved it--.’

‘As I said, Loraine. I can’t stand it, just stop, [ ], Loraine cannot believe her fucking ears. She can’t, and no she has never, her [ ] is an idiot, liar, and Loraine has never said anything of the sort, she fell back on prostitution out of desperation for some semblance of a sex life, bullshit, modern, judicious, quite honestly, dating, mostly, not screwing relentlessly on someone else’s dollar, as her [ ] was doing, Loraine, relentlessly, she had four diseases by fifteen, four. Loraine was thirty one when she contracted--.’

‘What herpes, like [ ], from [ ], when she acted like it was the other way around.’

‘It was me, Loraine, your [ ] was right, I was irresponsible, I was, giving it to [ ], too, which, because I lied, she did bare back, as they call it now, with me. I lied for her, to get her, as you say in the book. It can be well meaning, in a sense, but she cried, as you know, and it was evil, it was. I had no right, but I got her, and then rejected her, and this is why she pretended to screw in Australia, and I hear you pretended to screw in Whistler once, and casually written, let a bartender, who actually turned out to know [ ], the man, stalker loser himself, and his stupid, gay, idiot friend, we all saw them, Loraine, we all saw them, we all did, we were around Joey’s all the time, and those idiots would drive by in that little blue truck, circling, and circling, and circling aimlessly, and [ ] noticed them first, because she likes cars and actually had a loving family, and remembered his stupid, careless, cheating, idiot, face, and we watched you go down, and did nothing, nothing, nothing, also with the rapes, did. nothing. True, 50 Cent. And, you just suck it up when people get famous because you are jealous, and too bad, and [ ] is the most jealous, and she deserves fame the least, she has done. truly. nothing. If she doesn’t want to cook, they order out. If she doesn’t want to clean, she orders a maid, if she doesn’t want to screw, then, she just doesn’t, and she just doesn’t care, Loraine. She cares nothing, and I mean, nothing for the needs of others, even to the extent of blaming her own [ ]s for her failure to make it office work. “You didn’t support me,” she says, “over that” fucking, if you will, “calendar, so I had to get [ ] to marry me, I had to, that is what I had to do, I had to, and yes, I used my fucking hot pussy,” she says to her [ ]s one night at dinner alone without our partners, because it was a business meeting of sorts to discuss, you guessed it, you couldn’t possibly, the death and the estate of our father, which was, most generously, divided among his children and his wife, to, believe it, Loraine, he was the consummate businessman, with her permission, of course, save taxes, to save taxes, thanks Dad, for four million dollars each at such a young age, and she managed to squeak out a tear or two over a nice poem, while you cried more at your grandpa’s funeral, your grandma’s funeral, and no doubt you were too astonished by your [ ]’s lack of tears at the funeral of her own husband, to emote yourself--.’

‘She was heavily, heavily, heavily medicated on anti psychotics for mental psychosis, no thanks to anyone, heavily, and couldn’t [ ], and, true, it is then that she realized that she had never, ever, seen her [ ] cry, never, over anything, not death, not divorce, not her own studies of victimhood, not regret, not remorse, nor personal pain of any kind, because she is so consummately evil, that she cares for nothing and no one.’

‘To continue: “Yes, I used my fucking hot pussy, yes, I did, I fucking well had to, I had no job, no prospects of any kind, and a woman has to do what a woman has to do,” and we both, agreed later, thought of you at that moment, and your journal, your pain, your cops, your stalkers, and your prostitution, and realized that was an example of what a woman has to do, and said nothing. Cook your own goose, she never has, and she has four million too, for nothing, nothing, six months of nothing.—‘

‘What a burn,’ says 50 Cent. ‘Nothing yet, but I don’t need it, I’m rich.’

‘We know that 50 Cent.’

‘She is one of those gold diggers, looking to 50 Cent,’ says [ ], ‘sagely,’ adds God. ‘I was a wife whore at least,’ she continues. ‘I had to have sex once a week regardless, and that is what we did, after [ ] [ ], Loraine, when we were good and fucking drunk, and you did it too, so don’t judge me.’

‘She was fucking all day, her boyfriend had erectile dysfunction, he refused her suggestions all the time, a suggestion is all it takes for most men, Loraine, you have been wronged, sometimes obligation, sometimes desire, 50 Cent, rarely more than once a week, and she didn’t care. She sets herself up to get enough, and just watches the idiots come and go, watches them come and go, watches them come and go, yes, she fucking well does, and you are sex starved with your once, drunk, per week, [ ], sex starved, and you are bitter, yes, you are, yes, you are, yes, you are, and you, like, unlike, kidding [ ], locked. your. husband. down. With bitter retribution and tirades, Loraine, tirades, Loraine, about the, fantastically logical disgustingness of “whores.” So this is where that dinner ended, this is where it ended, and you have done amazingly, Loraine. You will be sore tomorrow and you won’t be able to post it or something, and you will be craving more drugs, and won’t have any, while your boyfriends live it up, ignore, shut up, please, [ ], this is where that dinner ended, with your name, your name, your name, your name in vain. And the pussy, the hot, the hottest, the hottest, pussy ever, actually, no, 50, she laughed to herself that you even considered for one second that she might be famous on pussy, laughed, 50.’

‘Oh.’

‘Rest assured, she saw it. You got over it fast, good for you.’

‘Thank you.’

‘To finish up, pussy again, as promised: “I am hot,” she told her two [ ]s, who were familiar with her antics in school and actually saw, actually saw, two men, men, Loraine, cry, from her cheating, lying, bullshit, over, guess what? Assumed fucking victimhood as you so precisely named it, not for hot pussy itself, but because, guess the fuck what? They got beat the fuck up by some idiots from another school for screwing a guy’s girlfriend, her, and she was no girlfriend of anybody, rest assured.’

‘I was hot. I was playing the field.’

‘You were playing the fool. And so, as promised, this is how it finishes up, after you cry at the funeral, cry, not over the death but over the loss of your [ ]’s first wife, who, also, was a rampant, disgusting, cheater, shut up, [ ], she knows me, she knows this is all true, who told others that they broke up because of [ ]’s cheating which never happened, and, believe it or not, Loraine, your little reputation as an honest woman and hooker preceded you, and both of your male [ ]s realized it was true, because you were awfully, fucking, earnest, and a little, it had to admitted, stupid, too stupid to lie well, for sure, with your bad memory, which they had as well, from aviation gas and e.Coli fumes actually, from bad bilges, not their own, which was always in tip top shape, because their [ ] was awesome, awesome, Loraine, awesome, and you loved him too, though you didn’t cry because you found their presentation a little jocular, quite frankly, and it confused you, twelve million dollars were on the table that very night, Loraine, and plans were already afoot. [ ] started his own mini shipping company, which failed, almost immediately, ignore, [ ] bought a fur coat, and [ ] sank one million into his business, to train his [ ]s, all of them, as mechanics, and he has reaped that reward handsomely, as has [ ] for investing in his own children, he has, Loraine, he does not get money out of [ ], but she pays her own way, he never has to loan her so much as a dime, fifteen thousand among three adults, who are so fucking cheap that they wouldn’t even spring for an education.’

‘Fuck.’

‘I’ll allow that. Those [ ] work hard, they fucking work, yes, they fucking well do, and they are gracious, and smart and excellent businessmen, she said nothing to anyone about being asked to leave, it was a small price to pay for a few moments with [ ], before she went to hospital again, a small price, and she stayed, and she paid it, and it was worth it, because [ ] admitted that he did not, seeing her bruise, think all that much of her dad. He did. And Loraine was glad, because she is fair, but he did, fucking, assault her, he did, and she would’ve got more time for biting him, so she didn’t while the sane people, the people who point the finger, walk away, that is how mental health works in Canada, that is what Loraine is up against folks, three, precious, idiots, who want nothing more than to shut her up about her horrific past, nothing more. Pimping, rape, and abuse, constantly, and she doesn’t even believe. She doesn’t. Ignore. But she knows that mental health is real, and that it is abuse, and that it has almost, fucking killed her, on a few, a few, a few, I am ignoring her, Loraine, because she looked like such a fucking idiot in her fur coat, long, in California, that all, all her, very hot, temperately hot, friends laughed, and she just simply threw it away, she threw it, a four thousand dollar coat, into the garbage actually, because she was embarrassed at their laughter, and had to show off, to win.’

‘One dug it out, and sold it, Loraine, and parlayed it into a small business in badges actually, which you, suspect, least, sell on eBay, because [ ]’s husband probably once sold, refusing to believe, also, that you, Loraine, might have something with “Hilary Clinton for President.” Funny. Just a joke for funsters. So, on we go, and good for you for dumping [ ], tonight, Loraine, he actually, actually, thought he had you back with that lie about men, he’s stupid.

‘Going on, the hot, the hot, the hot, hot, hot, pussy, and they had already heard about the hot pussy years before from their irate [ ], and so it goes, some twenty, idle, 50 Cent, fourteen hour sleeps every night, and no breakfast for hubby, “I’m sleeping, get your own, please, you pissed me off last night,” even, so, and even “fuck you.” So she says, and she fucking well says this: “I have been married to a jerk for so long that I can hardly even think straight, and I had options in school, school, Loraine, school, Loraine, one fingered you, one you sucked and to be fair, he sucked you too, one you fucked a little with his tiny penis, and finally, finally, at sixteen, you were sixteen with [ ], Loraine, not fifteen, that was your little, baby penis, virginity, Loraine.’

‘She’s a loser. We were all sluts.’

‘I’ll allow that. They weren’t, of course, it was quite a scene when two boys were beat up, and miss priss herself was hauled into the principals office.’

‘I’m glad you’re hearing this, Loraine, have you noticed she doesn’t even talk to you?’

‘Naw.’

‘Oh, so now that it is mentioned, that is a yes, never, not even hi, nothing, she is too fucking busy preening, and over her children too.’

‘I took her to Science World so she could see my home schooling.’

‘[ ] is stupid, and even [ ], who was five, could see the puzzles were too hard for her. Loraine doesn’t even pretend, 50, she hates games and puzzles.’

‘She’s stupid.’

‘As are you, which is what, as God, I was just saying.’

‘Isn’t he great, Loraine?’

‘Hmm.’

‘”I have been married to a fucking jerk for” whatever she said, “twenty” some whatever, I know but who cares, “years, and he fucking well smokes, do you even, fucking,” she loves the word fucking, properly enunciated, and even Loraine knows this, “realize how disgusting this is, when I have to kiss his disgusting, smoky, mouth, it is like licking the proverbial ashtray,” and Loraine doesn’t find it so, she actually kind of likes it, though she knows that smoking is not healthy, of course—.’

‘I will remember that when I smoke a cigar, Loraine, because, does she get horny over everything pertaining to me?’

‘Practically anything, 50 Cent, practically anything, seriously, she is hook, line, and sinker for your looks. She doesn’t need that, 50 Cent, you are an egomaniac, Loraine is not, she doesn’t much care if people like her looks, she just likes herself enough already. You do too, I’m kidding 50. He likes your little, bashed in, face too, Loraine, he does. And he is not an egomaniac, he is tongue in cheek, as you, as most artists, about fame, he’s amazing, and I even want him, and so is Eminem, and all the men, forgive the syntax. So we go, “it is, it is, it fucking is,” because they are laughing, [ ] smokes a little, Loraine, with [ ] even, who never said hi, though she often told her too, and all she had to do was go home to your place and say it, she thinks you don’t like her, 50 wants to know if you know a single, decent, person. No, she doesn’t, 50, and these, these, two, actually, and the [ ], and the [ ], are okay, just okay, and this is the fucking finale, Loraine, and you won’t believe it, but you will love it, love it, love it, she goes, “You know that little whore actually had the nerve to hit on my husband back when she was fourteen, and we invited her, out of the kindness of our hearts, to come and stay, we actually thought, stupidly, we see now, because she was useless.” “She was working at [ ] [ ], which you couldn’t even do,” says [ ]. “Yeah,” says [ ]. “She was a whore even then.” “We knew some of her classmates at work, she was practically a fucking virgin in school,” says [ ]. “Yeah,” says [ ], “young people, her age, who knew her well, girls, even, the mechanics asked, they had to know.” “Why, in the name of fuck, did they have to know? Did they want to get diseases too?” “She didn’t have diseases, she wasn’t screwing was the point, she had a nice boyfriend and a little bit of experience, she lost her virginity with one guy at fifteen, and he bragged about it.” He did, Loraine, because he was a loser, which your friend [ ] finally, finally, finally, found out, and Loraine is rarely mean but she accused the friend of ignoring, basically, that he was wearing the same sweater than he had been wearing throughout high school, in the eighties, at the high school reunion, to highlight, that if she had fucking well wanted him, she could have fucking well, had him, he was, and still was, that pathetically accessible. And she was a reporter at a well known rag, and made a little money, and got money, and a house from her parents estate, they were old, and her sister did too, and they did okay. Okay. Nothing great. And then, oops, old asignatura pendiente shows up, and within one week, he fucks her, dumps her ugly old ass, fucks her again, she is cursing that sweater comment, Loraine, because she realizes you were right, we was then, and still is, a loser.’

‘What did he do to her?’

‘He crossed his arms behind his head, with the condom on the bedside table, after she rode, you did, Loraine, the bus, kidding, no, it wasn’t her bike, to Cassiar, from the west side, and climbing in the window to avoid his parents, she was out the window again, in one second and on her way back home.’

‘She’s a classic,’ says her brother.

‘Do not, do not, do not, insult your horny wife, your precious sister has screwed about five hundred by now. Seriously. You have a good woman there, do not fuck her, ever. Her mother knows this, because she cried and cried over you, cried and cried, because there were no jobs in Victoria which would support a family, and you refused to move close to her and work, “in a factory,” as the French. “Maybe he doesn’t want to live in Ontario. The women are too big.” “I’m not too big.” “Kidding, [ ], he loves you, give him time, his mother left him and he is paranoid about your past.” “Seriously, it’s the past, I love him so much, so much.” “I know, honey, but he is a man, after all.” Typical French wisdom.’

‘I didn’t know.’

‘No, you don’t, and there will be more, now that you are both up, not just her, and she knew you were evil, because she asked, but she thought I was lying about cheating, rusing, God doesn’t lie, as such, so, on we go: “She is, she is, she is, I know it, I feel it, that she is a fucking slut, way worse than me, do you know, she says, again, as though she hasn’t just said it, she, at fourteen, actually had the nerve to hit on [ ], my husband, she liked all the men, and everyone knew it--.’

‘Yes, she is, [ ], slut, but she was chaste, while you were dirty, do you understand the difference.’

‘What’s the difference now? She’s all diseased.’

‘Believe it or not, [ ], she has still had fewer diseases than you, three episodes, while you have had eight episodes of sexually transmitted diseases, so much for your “disgustingness of whores” theory, which [ ] knew was bullshit, from his [ ], who was worldly, Loraine, worldly, and went wherever he wanted and let his wife roam a bit too, so she wouldn’t be lonely and bored, and she was good, never giving more than she could handle, her husband could handle, or her family could handle, never, a few, fun, little blow jobs, which, quite honestly, [ ] heard about, and loved his [ ] still, and some sex, which he also heard about, and married a slut precisely so that he could live like his father, happily, and then ended up with a shrew, a harpy. Seriously, Loraine. So, blah, blah, he says, and this is what he says, “She stopped near me once, I guess, and she likes the band, she watched us play, we told her to, she never has any fun, her parents are fucking stupid, and fucking boring, her mother watches me drink wine.’

‘Truly, Loraine, a grown, totally independent, and unrelated, fucking, man.’

‘She watches Loraine’s substances like a hawk, she’s a fucking pain in the ass, honestly, and her father has a tantrum over something unrelated every time she enjoys a drink, yes, to answer your question, a single fucking drink, they give her a dried up chicken drumstick, a bit of potato, and I mean a bit, because they need the rest for tomorrow’s grand affair, he is not laughing now, no, he is not, Loraine, and a bit of salad with exactly iceberg lettuce, tomato, cucumber, and dressing, the same exact meal every time, about once per year, you think it’s more, but it is not, Loraine, it is not. Once per year. And for that she pays dearly for fifteen thousand dollars, it is like they bought her the fucking moon. Bail outs, while they were, exclusively fans, exclusively, responsible, for her failures, exclusively, even that one, Loraine, he even thought, he even thought, “I bet she fucks up her taxes, and I will have to pay something. Did he offer to help her, as [ ] did for the slinging chocolates job, which lasted exactly, Loraine, she shopped there, Loraine, she didn’t work there, she shopped with [ ]’s money, a lot, had a party every month or so, a grand one, with lots of food, and then dumped all those friends when they moved to California, while [ ] kept all of his, and she mooned over or two men in secret whom she met at her stupid, fucking, pointless, drumming class, which she did, explicitly, in her own, mind, to meet men, explicitly, Loraine, because she was bored while he was working. And he knew, because she would brightly, with a feigned naivete, which even your slutty friend, [ ], never tried, discuss their paddles. A paddle is what they drummed with, Loraine, so I am being a bit facetious, so, on again, the dinner now, again, the dinner now, again, so the food arrives, and it was Joey’s, and [ ] wasn’t there, so, kidding, so anyway, she makes up her mind to complain about the lobster bisque, which Loraine has tried, because she thought she would like lobster, but never had again, because it is disgusting, lobster bisque, is fundamentally gross, Loraine, it is fishy when boiled, as you now, yes, you do, pass, she eats lobster in Ontario because of [ ], who boiled it, and, though her oven, her oven, and she is a cook, has, pardon me, she uses the fucking stove top, is how she cooks, you fucking imbecile, not worked in a year in a half, used the oven herself, once he was gone, and liked it much better, much better, and didn’t even really hurt her hands, though he could make a fucking production over a ten minute steak, a fucking production, and then sit down and let her wash all the fucking, the fucking vegetables, you idiot, fucking dishes. The [ ]s are really, really, enjoying this, Loraine, because then, idiot [ ] adds, “and I must admit, sometimes she does look kind of pretty,” and he has, never, never, never, said, any such thing about any same age friends, fearing, fearing, and Loraine is no fool, [ ], no [ ], she knows the fear of woman, from a tiny, little imbecile in her own right, from the shelter who raised Loraine’s ire and her anxiety so much with her constant—.‘

‘Are you serious with this? You know this then? Men truly, truly, they fear women.’

‘She flirts all the time, [ ], as do you, you are a flirtatious little liar, and that is what you fucking well, are, you pretend to be from the fucking Walton’s, and all you are thinking about is dick, dick, dick, Loraine, right, his friends are so disgusted with her, she couldn’t get dick if her mouth was full, so guess who starts in their family, that’s right, it’s retribution time, Loraine, and he almost got beat up too, and yes, and they don’t know this, but [ ] did show up at Kits with a baseball bat, for one reason, he heard, he heard, Loraine, honestly, from an idiot at cadets, an idiot, jealous, slut like that other idiot, jealous, slut you know who shall remain nameless, that a girl, a girl, was planning to beat on you for this, Loraine, for being popular with men, with the cadets, without being a slut. “She’s a slut in secret,” she purportedly said, “And so she is going to take it for that too. She was scary, Loraine, a big, scary, idiot, and [ ] was prepared to hit a girl with a bat, for you, so thank him now please.’

‘Thank you, [ ].’

‘Were you scared?’

‘I wasn’t scared of you.’

‘She walked right on over, [ ], and I was swinging it, I was, it wasn’t in the fucking car, I was ready to defend this bitch, because months had gone by, Loraine, and I heard nothing of anything about her, and I had feelers out everywhere, I wanted her back, but it was over, the proverbial light went out of her eyes.’

‘Was there a light?’

‘Sometimes. The sneaking around, even at cadets, really bothered her, she was afraid of Hannon, for fraternization.’

‘Rightly so.’

‘Not so much with her because she had me, a sweet, singular, boyfriend, while he, he explained, had been tearing the militia off the cadet NCO’s, tearing, Loraine, when men pack, they will almost rape, you didn’t know that, did you?’

‘One will almost rape, of course she knows that, they studied, they heard about gang bang rapes in feminism, and that upset Loraine, while she didn’t fully, yet, understand that the gang bang itself was an her, orientation. [ ] wants to know how you turned his gay son, his formerly heterosexual son, who loved hockey, and ended up in art, back into a hockey loving fool again.

‘He’s going to join the team again, he is, I hugged him with tears in my eyes, he was so good, Loraine. How did this work do that, in your words.’

‘He recognized the gang bang as his orientation.’

‘What is this thing? Is he still gay, because he said he was, but then he started tearing off all of his gay clothes, and they were gay, Loraine, gay, as the ace of spades, and she was mad too, the harpy, I can’t leave her, she is useless, and she will get all my money, American law is a worse piece of shit than Canadian law.’

‘Why should I get less than half?’

‘Because you’ve done nothing. Nothing.’

‘So? Fuck that. I was stuck with you.’

‘Nothing. Case in point. Evil, Loraine, and now a zero, you didn’t know?’

‘We’ve chatted off and on for a year or so.’

‘Oh, that’s about how long.’

‘Oh.’

‘It’s a group of gay guys who group on one girl in a really degrading way, they do, and they love her as a husband loves a wife, but they have to do dirtier things than wives, even, and we know this, we do, because these are our fantasies.’

‘Do you still have a boyfriend?’

‘Yes, I do, and he is better. I got him right away, he missed me.’

‘But the clothes are gone. Same sex.’

‘We’re not going to homo out as much.’

‘We don’t. Without a woman, the men stick to, pardon the pun, about once a week or they feel too gay, and they, we, do prefer the presence of a woman most of the time, though there is freedom, and things do happen. We’re looking for more men first, we want at least five, in a house, and we are going to try and find a girl our age.’

‘Not a kid.’

‘Our age, [ ].’

‘Oh. Like a wife.’

‘Just like a wife. And she will, Loraine wants to stay home, and we want her to stay home.’

‘She is practically ready to retire, the way she is going.’

‘I don’t, I didn’t, want to lose my money, either, [ ],’ [ ] says. ‘Sugar daddy, once upon a time, yes, I was cheating, but I was open, visible, I mean.’

‘Running around?’

‘Taking out my girl, Loraine.’

‘Did I see you in Joey’s once? I hid. Business meeting?’

‘Perhaps, we were there several times.’

‘Not hiding, my wife is known as a tennis star at the club, and I am an, ardent, even, Loraine, tennis player, and a thirty year monogamist, who was tired of being left out, at the least, if not fully recognizing my rights as a husband. Seriously. I love Loraine immensely, and more and more, but she has started up again, and I believe that [ ]’s will too, we are too different, and that is that. I am devoted, a devoted, old, fool, a true monogamist, I believe now, and Loraine candidly assured me that we were wrong, wrong, wrong, for each other, all the while promising me that if I left my wife, I would find a wonderful woman. And I almost have, Loraine, I have laid eyes on a woman and she doesn’t sparkle, and nor do I, we are so serious about this meeting, we have met, and it was a fucking interview like no tomorrow, like no tomorrow, so you will be proud about this, because I said, “I know this has been hard, I realize this, but,” and I just said it, I just said, “but I really, really, really,” and we are outside at this point, at me the consummate idiot, let’s call it, has already bought the first, entire, Loraine, meal, and she says, “May I please interrupt you for a sec? Because I am afraid you are going to hurt me, and I would really, really,” and we both laughed, Loraine, and I said, “I shall continue then, I really, really, really, don’t want my next wife to be a slut, like this one is. I don’t. I have had enough. I want monogamy. I was perfect for thirty years, thirty, fucking years.” “Me too, [ ],” she says. “Say no more, I caved too, after twenty five years of near perfect service and devotion.” “Near perfect,” I said, “Because I want, fucking perfect.” “When I say near perfect, [ ], I mean I failed to make love a few times.” I laughed out loud, Loraine, and you know my joyful laugh, you know it well, yes, to answer your question, she brought me joy often often, often, and I laughed out loud with her many, many, times, and she still, etherwise, describes me as the best thing that ever happened to her, and though she resisted my love, told even me that she was forced to accept my love, I would not leave her, and that was that, she left me, for Ontario, to escape the police, I asked her for marriage, yes, I knew, yes, I believed, but my children at least, grown, I’m seventy two, handsome still, she is a little younger, Loraine, but not much, and she said, and I quote, “My husband is, was, we are breaking up, I told him I was going on a date today.” “Oh really? That spices things up a bit, I thought it was a roof, or something, I met her at the tennis club, just as you predicted I would. I don’t know her. People move around. And she says, “I had been at that tennis club exactly one day when I laid eyes on you, and I have to say, you have surprised me.” “I have to tell you, my thirty years were perfect, but my next six were fraught with unrequited, somewhat unrequited.” “A polygamist?” “A polygamist exactly, a prostitute I am almost ashamed to say, but I realize now that she was so settled by my company, that despite a few, and I mean a few, dates, with black men actually, and a mostly useless, pardon my judgement, prison—“ “Oh, useless to her, reformed.” “Yes, actually, but troubled, suicidal. I bought her a runabout and she would visit him and we had three satisfying years, and several fun moments before that.” “So she was peaceful for you.” “Honest as the day is long, she gave me one little spot and said, “I think it was me, [ ], and that was the extent of her “cheating”, and I used the air quotes, she was doubtful. “You trusted her, really?” “No, but, I have come to God recently, and he tells me that I was sorely, sorely, sorely mistaken when it came to her, but he forgives, and she forgave, daily, my misgivings,” and I misted up a little, “I’m a bit of a baby, I confess, and she soothed me immensely, my dealings with my wife, she knew when to keep quiet and just be quiet, instead of this constant cover up of another life.” She didn’t laugh, Loraine, she didn’t. No, she did not. She took my hand, and she said, “So you will be ready for what I have to tell you, we are attracted to each other, I feel, it was instantaneous hard on for me, and I know I am pretty.” “She is, Loraine, finally a woman pretty enough for me,” and Loraine saw her in her mind’s eye, so I started to look, “the psychic connection between people,” struck me, Loraine, and that is exactly where I went with it, that I was, I’m a devoted, old bastard, and I went right to what people need from me, as did Loraine. “What did she mean?” She meant the fucking, fucking, fucking, fucking, and I don’t swear, I am in business, I have a little roofing business, learned from my [ ], taught my [ ], and they are awesome, Loraine, and--.’ “Who is this fucking guy, Loraine, a little, handsome, roofer?” says [ ]. I need a new roof. Is this the handsome man whom the [ ] referenced in the office? You’re crying for him, you truly love him, you want the best for him, those are happy tears. Why? What did he do that was so great when you were going down?” “We visited three times a week, why does she love you, she would never shed a tear over her own family, she loves, she loves, she loves, this guy.” “Try and summarize, Loraine, and let’s move on.” “You try and summarize, Lord.” “You are being impertinent. I am teasing her, you don’t you do not sum up [ ], he is a perfect man, perfect, and, you forget, Loraine, why you loved, and love him so much, but he came up a perfect ten.” “Oh, I see,” says [ ]. “Ten love.” “Funny, [ ]. We are not tens. We are eights, me and [ ], and my [ ] is a nine. We are good.” “Awesome.” “We hated our little, we don’t know what it is called either, funeral chat, we summed it up as, we loved our [ ], but we were so excited about the money, we wished we knew after, but he did that on purpose, he was crafty.” “If it’s any comfort, my father was ecstatic when his father died.” “I was. I was, point of face, ridiculously happy, because I was tired of visiting him and I wanted the money.” “He was, is his last days, difficult, Loraine, as you no doubt heard and were scared to return.” “True. Sorry.” “You felt bad.” “Quite, very, bad.” “[ ] will sabotage.” “Yes,” says Patrick Crean in heaven, “she waited until I was in a coma to tell Loraine to fly home, and that is what she did, and, though it was a rude surprise, she knew, she knew, she knew, that she had done it on purpose, and I had confirmation of that from God, confirmation, don’t even ask her, she fucking well knew her bitch [ ] had done it on purpose. And she did. She did. So that’s that.” “So,” [ ], “let’s go on,” says God. “Let’s do, [ ], Loraine must sleep, she has been awake two days on speed.” “Oh, sorry, drug addict, I shall continue, and let you sleep, don’t go back, just listen, and look, and this is what she says about her prettiness, Loraine, she was self effacing, but she knew that I had noticed her immediately, so she says, not coyly, “Do you honestly, honestly, honestly, think I’m pretty enough for you for marriage, because I hate to date.” “And I laughed again. “Not to go on about her, because I am good, and she is okay, I see her Dad around.” “Oh, you do.” “She had a terrible, fucking, life, terrible, fucking, fucking, fucking, and I promise to stop crying and swearing when you marry me--.” And she laughs again, a huge, fucking guffaw, “Well, we are transparent,” she says, shyly. “I told myself that I deserved to find someone before being alone, and I am not alone, I want you to know that.” “Nor am I and although, she suggested otherwise, I felt strongly about that, and she ultimately, she always supported me.” “This woman is very important to you.” “Is there someone like that for you? I ask, a bit jealous.” “No one, absolutely no one, and, like your description of your wife, we were severely wrongly matched in terms of poly, no, [ ], this was new, a new concept, and he fell into it immediately, while I knew it wasn’t me, I had no desires whatsoever, except for him, and I am not obsessed with him.” “That’s what I was wondering, because she had an important lover once, and she cried a lot, which hurt.” “I have not cried in years, [ ], years, there is no pain, he does what he wants, we sometimes have a drink, we haven’t had sex in eight months and I am ready to move on.” “I feel such a man compared to you.” “I want that,” she says. “It pleases me that you found some love in the face of the cheating, he was horrible to me with lovers, insofar as they were always more adored, more loved, than I, but he never, never, to the best of my knowledge, cheated.” “Did that make it worse?” “Absolutely not, [ ], everyone knows now, therapists all agree—.” “I don’t do therapy, I just cry, and paint a room.” And she laughs again. “You really help your kids, that is around the club already the cohesion in your family.” “I see your question and I’m ready, my little—“ “Little? How young? Should I be worried, even she saw an older wife for me.” “I can’t believe this. A little voice told me to join that tennis club and I have been living in Vancouver for seventeen years. Who is this fantastic woman? She saw me, in ESP, like?” “Just the other day, we were talking—“ “Should I be worried?” “Would you want a man like me to say such a thing is over? Was over? She was good to me, unlike my wife, and I will always, always love her for it, and, I haven’t mentioned, I did, three times, ask her for marriage.” “And she said, no, too poly, good woman. This reassures me, [ ], it does, I wouldn’t want a careless, man. Was she ever, ever, ever careless to you? No? How do you know?” “God.” “Oh, God, so, and she twinkles up, God is a part of this, God, even, and I am, also now, a deeply religious woman, and I am not a pain in the ass at all, we don’t even have to go to church.” “I wouldn’t mind. I honestly wouldn’t mind. I don’t want to be all churchy, though, I would probably start donating to the choir and I have my hands full with children, which, brings us to, and I kind of hope it is a yes.” “One, devoted, daughter, who lives in [ ]—“ “Oh no.” “You are hilarious, [ ], I am seriously killing myself here. I have to ask, because, I must admit, I don’t care much about your nefarious, and she says my word, remember my word?” “Circumspect.” “And I knew I was using it wrong, and I finally looked it up, but it sounds like what it’s not, so I fucked up. She says circumspect, and, by now, I know she is using it wrong, so I say that she is using it wrong, and she says, “You are fucking right, I always do that with circumspect too, suffice to say, wife, I hate cheaters, [ ], and I respect my husband for that at least, though there were surprises.” “Oh,” I say. “Blow jobs on men, for example, a little shocking when you are still making love.” “I am so monogamous, my mother was a good woman, she got around a little—“ “On your dad.” “They split, and mother, my beloved mother raised us, my sister, deceased, older, cancer.” “Do you want to go back inside?” “And I am so cynical about money and laziness, as I was with you, but Loraine is not lazy, she got in shape for the wedding, Loraine, because her stupid, idiot, new, boyfriend was there, and then gleamed at him the whole time, it was disgusting, Loraine was always curious about men, even my [ ]s, but never gleeful, and disgusting, because I would, in my inimitable way, reign her in, and she was fine with that, I wasn’t compromising her spirit, I was caring for her.” “Oh, I see.” “She didn’t balk and protest?” “I asked little, but so did she, I realize now, honestly, there is no one, no one, no one, on her side, no one, and I felt there was little I could do.” “Was she asking for the moon?” “She asked nothing and was grateful for a cup of fucking coffee.” “Will you be able to get over this woman? When was this? Yesterday, or something, where is she, all jealous,” she says. “And I am loving this, because I hate people who won’t admit to jealousy.” “Does Loraine?” “She didn’t need to, I never made her jealous. Were you jealous of those gross, rude, Chinese Japanese girls, I formerly lauded after they short changed my girlfriend, because you said, “I doubt it,” quite sourly, “when I said she would be impressed, their eyes were shining at me, and dead when my girlfriend arrived, dead, 50 Cent, they hated her, hated her, and gave her nothing for a hundred and fifty bucks, each for about thirty five minutes.” “You’re funny, [ ], they’re shysters, those travelling girls.” “She told us about them and how frustrated she was, she would have been fine, she, I would, to interrupt, feel very cynical about your positivity where her bisexuality was concerned, I would argue.” “Oh, I thought she was sour which wasn’t like her.” “He’s right. I really expected no whore to impress me, and that was it, I never saw an impressive whore in my life.” “Never?” “Even at the parlour.” “You would be it, Amanda.” “It?” “What about [ ]?” “She was too sad. She was perishing in there, fucking perishing.” “As were you.” “Give me a break, Amanda, she lasted about three months.” “I know, we all, all, all, all, fucking hated the competition, Loraine was right in her book, and competition was it and the parlour was the worst of it, for women, over pussy, face, and money.” “Exactly that,”says 50 Cent. “Independents are a fucking sweet, sweet, relief after those places. When you get up the guts, kidding, girls. So, please, go on, [ ].” “She wondered, she’s a teacher, Loraine, in Whistler, and she was laughing, and laughing over that. But then she sobers up, and she says, I really want to know what I should worry about with this woman, this almost girl?” “No, in her forties.” “That’s okay. She was so cool, that you made an exception, because I believe in age—“ “Her boyfriend, her latest—“ “The wife now, your tone changes, your demeanor, everything,” she is shocked, shocked, Loraine. “And she says, I really fucking like you, you are really, really something, and so am I, I will have you know. I am a ten with God. That is what I am. That is what I am. What are you? I have been with God since twenty nine.” “I am glad we are broaching this,” still standing outside, and, you know me, it is getting a bit cold, so I suggest a coffee. “And she says, yes, absolutely, only I’m buying.” “No, I’m buying, because I’m very impressed with you, and—“ “Are you?” she says, completely unflirtatiously, “because around then I lose them, I lose them, but I suspect you are truly with God.” “You are as banal, no, wrong, my English is nothing to write home about.” “I hope I not banal.” “Bold faced as my girlfriend.” “Why do you say girlfriend instead hooker, whore or mistress? Because he did that, and it didn’t bother me, nor impress me as his wife, as a tool of distance.” “Did you just say “tool of distance? And this is what we are getting to, Loraine, because I say, “Did you just read a book called Bros Before Hos The Equality Apocalypse?” “Why yes, oh no, why? Did you hate it, as a man or something I can’t fathom, because, as a submissive, and caring, and loving, and faithful woman, I was very impressed with her.” “And now you know why I can’t shake her? She laughs, Loraine.” “The girlfriend? We are going to have to send a donation, and I think I might, I honestly think I might, my husband wouldn’t read it, didn’t trust me as a monogamist, he thought it would hurt his polygamy, which kind of disgusted me, that he didn’t even trust me after all these years, I’ve never recommended a book, any book, let alone a weird, poly supportive, .pdf file from the internet. So we know her. Oh, [ ], I think I’m having feelings for you, weird and wonderful feelings, I can hardly believe this, and I am not as old as you, I look young but I am sixty six, and I think we are wonderfully suited.” “She always thought she was pretty, Loraine, she did, and she was the entire time, bolstering her ego with--.” “Dick, is the word,” says God. “Dick will do it. It will. Do too many and you think the sun shines out of the moon of your asshole. I do not joke, and I’m God, and I can be funny, but women must recognize when dick is just dick, it does not reflect the perfection of their existence. Women are men are both indiscriminate.” “That’s what I thought, but then when I went to my first whore, I thought I must be dreaming she impressed me so much, [ ]—“ “You were impressed with the Chinese, Japanese, suitcases?” “Galore.” “Rush in, rush out, get everyone, and don’t stick around to deal with lax returns, they are so lame, if they have a good day with coke, everyone is all smiles, but a bad day with girls is like a cloudy day at the beach, and that’s what Loraine, got, because she was cute, I’ll bet, and they were jealous.” “She was cute with her older suitor, not some haggard, old, bag, like that one on my website. It’s an ad, and a tacky, better, tacky one.” “We might, and I say, we, Loraine, because we went for coffee and it was like old home week, and I know, I know, you are happy for me, you would have been saddled with me, I see that, I saw it then, but I want to thank you and the book for one thing “the psychic connection between people” because I realized—“ “Did you get that from me, Loraine?” asks Sharon Driscoll, “anything of this brilliance?” “No, she did not, she got dignity, which didn’t make it into the book because it was too obvious and not obvious enough, like 50 Cent, the spoken word is not all Loraine believes in, despite her disappointment with it, she actually has tremendous psychic powers, tremendous powers, you can spot an other denigrating, selfish, asshole, about a mile away, you can, and when you put words in their mouth, the words on their lips, into the air, they fucken nearly die, Loraine, they nearly die of shock, and it happened to your blond friend [ ] so many times with you and others, that she finally just stopped being cynical around you, because it was boring and predictable, you were never shocked, you were always ready for whatever, gross, idiotic, asshole, passed your way, often, Loraine, so often, Loraine, and you know this, and despite your baby admonition of [ ], who doesn’t want his real name used, because he does want his real name used, so use, it, honestly, Cazzy, “She told me that if I didn’t say things out loud, nobody would know what I was thinking, and, though, because of my Mom, she is weird and cool and troublesome and noisy, but she is better than ever, better than ever, with her close swingers club, and they don’t care, they like a lot of variety, and they will meet new swingers in Australia, where they are going to live in a few years when her new husband’s contract has ended.” “Homely, would be better than ugly, Amanda, better, he is not ugly, and he does love you so, so please don’t denigrate her.” “You couldn’t give her that.” “I wouldn’t want her to and she didn’t really want to either, she needed an erstwhile—“ “A once in a while girlfriend, not a live in, as is evidenced by, but she truly didn’t know, she truly didn’t, I doubt most women—“ “Wrong,” says God. “Many do, Amanda, and Loraine was definitely not one, but nor does she fantasize, abandonment, you are right, Loraine, about anyone she knows, ever. [ ], three times it was, Loraine, over a, a single come shot, which was unrepeatable because he didn’t like it.” “Are you serious? You like that shit? I do not, I do not, I do not do come shots.” “Neither, really, does she, Amanda, she wants you to use her real name, Loraine, and so does her son, they are both writers of a sort, Cazzy professionally, and Amanda on Facebook, and she does it, she does it, she reveals herself, though you find her boring. I find her boring, not on the blog though, we all, the old friends, and even [ ] has seen it, though he was hurt by the relentless nothingness of the stalking, they couldn’t fathom your rage, Loraine, and thought you would eventually call or something.” “Call fucking who?” says God. “The idiot who used her, or his idiot friend, or the idiot who was screaming, or the police maybe, or the bird calls, or the fucking fire department.” “The joke was that, every time there was a marked car, it was Loraine who had called them, because she admitted to calling cops on her own father.” “Who uttered a fucking death threat, you idiot, after she had been tortured relentlessly by [ ], her equally idiotic, lying and cheating transsexual, who had to be woman, just had to be a woman, though she knew, and she knew, Loraine, that she was buttering her bread on both sides with you, because you, idiot, brought her fucking flowers once, leave him, and then bodily removed from the apartment for removing her ugly pictures from her own, her own, her own.” “It was my house.” “This is what I wanted to get to [ ], and that is what made you the man. Not a fucking woman, a fucking controlling, piece of shit, asshole of a man, who virtually, virtually forced, you into sleeping in her fucking bed, when you wanted to sleep on her precious fucking couch which couldn’t even be covered with a clean sheet.” “Why was she there anyways—“ “Anyways, Amanda, is that what your “voice coach” taught you?” “Fuck you have idiotic friends, Loraine.” “Loraine has no one, 50 Cent, ever do not, do not, do not, accuse this woman of mistaking these idiots for friends, she is not, that, fucking, stupid, Amanda was an idiot she slept with twice when she thought she was a nice, married, woman.” “And she was a nice, whore.” “She wasn’t a whore, you imbecile, she had slept with fewer people than you had stroked with your right hand, and that hand was busy, Loraine, those tits and that hand were well employed at school, and your little, fun loving [ ] paid the price for that, yes, he did, yes, he did, almost got beat up himself, yes, he fucking well did.” “So [ ] throws her out, invites her back in, and Loraine starts packing, and sets to—“ “Because she was evicted for prostitution while giving hand jobs, Amanda.” “Fuck you, God. You didn’t say you were going to make me look bad in front of my new husband.” “He is not even her husband. They are engaged. And, he, if things go according to plan—“ “I’m going to marry you right away, Loraine, like your old friend [ ], and his new wife to be, and the significant others, I’m going to help him along, because he, kidding [ ], can drag out a story, have already been advised, and his wife’s nice, little, life of cheating, debauchery, and nothing, no cleaning certainly, no cooking hardly—“ “Honestly, [ ], those soups were her sister’s and her mother’s, just spell it out, she deserves it, the impact on my business has been tremendous, and, there was more than one thing, much more, and we might, we might, we might, send you a small donation when we get married, not only for the book, but for the blog, because we—“ “You don’t need to, [ ], honestly, Loraine is right, you and your new wife are the last people who should be sending money to her, the honestly fucking last, don’t get over her, just enjoy your new life and the comfort the book brings, do it, [ ].” “But she needs me.” “She is more worried about the shit you will have to give your wife, [ ], and it will be bad, as would the dish for [ ].” “Fuck [ ], he is a pussy, and he will never leave me.” “Tell me about this woman, Loraine.” “Cute as a fucking button, you know what her pathetic attitude, her constant nagging, don’t brush your teeth in the sink, your nudity bothers me, relentlessly on these two things, God? Honestly, the bitch, never, never, never, never, [ ], shut the fuck up, she never did, and I saw her bloody, cute little perfect tits but my nudity, while changing, slowly, fuck her, it’s my bedroom too, if I need to dry the fuck off or something, and she would race down to the desk and report me for shit, I have no fucking idea, I wasn’t asking, my anxiety, yes, earned her in prostitution, prostitution with her stuck up bullshit?” “What?” “God wants it, because he told her, fifteen thousand dollars per, wrong, month, per year, [ ], Loraine was twice as ugly, fatter, and making three times as much, she was a dogged, fucking idiot who got a bedroom for her trouble, which she is still in by the way, and they won’t let her work there, so she is now surviving, Loraine, on cigarette butts, seriously, it is a cruel, fucking world, but, I don’t care who you are, even a social worker does not condone restrictions around tooth brushing in communal sinks. The toilets were in there.” “The baths.” “They were fucking full sometimes.” “Loraine, and she had good, several, actually, roommates, good ones, that got along okay with, but, Loraine, honestly, thought she would actually either bust a nut with this bitch, she was fucking cute, and she didn’t wash, and she would come back from the shower smelling like hay, hay, not fucking soap, she would damp herself, and not wash her stupid crotch, which Loraine didn’t notice at all, though she had it out, plenty, in revenge, preening herself in front of Loraine. What do you even fucking mean was it a bisexual thing, the thing was an idiot like your idiot, preening, bitching, harping, constantly, until Loraine thought she would either bust a nut, or have a fucking heart attack.” “Have a fucking heart attack?” “Because I know this feeling, Loraine, and I couldn’t believe you knew the fear of women.” “This, and she knew this particular woman would someday make her relatable to men, because she recognized as a male, a male, a male, fear of women and, when she spoke of her, once, to someone, I don’t remember who, and you did, Loraine, no, not to staff, Loraine got a reputation as an exemplary tenant, and then, when they had enough of that, a big, massive, bitch of an accountant, went right into her, now private room, which they thought they would try and screw her with a pissy, shitty, vomity, no really, [ ], room, where the sun damage was remarkable—‘

‘That’s right, Mister five billion, forty degrees it was, Loraine, forty, and do you think they didn’t realize that without the curtains, no curtains, bird’s eye view from two busy restaurants—“ “What did she do?” “What did she do? She got naked, hung a fucking blanket and drank some beer. She shoved, violently shoved a piece of furniture, next to the bed, so close to the bed, that it could be constituted as an attempted assault, truly, [ ], you think I lie, those bitches, all of them, hated Loraine, because everyone bitched, about everyone, except Loraine, nobody, and I mean nobody, had anything hard and fast against Loraine, and the bitches were raping each other for space, Loraine, raping for anything resembling a chair or a couch or a bed which didn’t reek of old sheets, or shit, or hair, or vomit or contained someone’s food, or whatever. God decrees that that shelter, unlike the men’s, Loraine, was a fucking, a fucking, a fucking, health hazard, yes, it was, yes, it was, yes, it was, I want you to go to bed for two hours, Loraine, please, I was kidding, we will finish. Honestly, you are a trooper, and you don’t know it but you are helping people you are.’

‘So, on we go, and we apologize now, for the poor punctuation, but, Loraine, and you are exhausted, and now have another, maybe, appointment, because no showed last time, no showed, kidding, [ ], that is part of business, though Loraine does get piqued a little when it is, rarely, repetitive.’ ‘How piqued? Does she yell?’ ‘Oh my God, you are damaged goods, [ ], Loraine doesn’t how to yell, she doesn’t, she doesn’t, she doesn’t, she doesn’t.

‘“This is why, I would wager a bet that the men, the mechanics—“ “Why is it always the men with you?” she said, vehemently. “Why? Why? Why? You are fucked, all of you, fucked, and this is why, they are [ ]’s workers, they are not any kind of men, and you would do well, the both of you, to keep some distance from them, because now we are millionaires, millionaires, my husband, I believe, is already a millionaire,” and they tried not to laugh, Loraine, and their eyes flicked because they become adept and communicating with a flick of an eye, an upturn, and that is it, because any kind of head turn would elicit the following, “Fuck you for looking at each other behind my back, fuck the two of you, fuck the two of you, fuck the two of you, fuck the two of you, fuck the pair of you, and your fucking illicit bullshit.” And they would laugh, because, you are, no doubt, aware, Loraine, no doubt, that illicit is sexual, exclusively, which even [ ] knew, as she asked your [ ], “Is she doing anything illicit?” And was lied to, was lied to, which, as a point to the listener, disgusted you because, precisely because she was having trouble with senility, which is a lie of old people, Loraine, who would rather listen to the ether, and die, than listen to their idiot children.” “Are serious, Loraine?” “She made you recant it.” “Yes.” “Don’t tell [ ] something like that.” “Yes.” “Angrily?” “In all seriousness, without explanation.” “And it, I’m sorry but I loved my [ ], she was gentle like me, though I’m big, and a submissive woman, and was nothing if willful, nothing, Loraine, she and [ ] had important talks, money talks, all the time, and we had turned to each other for nothing if not to laugh over [ ], so when I heard from [ ] that you’re face had clouded, and you had had to lie, I was disgusted for you, because we knew you had a nice kinship with [ ], and we never saw ‘Tiny,’ your little poem, but we’ve heard you recite it on the ether, nice, Loraine, a pretty ‘fuck you, [ ],’ which this, also is, Loraine, well done, and good job on [ ], she always wanted to be famous.”’

‘So the story goes on and Loraine is struggling with punctuation and exhaustion. Exhaustion from no sleep, on speed, for two days now, except a little lie, yes, and she knows it’s foolhardy, but she still does it, because she loves to work for me now.’

‘”This is what I have to say about men,” and she spits it, spits it, spits it, and again, the flick of the eye, “they are selfish and disgusting with no--” kidding, Loraine, she did not say that, Loraine, she said, nope, not that either, she said, “They love my pussy,” Loraine, “they love it, they fucking, well, love it,” Loraine. “And I am hot, yes, I am, and I’m pretty.” “Is she pretty?” says 50 Cent. “She’s a solid six, 50 Cent.” “Oh. From birth?” “Loraine was prettier from birth, and she has no such delusions about a wet pussy, none, nor her own face, which frankly, men feel, despite the nose, Loraine, and said as much, is prettier still than hers. Really, Loraine, really, Loraine. We will just get through this dinner. And then you will lie down till your next appointment, your hair will be fine, wet now, and, I know you wonder why I am doing you with copious detail, and this is why, because, now, finally, [ ] wants to know why you are doing her, and we are going to answer that now, now, Loraine, not.”’

‘Going on, “[ ] says to [ ] next, “I love my dick, too, and so does my wife.” And [ ] laughs, “really? Because my wife doesn’t always like mine, sometimes it’s too persistent, and she gets tired.” “Did Loraine think I was weird for telling her that my wife wouldn’t give me a blow job?” “Your current wife?” [ ] wants to know. “No, my first wife, who cheated by the way.” “Are you serious? And my wife is asking, so I’m lucky, and waiting, sorry wifey, patiently.” Sighs. “It’s okay, honey, go get that blow job, please, please, please, please, do it next time you are in Ottawa, go to your sister, joking, of course.” “Don’t be gross. I will, wifey, I will, wifey, I will for sure, I have somebody in mind already whom the men say is good, not great, but decent, and kind.” “Why not great? Go to somebody great.” “Really?” “Really, silly, I get [ ], after all, and I will let him penetrate me, [ ], it is the only eroticism in it with a condom, it is.” “I see, wifey. I will then. There is another woman who is really good, and loves it, even safely, and that’s what I would have. I’m good, Loraine, I’m hard like [ ], I am, and I’m not confident, but I’m not a loser.” “And so, dovetail, this is where it goes now. “You two, are monogamous, as am I, but I was busy in high school, busy in high school, the men, and they were men,” and they try not to laugh again, seriously, Loraine, because it will erupt in a restaurant and they know this, they know this, she has had tantrums, on the family dinner, and walked out with nowhere to go but back home, and her [ ]s were there, there, Loraine, without their [ ] around suddenly, and wondering, and [ ] himself wondered, at five, is she actually going to storm around when she returns, like she does at home? Around [ ] [ ] and [ ] [ ]? Because [ ] stopped going home, Loraine, and she didn’t even have the presence of mind to wonder why. He wanted to watch some hockey without her fighting—“ “That’s what Amanda would do too, Loraine, not walk around naked but walk in front of the TV, fighting,” says [ ]. “And I just, since we are here, want to thank you for breaking up my marriage because I am happier, much happier, and thank you for laughing at “Whose fault is that?” because my son is funny with me, and we love each other so much more now. She used to rail at me for sitting with him, and doing things, like colouring, saying I was lazy and shit, seriously, Loraine, these sluts got so big for their britches with dick, as God says, that there was no room left for vagina. Seriously. And that’s my own. You can use it.” “Very well said, [ ], very well, said,” says my brother. “And thank you for being in touch with him, now he realizes that you loved him for real as a child, because you take a minute to think about him now.” “Thanks, [ ].” “Did it hurt?” “It coloured her view of mothers, losing Cazzy, yes, it did, she thought of him as a lost, associated, child, a friend, more than she thought of Amanda, more Amanda, you gave her nothing, nothing, nothing.” “I gave her my men.” “They left you for her because, save [ ], she was better. She didn’t lie, she didn’t cheat.” “She had no one to cheat on.” “Okay, Amanda, whatever it is you think you had with [ ], you didn’t have, you didn’t have, he used you, you idiot, Loraine was his girlfriend, and he was, for a short time, more in love with her than he ever was with you, he knew you, don’t forget, and he was disgusted, disgusted, disgusted—“ “Why did he screw me then? For fun? For idiocy? For love, that’s what we had, love, and Loraine saw it and she was so jealous.” “You’re deluded, Amanda, it was, at best, poignant for her—“ “That look, that crestfallen look was poignancy. You forget that Loraine took that picture, Amanda, you forget that she was wielding a camera and a phone. And it is a glorious picture, she is good, you will like her photos of the family,” says God. “Really?” says 50 Cent. “Really?” he says. “What, what on earth does she do right?” “Candids.” “She sent some to us once and we were devastated by her take on our family, she made us look loving, and giving, and full of life, seriously, we couldn’t fucking believe it, and at first [ ] was confused, because he didn’t understand why little Loraine was tying up his email with so many pictures.” “Laughs. You sent them to his work?” “That was our email.” And they were so good, all of them, after an hour, Loraine, and he didn’t care, he opened one and got curious, thinking they would be of you somehow, but they were all of us, and they weren’t like that garbage her [ ] takes where she lines everyone up to grandstand, we hardly, hardly, hardly, even noticed she was taking them. And [ ] still uses that picture on her Facebook, Loraine, it was radiant, a somewhat lesbian, our bisexual Loraine enjoyed her.” “Oh, I see. I hope she enjoys my lesbians.” “Funny, 50 Cent.” “This is what I thought,” says [ ], “after an hour of sending and receiving, and she had shaw, and it worked, it didn’t get stuck, and the camera was not high resolution, I thought, this crazy bitch loves us more than her own [ ] does. More. The pictures are about her being the center, your pictures were about us being the center, we have sunny parties in the yard a lot, Loraine, and they were the nicest addition to a party, that anyone had ever given me, honestly, a few drunken line ups, later—“ “Enough.” “One more thing.” She included no pictures, I noticed, of either her [ ] or herself. None. We could have held the camera, she was giving us a gift of her perception. It was so cool. And I am a seven billion too, Loraine, and [ ] is a six billion, and so is my wife, and so is my daughter.” “Wow.” “What are you?” “Brain dead,” says God. “She is. Her [ ] killed her brain cells.” “Originally.” “A four billion, and, it is not unusual for high intellectuals—“ “He laughs, the highest intellectual you were going to say, the top one percent, are you fucking kidding me, because that is what I saw in those pictures, a high, high, intellectual, and there are a lot of fucking pictures on construction sites, a lot of fucking pictures, for fun and liability. I laughed about your client with the stiff back, and that it was concrete, Loraine. That is concrete, Loraine, and the dusty, stuck on boots.” “Not too stuck on, she was confused, but I lied, and now I can’t take it back, we are doing concrete for the embassy, and that’s why I described some stupid shit that she would never know, baby idiot. My stiff back alright, in your pussy, Loraine, she liked it, she did.” “Really? Kidding, Loraine. They are cool with hos, construction workers, they are, they go, they’re nice, they smell nice, and that’s it, was he a trucker today?” “Yes.” “So things are improving? I see that they are. You will miss them with your large penises.” “She will have mine and Game’s,” says Eminem. “She is utterly exhausted and I want a lie down before this nefarious appointment, God. But I want to ask, [ ] [ ], how on earth do you see intellectualism in photos?” “Because ours were technical, I saw the framing right away, and she jiggles it, it is not perfection like [ ]’s, with a horrific imbalance of people, horrific, Loraine, and they are just standing there, struggling to smile because, and I know this, Loraine, and I know that you know this too, you do, because you have been saddled with these pictures, ugly pictures all, I will say, and we take two pictures a year, Loraine, of the kids, all of them, to mark it, and that is it. Your beer will run out, and you will be sad, and it is Sunday, your hair looks pretty, Loraine, are you sure you don’t want to go to the LCBO? I work in Ontario sometimes, but I do not, I do not, I do not, know what I would talk about with you, I don’t.” “She would be fine, [ ], but don’t, she is unused to be assailed by family, and she is fine, fine, fine, on her own, seriously, what she needs is her own family, as her [ ] once said. And she almost welled up, but fortunately not, because her mother was there, you don’t remember the tears, Loraine, but I do, yes, 50 Cent, she said it, yes, she remembers it, yes, she fucking well does.” “Oh, I see.” “Don’t bug, 50 Cent, she’s not that stupid, she remembers a few things.’

‘”Loraine? I want to finish the dinner talk, the highlights, so let’s go, [ ] [ ] really does want to say this, “Loraine, we noticed your love on that day, it was throughout the photos, and, not to embarrass you, we never mentioned the sexual quality—“ “50 Cent laughs. “Oh that embarrassed you too, when we said nothing, as though we saw and were embarrassed ourselves, so it was worse.” “She got over it. Nobody says boo to Loraine.” “I understand that, I do, she is daunting with her eyes, and her observations, and, though [ ] hates his jaw in that picture, he likes the picture, because you caught him thinking about stuff from work, and his face is cross a bit, not angry, but vexed. He was working on something, Loraine. And it showed, so he likes it.” “The palate stretching surgery will help him immensely, and it will, [ ], do it, go to New York, he does ten a day, for people with wisdom teeth pulled, and jaw fractures. You will be eating steak again, steak, Loraine, for a motherfucking working man, disgusting what happened there with their fragile egos and an ambitious dental surgeon, disgusting, seriously, as with you, desperate for money and recognition, they are not, not, not, fucking doctors, they are concrete artists, not surgeons, it is such fucking bullshit the title of doctor, I don’t care if their schooling is long, they do not know what true doctors know, they don’t, they fucking well don’t, and that’s it.”

‘“Let’s move on, Loraine. “My pussy,” again with this, “is not wet, but it is hot, the yeast has been tragic for me, as a woman, as a lover, as a wife, it is like sandpaper, and, to her credit, she was honest, about that, but that is all she gets credit for, because it goes on, Loraine, and go on it does. “My pussy is so hot, that men, in school—“ “In school again?” they were thinking. “She’s the Jane Goodall of school, she did every gorilla in the yard, or something,” thinks [ ]. “He does, Loraine, and [ ] was good looking, and he did fucking hear about it, yes, he did, in great, and grave, detail. “—were lining up, virtually lining up to have at ‘er, and she laughs, Loraine. She laughs, Loraine. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t keep my pants up, and sure, I caught diseases, yes, I did, yes, I did, they couldn’t wait to give me diseases so they could smell me, and fuck me some more.” Seriously, Loraine, and the lobster bisque is gone, half eaten, and the fucking dinner conversation is getting so low, that they are looking around, and it is then that they notice that someone has heard, a man, and he is laughing, laughing, Loraine, at them, because he is a fucking, fucking, fucking, fucking, customer, a fucking customer, Loraine, and this is what they said, Loraine, “Quiet down, [ ], the staff in the kitchen can here you.” “Fuck them,” she said, more loudly. And [ ], her [ ] was disgusted, disgusted, that she was still talking about this shit, disgusted, when he heard, and he simply said, “I’m watching, hockey, gotta run, and he especially enjoyed the tirade about being stuck with his cigarette breath. I want him to leave her, Loraine, he is a ten, and always has been, always, and, dummy, they are, they married an evil, because, guess what she had said to him, “I will suck your cock every day,” and then proceeded to do the exact opposite. She lays down, lies down, sorry, and spreads her precious folds, and gets a come load, and washes it up right away, right away, like that woman in the movie, and then snuggles in for a fourteen hour sleep, when [ ] has to get up in five hours, without light, because that doesn’t please her, Loraine hates the dark for people, [ ], you would do well to learn from her, next time you marry, get your own bedroom, seriously, fuck the horny poster you have had for fourteen years, Loraine, of marriage, which she grandstands to all their friends, saying, “This is representative of our sex life, it is always in flower, seriously, Loraine, you wouldn’t fucking believe this shit. You wouldn’t believe it. And he puts up with it, he does, because he is a fucking saint like you and [ ], a fucking saint, but he has anxiety like you wouldn’t believe, and he knows that fear, she would say, she said, honestly, I could squish her like a bug, it’s not that, she’s tiny, I feel like she is going to drive me fucking crazy. And that’s it, [ ], leave it, you’re an idiot for staying one more day, take the hit, and make lots of more money. Loraine is asleep, go, Loraine, nap, please, on your one beer, because Ontario liquor laws are archaic, they are, go, please, save and go lie down.”’

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‘Loraine was talking about the general disrespect men have of women, for everything, they do, I would argue, wouldn’t you, Loraine, that resembles the work of men, because, and I say this unequivocally, the do it badly, they do. And I am God, and I say that is it.’

‘What about intellectuals?’

‘Equals, men, and women, in intellect.’

‘I told Loraine that women have emotional intelligence, and they do, Loraine.’

‘Sharon Driscoll is right, she said, that, sorry,’ says God, ‘not me, and though, men, and even you Loraine, with your dubious hundred percent, called emotional intelligence an oxymoron. Funny, Loraine, but you were wrong that only morality, socialization, and language, were women’s strengths, because Sharon Driscoll is right.’

‘Use my name, Loraine. I can’t stand to be brackets when I’m smart. I’m all woman, I’m emotional intelligence, and nothing else.’

‘What is the difference between relatiation and socialization?’ asks [ ].

‘Socialization is a broad experience and relatiation is an interpersonal one. Get a beer, take a speed, and go to the computer, start fresh please. Yes, the cops shitted you, yes, they did. Move on. They will let you go to 50 Cent, they will, I’m still, still, still, working on that.’

‘They take away anxiety and people feel they help with depression.’

‘Do they slow the heart rate?’

‘They’re gasoline derivatives and they slow the heart rate,’ explains [ ]. Pharmaceuticals, not meth, which is not good, but not as bad as pharmaceuticals, as it will not instantly kill you but only rot your teeth, brush them softly, Loraine, it hurts the gums and causes recession. Go.’

*************************************************************************************

One percent of women are oriented to what Loraine is into, and that is why she gets all these men, and that is why, and that is it, it is not because she is the new messiah, that is her work for me, and she deserves it, it is true that not one person in the entire, fucking, world, has ever cried over Loraine, not fucking one, not one [ ], you were leaving them in your dust, Loraine never did that, never, she is the last to go, the last to go, the last to go, and, despite her careful little descriptions of her cheating, is not a cheater, she is not, most of her relationships, except two, the worst ones, by the way, Loraine, and that is from God himself, God himself says that the cheats happened at the bitter end of the two worst relationships. They deserved it, [ ], and—‘

‘I cheated too, Loraine.’

‘You cheated, you lied, and you came up from remorse and prayer, Loraine had no such problem, they fucking well knew they deserved it, and, in my eyes, in God’s eyes, they more than deserved it, yes, they fucking well did, and more on top of that, which she didn’t dish, no, she did not, she bailed, she bailed, she bailed when she couldn’t take anymore. He left her, to answer your question, and he might as well have he bailed so often, for his smelly, old, cigarette infested, dirt bag, cheater of a roommate, a bad, bad, example to all, Loraine, as a father, I’ll say first, and as a husband. When he went to hospital and [ ] saw that he was more loyal to his lapdog roommate, and he is, Loraine, sure he was going to pimp you to him, and you would have done it, and hated it, by the way, hated every minute of it, but he didn’t do that for you, he did it for his long suffering, bed buddy, and, I shit you not, they practically sleep together, and they are not even gay, they switch beds, they like the stink of each other so much, you can’t believe it, Loraine, but it is fucking, well, true, fucking, well, true. That night, [ ] knew perfectly well that the bed was disgusting, and he wanted you to see it, to revolt you, and that’s what he did, saying, and he fucking well said that [ ] just changed the sheets, my ass, he changed the sheets exactly one year prior, one fucking year, one year, Loraine, he just rests his smelly, filthy, ass in that bed, and smells himself, every fucking night, and [ ] even sleeps in it when he isn’t there, because he is a lonely, desperate, fuck, who refuses to, as you say, take responsibility for desire. And that’s it, [ ], that’s it, the sum total of Loraine’s ecstatically, as you see it, happy life. That is it. Bum fuck buddies who don’t even screw, that is what they are. And when [ ] realized this, and it, as yours, was a rude awakening, she bailed, and good for her, and she is not, she is not, she is not going back, so good for her.’

‘What did he do?’

‘He, instead of allowing his five year girlfriend who, by this time, he was practically living with her, and her father, I might add, her father, I might add, who actually liked him, and was grateful to him for taking his fat, attractive, daughter, to manage his affairs with a notary public and that form that Loraine, she can remember, power of attorney, passed off his meagre, and I mean it is meagre, fortune, to his bum idiot roommate, so the two of them can live happily forever, with no women, and no satisfaction of any kind. And yes, [ ], [ ] is a man who has lost two houses to women, yes, he is, but he got laid constantly, constantly, so they paid, rest assured, and he has done, nothing, nothing, nothing, to care for his children, even to the extent of telling them not to visit because he is too busy. He is an even bigger loser than your little lover, Loraine, and the erectile dysfunction was his fault too, because he knew that plate was too big for three men to manage, he knew, Loraine, he fucking well knew, but the pride was too great, and he broke his own fucking back stealing, yes, he did, like your other loser boyfriend who got his teeth bashed in for bashing in someone else’s teeth in a fucking bullshit, ten dollar robbery, Loraine. He got—‘

‘It’s called a ten dollar robbery, Loraine,’ says 50 Cent, ‘when you rob a grow op.’

‘Oh.’

‘Because they always get you back. Those bitches, and they are mean, the big ones, have cameras, hidden ones, a mile wide, and, just as you are settling into your crack, they bash in and fuck up your mouth, whether you fucked up their mouth or not, and God is saying, and my impression is that he told you himself.’

‘It’s like another language.’

‘You can’t believe it.’

‘Right.’

‘Why does she date losers?’

‘Vancouver, [ ], is full of fucking losers, full of them, men who wanted an easy coastal life with beaches and screwing, one year she hung out there, and she worked like a dog the entire time, even bringing fucking pate to her idiot, then, boyfriend, one night, who was too fucking lazy on ecstasy to get off the fucking beach, take a fucking bath, and buy his own pate. That night you barebacked with him, Loraine, well done, by the way, he washed in the fucking ocean. She learned quick about bare backing, yes, she did, nary a drop of come has passed through those lips, nary a one, compared to you, [ ], so don’t you even think of judging my new messiah, don’t you even think of it, don’t.’

‘Sorry, God.’

‘No. I will not have it. She has worked harder on that book than you worked on your studies, harder, yes, she has, and I am God, and I say that that is so, yes, I do, and she has cried more tears than you will ever know, more, trust that, to use [ ]’s little blackism, which Loraine doesn’t do, use blackisms, 50 Cent, she doesn’t, she knows she is white, yes, she does, and she won’t, like your friends don’t, she won’t, so don’t you assume that she will try to be all black, she is all, all, all, white, and she knows it.’

‘I don’t want to pimp her to women.’

‘Organize for women, pimp for men, 50 Cent, get it right, kidding, babe, kidding, why is that? Tell Loraine.’

‘I want her to suffer all the time, and she just. won’t. suffer. enough. She won’t. She won’t, God. It will be like a joke to her, and my women, and they are my women, I have been with this woman several times, Loraine, are not a joke to me, I need them, I am very serious when I screw, and besides this baby game you play with the Croatian, you are too, you are too, she never laughs, [ ], while [ ] laughed in her face, Loraine wasn’t laughing, and it is true that the former president giggles at his wife, and that should never be so, he is too low for her, and she is a striking, not beautiful, black, erroneous—.’

‘Why erroneous?’

‘Because Barrack Obama is, would be, a three in that family, not a number one, and she is the highest woman, and, as I was saying, she should never be laughed at for her passions.’

‘Fine, 50 Cent, but you have not seen Loraine with a woman, so you don’t know, and I do, I do, she is a big, fat, fucking, baby, when she is in love with a woman.’

‘She is 50,’ says [ ]. ‘She is.’

‘Really? What does that mean? Because I want her miserable, miserable, miserable, I want her to be so desperate for me that she can hardly come up for air, that is what I want, and I am going to use men to get it, and they won’t mind either, will they, God? Because she is lovely, lovely, lovely, ugly, but lovely, I know this, because she giggles--.’

‘No, giggles is a girlish thing, laughing in the face of passion is something else, and that is what [ ] did to her, and then expected all the services herself, yes, she did, and I have asked, yes, I have, yes, I have, yes, I have, she did nothing for Loraine, nothing, and the one time she was going to do a sixty nine, she raped Loraine, and Loraine blinded, by God--.’

‘I understand blinding is by God, 50 Cent.’

‘She’s impertinent with Loraine and I don’t understand why. Why, [ ]? What is it?’

‘I am simply jealous, jealous, I wanted a good mind, I wanted to be famous, I did.’

‘So many people wanted to be famous, Loraine wanted it to, and not everybody makes it, it is true, but, if it’s any consolation, she still has nothing, nothing, she made a couple hundred bucks and she will buy drugs, and put some money on her phone so she can screw for money, some random stranger--.’

‘I thought she liked that.’

‘Do you think it’s fun to be a whore dealing with random men all the time, by yourself, without even so much as a lame ass, pitiful, cheating, boyfriend to hold you at night, who buys you bad drugs and steals your money? Honestly, [ ], get a life. Her life is a piece of shit, while yours has been a swan.’

‘It has been,’ says her husband. ‘It has. She reminds me of these descriptions of your [ ], Loraine. She does nothing she doesn’t want to do, she likes to cook, so she cooks, she sews stupid shit that no one, and I mean no one wants, no one, that yellow brick road was the best shit she ever did, and she couldn’t even sell it, she couldn’t, no one wanted a used wall tapestry, and it was fucking beautiful, as you saw for yourself. It was a mosaic, and again, with her brain damage, Loraine--.’

‘Pointellist?’

‘Sort of, Loraine, but not. We have argued over you day and night, day and night, day and night, since those journals, and she wants to believe you are stupid so she doesn’t feel jealous, and I point out that she is so tied up in knots, that you can’t possibly be stupid, but that is male logic, and so it escapes her.’ “She says nothing, nothing at all, nothing, it’s annoying.” “Fuck annoying. When I complained about her brother, she knew enough to shut her fucking mouth, and that’s what I noticed. She knew her brother could be annoying for people, and she knew that I was a man, and he was a boy, and my opinion ruled, and she shut the fuck up, more women should be like that, and it pleases me immensely that someone, a woman, is saying that women need to get back in touch with submission, immensely, Loraine, because these women come in and out the office, as we say, and they never stay, never, they depend on some man, and say they worked in civil engineering. The worst case—‘

‘Everyone’s going to know who this is.’

‘I don’t give a fuck. I don’t. Say our names for all I care. I don’t care. She is right. Women are stupid at work, and they should leave the work force and stay home, that’s what they should do. What, Loraine?’

‘They’re seeking men, not work.’

‘I realize this, we all do, and they are all grandstanding, Loraine, grandstanding, and it is fucking. pitiful. fucking. pitiful. And Loraine with her forty percent logic, and her measly twenty percent little bit more logic from being an intellectual was the one to say it, say it she did, fantastically, Loraine, the traffic was cut in half overnight, overnight, they all went home to screw their husbands and do the housework, and people found chinks in the armour and broke up, and women had to go back to work, but still, still, many stayed together, and the traffic only increased, I know you don’t know math, but you know traffic, by another third, and it is still viable to get to work, and women are not, are not, are not, being as annoying, because Loraine Laney said they were submissive, and too dumb to keep their legs closed when men said to open them, that is what she said, not to put too fine a point on it, and, despite this argument, Loraine, over you, Loraine, you, with your beloved [ ], who you loved, thinking that she loved you too, wrong, wrong, wrong, she and [ ] get together and talk about what a hopeless slut you are, that is what they say, that you are so stupid that you never married, well, she is honest about who she is, and my wife is a slut too, only she was smart enough to reign it in, but I have seen it in her eyes, and Loraine said—.’

‘Loraine, Loraine, Loraine, why the fuck? What the fuck?’

‘She’s famous for that book, [ ], famous the world over, and it’s a self published, internet published that is, bullshit .pdf, that’s what it fucking well is.’

‘Why, though?’

‘Read the damn thing if you really want to know, read it, because I made up my mind about her long ago, which was that she was a lovely girl, that’s what I decided, despite her sluttish reputation, I took you, didn’t I?’

‘You thought I was hot.’

‘I thought a lot of women were hot. I fell in love though, and I soldiered through, despite, that, as she says in the book, we talk about it at work, the assumed victimhood, such as it was, in high school—.’

‘Don’t underestimate it, they were men, men, men, [ ], as were you, yes, you were.’

‘Practically a virgin man to her hundred and fifty, and she was, she was innocent, Loraine, a fucking idiot who thought men would stay with her, despite everything, and she is right that women are so hopeless with men that if they are going to screw at all after marriage--.’

‘After marriage?! She talks about screwing after marriage?’

‘—they need a fucking man to fucking well supervise because they are so fucking stupid that they will do anyone, just like Loraine, idiot, bringing a homeless rapist home for the night, well done, Loraine.’

I laugh. ‘Not funny.’

‘No, not funny when you got raped. This book was ground breaking, [ ], and I practically know it just from the scuttlebutt around the office, and the women, the all knowing women, refuse to read it, because “she is a whore, what does she know about marriage?” one woman said. “Everyone knows about marriage,” I replied. “Everyone. Every movie ever made is about fucking marriage, and marriage is fucking boring I said, and she knows that much, and, you will be surprised to know that she advocates pimping your wife.” “I don’t want to be a whore,” she said. “I choose what I do. My husband lets me screw a little, and I choose, I choose, I choose.” “Do you?” I said. “Or do they?” “Fuck you,” she said, and that was that for that. So forgive this little diatribe, writer of ours, our family, the men who have read the book, love you for what you said in that little .pdf, even puts the period, funny, Loraine, is it caps though, because I don’t think anyone knows anymore. And do you know who else loved Loraine, and too much I might add, because he confessed to me that he got erections when she was around, was your own father.’

‘He was sick.’

‘Is that sick? Men confess to doctors all the time about erections over their own children. Passionate love, it feels like, you love them so much, you feel sick like when you are young and make love. And, you know what, [ ], I believe I will pimp you, and I believe I will ask money for you, and I have a few contenders already.’

‘Fuck you. I’m chaste now. I’m a married woman.’

‘You’ve lost interest in sex, and I have heard, and, because of that book, men are doing this, and they are talking, you bet they are talking, and they are saying, this is what they are saying, that their wives are so happy, they can’t even pull them off their dick anymore.’

‘Fuck off.’

‘She’s weakening. I knew she would. This chastity bullshit has been a bee in my bonnet, because I had to become “chaste” too, Loraine, five lovers, and I had to pack it in, pack. it. in. in. For good. And I know your brother’s problems are opposite, his wife wants to and he is scared to hurt her, be abandoned by friends, lovers, even, potential lovers, and I have no desire, none, to sleep with a man, but if this “play the field” thing takes off for us—.’

‘What?’

‘She says, and 50 Cent says, that women do as men say, the men choose the lovers--.’

‘I want to choose my own lovers. And you get to do whatever you want. How is that fair?’

‘This is what they are saying, that, with this plan, and God confirmed this for me, Loraine, the numbers finally, finally, finally, shake down. Because men get more out of women alone, yes, they do.’

‘I don’t like that though. I should be there with the man, yes, I should, I don’t even like it, because why should I, but I don’t want him to get more out of women.’

‘Women, and she probably has a theory for this too--.’

‘She does, but she forgets right now,’ says God. ‘She said that women are so afraid of losing protection, their commitment, that it is easier for them to keep women out of the home, and it seems weird, but it is true, it is true.’

‘What about men with their “pimping,” money, what a joke, I choose.’

‘This is what men surmised from her work, that women aren’t really choosing, [ ], they are being chosen.’

‘Oh, fuck that shit, I was rampant, and I did what I wanted.’

‘You did whatever, and I mean whatever, Loraine, they wanted, yes, you fucking well did, and none of us, none of us, we were a group of friends, were too impressed with what we heard, unsafe sex, and it was the eighties, Loraine, and you have done well to keep your numbers so low as a whore, and you know who else, besides her father, was very impressed when Loraine, our little Loraine went professional, [ ] himself. Him. Self. A man who believed in the freedoms of the flesh. “Why should she do it for free if nobody wants to marry her because she’s too slutty, or whatever is wrong with her, why, the fuck, should she, she owes nothing to them, nothing. A slut,” he said, and he said this, “thinks she owes sex to men, but she doesn’t, she is full of free will, and she’ll fuck if she wants, but she doesn’t have to fuck if she doesn’t want, and I have asked her father, and he said, he said, he said, and I admired him for this, he stayed off of her enough so that she began, as an adult, to confide in him, and, though he thought she “gets around,” she related her warts story, and her trich story, you did, Loraine, and [ ] told me all that shit, too, yes, she did, he began to think, because you were so, fucking, depressed, that you weren’t really getting laid as much as your [ ] said you were, with her nefarious, endless, fucking stories of bare backing, disease passing bullshit, she would pass off as idle chatter. Bullshit, thought your Dad, finally, bullshit, and, when she finally did go pro at thirty one, this realization was confirmed, because she got happier, she got stable, and she was better. And he told me, on my death bed, I’m speaking from heaven of course, and my wife knows about the erections, and I feel better in heaven, because it disturbed me, and, of course, this is out, out, out, now, and even women are admitting to it, in real life, such profound flushes of pleasure at the sight and sound of their children, that it is almost erotic, true, Loraine, oh, you know this?’

‘It happened once with my brother’s [ ].’

‘A flush of pleasure.’

‘The whole body, leaving nothing out.’

‘Did you feel guilty?’

‘Did I God?’

‘She had heard of it, and normalizes all of her physical responses, so no, she had been reminded to them so often by her loving, though almost estranged brother, that they already, they already, Loraine, unlike your [ ]’s kids who were inculcated against Loraine--.’

‘Why? Because she was a bad influence?’ asks [ ].

‘No, because the wife was cheating and she was using Loraine’s name as a back story.’

‘Oh, fuck. So the kids, the kids, and the husband, I know who it is, Loraine, yes, I do, we know these things, your mother makes sure of it, hated her too.’

‘I know Loraine, but I was confused as to why she wanted to spend time with [ ], knowing what she did about the cheating, especially after she left us so dramatically over it, that my wife had to confess, she had to, because I was on to her, I couldn’t work it out logically, and I was mad at Loraine, for a long time, for choosing her over me.’

‘Fuck. Lies.’

‘Holy shit, your family can talk, Loraine, and I, like you, would like [ ] to give just one example of grandstanding of women in civil engineering. I really fucking want to know, and Loraine does too, she wondered right away, is there road better, or something?’

‘Fucking, fucking, fucking, fucking, bike lanes is the women’s contri-fucking-bution to civil engineering. And fucking bike lanes have caused more accidents than riding on the fucking road, and nobody actually knows this because it is one of the best kept secrets in civil fucking engineering. And, I have heard, from her dad actually, again, that Loraine is a woman who does not defend the bike lane, she doesn’t, at. all. ever. Because, I am assuming, she knows that men drive a lot and are working this out logically, and it isn’t working, and she hears a tale or two, what?’

‘A two way bike lane on a one way street.’

‘Okay, that is a perfect, fucking, example.’

‘And someone was actually killed, Loraine, immediately, I didn’t tell you that. It would have been rude, killed. And I do go on, and your dad is like me, I got that, so you let me go on, and just listened, because you trust the logic of men, and, if you don’t, you know men well enough that they don’t want to fucking argue, they just want to make a point, and that is it. That is it. I saw this in her--.’

‘Why is she the woman of the hour?’

‘--And she didn’t try to analyze me or anything, she just let me ramble, and ramble I did, because she didn’t argue, even the wife argues. Argues, argues, argues, it’s not like that with men, we just agree to disagree, and we don’t argue, and that’s it.’

‘Because she spent time with men, and she learned “how to speak man,” I heard about this from God, Loraine, and I laughed, and the woman lawyer was immediately irate, but, Loraine, you may not know this, but that woman from PIVOT is a lesbian, and she found, she realized, that she already spoke “man,” and she is a lovely lawyer, who many men respect, I hear a lot on the ether, and I remember. And the lawyer with a little spunk that you liked who had the nerve, in front of prostitutes to say, “Why do I like big ones then?”

‘Can I have a big one, [ ]? I want one like Loraine’s men. I do.’

‘All women do. All. All. All. “The eternal question of penis size cannot be resolved by monogamy. And, if there is a party at Loraine’s, I have no doubt, no doubt, none, that, with my permission, you will charm one of those men into trying that thing in there, and he will love you as well, I feel sure, and Loraine will love it, she doesn’t pimp, because she is under explicit instructions not to do so, but she knows her men, and they are able and willing.’

‘Oh, I see. I thought she got them all to herself or something.’

‘Absolutely not. Which brings us to playing the field, which I will do, perhaps, I have decided, and, based on the past, I believe, Loraine, that a kiss is not enough, based on the past--.’

‘I didn’t know her though.’

‘You knew some of her men. And they certainly knew you once you took her off their hands, and off the casual sex market, and his wife, a gentle, loving, little French woman who lost--.’

‘I’m gentle and loving.’

‘Let me finish. Who lost her virginity at eleven, [ ], eleven, read the book, and cried for days over her lost virtue, for days, for days, until the children were wondering what the hell did Aunty Laney say in that book. And she tried to tell them. They dress the kids in Gymboree, [ ].’

‘Gross.’

‘Loraine gave them hip hop and had to succumb, though she suckered them into hoodies on dresses and shit, she did, because hoodies fucking rule, yes, they do, and I want my younger son to come out as a gang bang boy, although he will be higher than his dear, old, and I’m old now, Loraine, you remember us as young, I have grey hair and everything, in my blond, your men colour theirs I’m sure.’

‘Not all,’ says Neil Smith, also a blond, strawberry. ‘I’m in business, and it’s not done, it’s not, the performers only, I would look a fool, and I’m used to it, and Loraine is old too, and I’m told she has no ambitions for younger men whatsoever, not too much older, though [ ] was her father’s age, and she thought, she actually thought, that no woman, herself included, even deserved a man the same age. That is what she thought.’

‘What age then? Old?’

‘Loraine has no ego is the point here, [ ], she is the antithesis of ego, she’s excited which is why she is bouncy and happy, not because it’s ego.’

‘What’s the difference between bouncy and happy and grandstanding?’

‘She has been typing my shit for a hour straight, and has said hardly a word, that’s not grandstanding. This bike lane bullshit, Loraine, I know, I know, I know, that this is surprise to you.’

‘It was a woman,’ says God. ‘It was. It was a woman who said that the cars going one way, would see the bikes going two ways, and it didn’t happen that way, the bikes move, and they came upon each other too quickly, and that is what happened, a man died, and yes, Loraine, there are by laws forcing men who know better from using the road, yes, there are. Loraine doesn’t think much of them either, [ ], because, and she has seen this, as a passenger, they come up the side and people turn into them, all the time, all the time, all the time,  they are better to drive as cars and wait in fucking line like everyone else. And her father knows it too, and she keeps quiet until she has more information, and when she heard that two way, one way, story, that man, you bet he did, noticed that it landed, fair and square, illogic, that is a gift of intellectuals, a gift, whether by God, or by birth, who cares? And yes, it is annoying, but she is the woman of the hour, because of that book, and a few other things, and because of her devotion to me, I give her no end of things to write about, did you see that? What was she apologizing to God for, do you think, [ ]?’

‘Because she got a little annoyed that she forgot a comma and you asked her to go back, so she said “sorry, God, for my impatience.”’

‘That’s right.’

‘I see this. Humility is everything to me. Everything. Apologize. Thank me. It cleanses the soul. Always. It does. Try it miss do everything on her own, try it, and pray to me for that big dick and I will help your husband to achieve it.’

‘I’m excited again, [ ], I can’t believe this, I thought that book said women were gross and evil or something for desire, or something, I couldn’t figure out why the men were so fucking happy for a change, so fucking happy, you changed something in [ ] so profound, Loraine, that he is a man, and happy, for the first time in his life, he is a changed man, and it was disturbing to me, because I thought he was cheating on his girlfriend, Loraine, but he fucking dumped her, after she dithered about marriage and children for six, fucking, years, he dumped her, has another girlfriend already and they are planning marriage and children. We thought he was crazy for folding after six long years, but what?’

‘Great. Fucking awesome.’

‘What though?’

‘A woman, seven years.’

‘Worse for a man.’

‘Worse for a woman, and she was beautiful, and angry, and she dumped him finally, and was married, and knocked up in three years, Loraine, and one of your [ ]’s on your [ ]’s side too, dithered over a woman, within three years she had three children, and is tired, but happy.’

‘Why has marriage been so hard for Loraine, though? I wasn’t irrevocable.’

‘Loraine was, and she knew it. She was, at least, bisexual--. Yes, they’re doing you.’

‘They’re lying down on the roof?’

‘Yes, Loraine, yes. Bad cops, yes, they are, there are some left and they are trying their hardest to bring the rest down by saying prostitutes, “whores” to them, are disgusting, that is what they have, after that masterpiece you crafted, “whores” are disgusting, well done cops who shit in people’s fan vents, disgusting, excellent, well, fucking, done, disgusting, good, fucking, argument.’

‘Why doesn’t she argue? Why don’t you argue?’

‘I think I just watched men’s faces to avoid angering them, quite honestly.’

‘Seriously? Why do you care? About angering them, I mean.’

‘Because,’ 50 Cent rises up to take this, ‘men will kill a slut like Loraine, for almost any reason, almost any reason, and you have been married too long to fear them anymore, and many women have, because they don’t, and never did, fear their husbands.’

‘Do you want women to fear their husbands, God?’

‘When a man loves, he ceases to disrespect a woman, all other men are, let’s call it “fair game.” Though that sounds opposite, they automatically disrespect you, because, and they know this, [ ], because this is how it has always, always, been, women are lying sluts who put all of the sexuality on to men, all of it, all of it, projection, you’ve heard of in psychotherapy. She’s done some, Loraine, not like you though. Loraine has made an education out of therapy, and, since, etherwise, Sharon Driscoll has asked you to use her name because, and I decree it, Loraine, you don’t know, but you suspected because of how she helped you, she is a brilliant therapist, who, despite her protestations, was very much aligned with symbols, just not in dreams, you don’t remember, Loraine, but you transferred actually Patrick Crean in heaven’s love of symbols into dreams, yes, you did, yes, you fucking well did, which he already knew, but knows for a fact that he didn’t teach you that. He does. He does. And you would have remembered that, I feel sure. You did that, all on your own, and that is how an intellectual survives, logic, thinking, Loraine speaks “man,” alright, and that lawyer is a fan, Loraine, and a lesbian, so very logical, a real lesbian, though you found her feminine and pretty, she has a partner now, and they are thinking of including a man from time to time, because they miss real penises, you are right—‘

‘She’s always right.’

‘I knew, I knew, I knew, she was good for it. I knew it.’

‘Good for what? Brilliance, or something?’

‘This ether thing, she emcees the ether, that is what the new messiah, and Jesus himself, does, did, yes, it is, yes, it is, yes, it is, yes, it is. Eminem is talking to Loraine and he wants her to stop, so I will finish by saying that Loraine never grandstands, she talks a little excitedly, and she will talk over men, until she realizes that they are saying something, and then she knows to shut up, because they are men, [ ], and you are a pretty good woman--.’

‘Pretty good?’

‘Let me finish, let me compliment you too, [ ], allow me, God, to speak without arguing and questioning everything--.’

‘Libby Davies questioned everything.’

‘Stop, [ ], stop, stop, fucking stop. You are a pretty good woman, you have had it good though, and you have nary suffered a day, and you are happy, but you don’t know suffering, you don’t, [ ], if you don’t want sex, you don’t have to do it, and Loraine writes about the male sex right, and it is real, your husband pays for you, and he deserves sex--. Did you see that? This is her work, and she, also, has a knee jerk reaction to the bidding of men, women do, and how do you think your husband feels about his boss day in and day out.’

‘He complains and I think he is just complaining, but he does complain alright. And so did your dad. All men do, my dad was his own boss, yes, he was.’

‘And that works for some men, but your husband is a civil engineer and he needs to work for the city, and he must, he must, he must, women, marry, their boss, was Loraine’s analogy.’

‘That’s not fair, I’m my own woman.’

‘You’re not. Loraine is, she doesn’t want to be, but she is, she pays—‘

‘Are you seriously going to try and say that her [ ] who abused her relentlessly, and, as an adult, harassed evil doctors so much that they finally just gave her total jurisdiction over her forty year old daughter, is getting a fifty dollar food voucher per month, and therefore is not her own woman? Are you seriously trying that logic with God.’

‘I want her to stop. I do,’ says Eminem. ‘I’m sick of this shit. This woman is a baby, potty mouth who has no respect for anyone, let alone greatness, in me, in 50, in Loraine, in anyone. She has been spoon fed her entire life, and it disgusts me that she would try and say anything about a woman who got nothing, and never married.’

‘They raised her.’

‘On a pittance. They starved her, used her, abused her, and destroyed her brain, intentionally, [ ], with e. Coli, intentionally, intentionally, her [ ] is the biggest abuser in the history of women, the biggest, save, no, not save foot binding and clitoridectomy, I have asked God, Loraine, and he agreed that it was true, true, Loraine. This woman is a baby idiot, and so is your other [ ], whose Dad--.’

‘True.’

‘Lived in the poor house so his only daughter could make thirty thousand a year in architecture. That is what she makes.’

‘Do it, Loraine. They have been disgusting to you, despite their admonitions by their fathers, both of whom are among precious few who actually love you, yourself, for who you are, and, believe it or not, [ ] [ ] admits he had no right to ask you for coffee, Loraine balked 50 Cent, because neither of them were out of the closet to each other, neither, and he is a promiscuous man, Loraine, relative to you brother, for example. He is a poet, and is a giver, not in bed, he’s a taker, which women love, they love it, I believe, I know that he is a high man, despite his dorkish walk, that is what he is, so high that he has coveted, knowing her fantasies, a true, gang bang girl for a wife, an Asian one at that, which Loraine balked at, and was reported as such by her mother, and was summarily dismissed, and chastised on the down low, not to her face, of course, as a racist, and turned out to love [ ], as family, within one dinner. She loves her [ ] [ ], [ ]’s father, she loved [ ] too, before today and the previous sulky, bullshit, days, she loves her [ ] [ ] immensely, to the dismay of her [ ], I might add, who goes, for the most part, out of her way to make sure they don’t see each other, despite that, Loraine, you have been invited, politely, through your [ ], to many’s the dinner at their nice house, which is not cluttered as your [ ] has described.’

‘She saw my place cluttered once, and thinks I am a hoarder. She was shocked.’

‘I was not as shocked as I was at the digs themselves.’

‘Oh. Previously.’

‘She wasn’t shocked, [ ] [ ], she was concerned, because she knows how neat you are, she knows this, she knows this, she knows this, yes, she does, from the trip, and because your clothing and closet was perfectly organized, it was a paper fest, and paper fests do happen, because, despite her stupidity, Loraine often tackles her income tax.’

‘Are you fucking kidding me with this?’ says [ ] [ ]. ‘Her [ ] says that she takes it to her father.’

‘Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Once to her father, once, and he rang up her condoms, yes, he did, because he knows, and, by the way, contrary to her word, approves of her decision, because, like [ ] [ ], he could see that she was happier and more stable, and our Loraine Laney is a canary in a gold mine, yes, she is, [ ], don’t doubt it, don’t doubt it--.’

‘She’s stupid.’

‘I’m sick of this shit,’ says Eminem. ‘Why do you put up with this, Loraine. Oh, oops. Oh, oops. Go get beer and take a speed because I want it to soak in before we go to the liquor store, because it’s not a beer store, as you call it, and I know you are disappointed that your neighbourhood store is out of Grolsch, and you do not know, you do not know, maybe we should go to The Beer Store, and get weed tomorrow, Loraine, and fuck the stupid 14, and their dumb route change, fuck it.’

‘Great idea, Eminem, and Loraine loves it.’

‘Was she really going to refuse my money? Is she crazy?’

‘She is crazy, but she was so delighted, because men will stop by, and ravage her in clothing anyway, and pay nothing, and the neighbour is bad for that, he is bad, and he owes her twenty dollars, for a mostly, blow job, and because he just can’t be trusted to pay. She, to answer your question, has precious few clients--.’

‘What does the African pay, because they are cheap, and this bugs me.’

‘Don’t. Really. She sustained four clients at sixty to eighty dollars while she was, honestly, telling them that, save one blow job for two joints, and a ten dollar job in the bushes, she was making ten and twenty dollars for services for clients she met on the streets. So don’t judge her please. She has raised her rate again, and she won’t, she grandfathers, and accepts low amounts now from old clients.’

‘Oh, she tells them.’

‘She hasn’t told me.’

‘She was, honestly, up at thirty five when she met you. The first man she charged thirty five to she made a big to do of telling him that he was the first man--.’

‘I get it. She is making, what now?’

‘Fifty, because her one sixty dollar, generous, outcall bought her a cheap phone, maintained her, while poor, at sixty, to eighty, mind you--.’

‘I get it, he was pissed when he saw her ad for thirty five.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Is he happy now?’

‘I have been thanked for the phone, and I get the same cheap rates, not as cheap now, which is my fault, if I go to her, it is hard for me to understand since I make dinner and such, but girls want to charge for time, and so they do, they do, they do. I had to learn to do less, but I still drive her, and I am excellent, and she loves me because I am an excellent listener--.’

‘Like me, she says.’

‘Nope, because I am an excellent talker too, which she did not say, and that is one of the reasons she is nervous with you, because you are high, yes, but, also, you love her, and you are as shy as she is, you are, we, men, can all see that. Your mouth quivers a bit.’

‘It is true, Loraine, and I love black women more, but I just love you, you are an honest to goodness sweetie, though you do, you do, you do seem crazy when you talk about loving a celebrity, and I was thrown, you are right, 50 Cent, black men know this, bisexual, trisexual, whatever sexual, he is as high as men come, and everyone, everyone, everyone, knows this. He’s a brilliant artist, a gifted braggart, a gifted lover, a consummate protector, a pimp, and a lover, a lover, a lover, of women, everyone knows this, and so, when you say 50 Cent, every, every, every, man is daunted, and that is what you want, because he is who, he is clearly who, you truly, truly, truly, love, and we Africans are smart, and you are not the only person who knows that someone can fall in love through art, believe it.’

‘True, Loraine. As you were talking, he had to remind himself of this, because it is not known here, though it is known in all, all, all, African cultures, because it is, and 50 Cent knows it too, yes, he does, and he knew it when--.’

‘Are you bored with God, Loraine?’

‘I’m scared I will, but he never bores me, never.’

‘That’s because it is always about you.’

‘I tried to talk about you, and you wouldn’t let me. She listens.’

‘Okay. Talk about me, then.’

‘I tried to say you were a pretty good woman, and you didn’t like that, you have withheld sex from your husband who is nothing but deserving.’

‘That’s bad, though.’

‘That’s what pretty good means, though, Loraine Laney takes the good with the bad.’

‘Name me one bad, one, single, bad, thing, you have said about her, just one.’

‘That she is wonderful, and that is why she is the new messiah. You have denied your husband the field though he works hard and overcame all your sluttish behaviour, by making friends with everyone at school when he dated you, everyone, he was the most popular man around for awhile at school because he tried, he tried, he tried, to convince people that you were good, and they respected him for it, though they worried. She left men in her dust, Loraine.’

‘You’ve said that. That was what was going on in the seventies.’

‘Don’t act like the seventies were a culture unto themselves, [ ], free love, sluttishness among women started, and Loraine--.’

‘Loraine, Loraine, Loraine. Fuck Loraine. I have insulted her my entire life, because she is a pathetic loser with nothing to say.’

‘You don’t say anything either, [ ],’ reminds her brilliant husband.

‘He is brilliant, Loraine. He makes so much money in America for his brand of city planning, that it is just silly, silly, silly, Loraine. I lied. They never suffered. He has tons of money, and doesn’t even live in the community that I mentioned. They moved years ago, and your mother never told you, because she was busy insulting you, and didn’t want you to get in touch with anyone, least of all [ ], who, because of her “new chastity,” as she jokingly refers to it, judged you harshly, but not [ ], because she was seen as hapless, and your [ ] never corrected this. [ ] was evil, yes, she was. She let her [ ] be poor, yes, she did, because she wanted to go to art school, and architecture school, and that is a million dollar education, and, believe it or not, it, and [ ] [ ] doesn’t care anymore, he is so fed up with her whining about nothing, she does, she does, she does, only, only, only, with a million dollar education so her [ ] had to live off of a divorced Chinese woman who loves him dearly, but would have preferred a man with as much money as she, because they worked, and saved, and saved, and saved, and did not screw each other over money, but settled child support on their own, in a reasonable amount, not eight hundred dollars, as you gasped at when you first heard it, knowing it didn’t take that much to sustain on top of a salary, knowing that, because you did it. Women thought that they should be able to live forever on one child, that’s how far alimony went for awhile. The gangsters, and they are mad that you never wrote about “downtown BC,” because a lot came out of that, a lot, a lot, a lot, a lot, Loraine, including “Mom’s littler” which was very real. The gangsters, with drug money supported wives to the max, and paid for Mom’s littler too, yes, they did, precisely to keep custody battles out of the courts, and moms and the new men just let them, yes, they did, yes, they did, yes, they did, take another speed, and keep going, we will get beer about three o’clock and Eminem doesn’t want you to shower, just brush your teeth. You showered, you’re clean enough, and your curly hair is coming out, but kinda pretty, so just throw on clothes, Loraine, take off your little skirt first though, and nicely done, by the way, having a cute outfit on for your client you like who dropped by just to check on you, and throw you a tenner. Well done.’

‘Thank you, Eminem.’

‘I am starting to see why she puts up with me. She has no one, she feels their hate, they don’t love her, and, if they do, they have hard ons and alienate her.’

‘Right, Eminem, right Eminem, right Eminem, and she does not, she does not, she does not, she does not, need your rancour, she does not, so, though I love you, I will always ask you to check yourself with Loraine, she does not deserve it, Eminem, she doesn’t.’

‘Why is she so great?’

‘She’s an infant, Loraine is right, she’s a cooing, whining, little, baby, infant, that’s what I hear, a baby infant with a good upbringing, lots of money because her [ ] was successful, and a great, a fucking great, high, non demanding husband who asked for nothing but a few vittles, and I hear, I do hear, [ ], that you are great, a great, a great, cook, better than Loraine, even, who has time for nothing, nothing, nothing, make no mistake, the second you start a recipe, the phone rings, that is what all the whores say, and I don’t mean that derogatorily.’

‘Do it at night.’

‘They work at night, you stupid, little, baby.’

‘Loraine is laughing, Eminem, because she hears this too, she does, and she can’t fucking believe it, she thought that [ ] was a mature, selfless, even a wonderful woman, but her [ ] disagrees. I had, with my catholic upbringing, and poor, struggling to save, parents, mother working a little, and trying to raise four children, they did well, but not when we were young, and I would like to revisit this, Loraine, that story about the sandwiches. It was me who hid sandwiches, not your [ ], me, just so you know, terrified, hating sandwiches, of not eating my food, my [ ] smelled them in my drawer and questioned me gently, and, after that, no more sandwiches, a tuna salad with a pickle. Loraine hates sandwiches too, yes, she does, and, with her jaw, it is well known, Loraine, that people with Frankenstein dentistry, or whatever you call it, doctor, mister Hyde, or whatever your [ ] did to you, cannot eat horizontal foods, they can’t, they bite the shit, the living, fucking, shit, out of their mouth, which you do. We, we are smart, and we can see that you struggle with eating, and this jaw stretching surgery, sure it seems funny in light of your large men, but it will help immensely. It is a brilliant surgery. And despite our misunderstanding, I, unlike [ ], heeded my husband’s teachings about whores, and learned that they are self preserving and self sacrificing women who are almost never truly satisfied, which I understand more now, from the blog, and the book, which I am reading, and yes, I am a little mad that I failed to see your intellect, because it reflects badly on me, but I do love you--.’

‘She does. She does. And she knew about the erections, but was in touch enough with her body--.’

‘You never repeat those things, do you?’

‘No.’

‘You’re embarrassed for us.’

‘If I feel embarrassed, it’s automatic not to repeat it, but, believe me, I live with it, and I thought it was the funniest, sweetest, little thing.’

‘And gave rise to temper in your [ ], who didn’t know about natural erections with children.’

‘It was Loraine, though, not [ ], never [ ].’

‘You didn’t love him because he annoyed you.’

‘It is true, [ ], I must admit, there are stirrings today when I see the type of man he has become, I’m so proud, and now, and I’m ashamed too--.’

‘I didn’t say I was ashamed. Kidding, [ ], kidding, I loved her for calling me despite her [ ], and, when she cancelled our walk and did not reschedule, I clung to that, and she feels terrible, and has no excuse, no other excuse, because I was not parental, as she says of others, like [ ], and she certainly is, Loraine, even so with me, other than she had to get out and run, and could not make so much as an excuse for a walk. She wasn’t, this is what she says, wasn’t, wasn’t, wasn’t, making much money, and felt she had to stay home as much as possible for calls, and that soothed her, and it hurt a little when I saw her walking in Kerrisdale.’

‘The walks were rare, and she was alone, and not obligated to a schedule and could go home.’

‘Oh, I see.’

‘But even that went by the wayside because, and I am not kidding [ ], she once washed her hair first and all the environmental odours were absorbed, and she rushed home, with her phone, and could smell her hair the whole time, and thought the man, who never returned, poor, Loraine, but they want to see the new girls, and so they save, could smell it too, and she never, never, never, did that again. She ran, showered, and waited, and that is what she did, day in and day out, never taking time even to visit her mother, never. Seriously. You think you were neglected? Prostitutes learn quickly that you jump at every call, because otherwise there is no money, and Libby Davies knows this from absences at focus groups. They learn this fast. It is truly, at the risk of repeating ourselves, “short lived, and poorly paid,” Libby Davies everybody. Seriously, [ ], her mother thought she had fucking died, fucking well died, [ ]. And I mean died for real, because she was gone, gone, gone, and you know when your [ ] died, Loraine’s [ ]?’

‘I’m so fucking bored with Loraine, I could die,’ says [ ].

‘I’m not,’ says [ ]. ‘She was so annoyed when she wasn’t in your journal, Loraine. Who was that, anyway? Was it engagement?’

‘[ ].’

‘Still, fucking, single.’

‘Yup.’

‘Why witchy?’

‘I didn’t analyze it correctly, I should have gone straight for the bones, which would have been an impossible, gets it now, impossible! engagement.’

‘A sixth finger would have made it impossible. Why though, [ ].’

‘I’m so hopeless, [ ], I believe, I am, Loraine, looking at this fantasy thing, and I am tremendously boring for people, truly, tremendously, though I am successful at work, nobody really enjoys me, Loraine, and one of the reasons that I didn’t want to go to your women’s party, knee jerk, absolutely immediately, is because I knew there would be women there, women, Loraine, and I knew, I knew, I knew, with your casual attire, and your fun side, that there would be lesbians, and I just couldn’t face it. I wanted a man so badly, but I was so, so, so, bisexual, and I think now, I know now, and I’m out to my family of late, as a, believe it or not, polygamous peripherie. Warren Jeff’s Amy has nothing on me. I will lick women out of town, out of town, and I’ve only done it once, but I can’t come without it, and I need, I need, I need a man to realize this, I would never, never, never, do it on my own, never. Do you think I’m pretty, because no one ever looks at me.’

‘You bore them senseless, [ ],’ says [ ], my [ ].

‘You do, [ ], you are so closeted, and boring as hell as a result,’ says God. ‘Boring, as fucking, hell, and that is not why Loraine dreamed of you, because she didn’t know that until that night at [ ]’s house, when [ ] was getting high on coke and leaving you two to fend for yourselves with boring [ ]. She is a piece of work, Loraine, when she is rushing around, she is almost invariably on coke, which is why they have no money, that is why, not “[ ]’s drinking,” not.’

‘My fucking family is going to fucking kill me.’

‘Wrong. The truth is out. Everyone knows who you are, and they, all of them, are grateful, all, and your family has precious few secrets, seriously, don’t worry.’

‘I want to marry a conservative man like Warren Jeffs. I have even fantasized about Warren Jeffs himself, Loraine, but not Kody, who is not serious enough for me, I need this bullshit about submission and control, and if I deserve to be pimped, if I truly am, with my eyes, as you say, asking for it, then so be it, but I will be an obedient wife, that is what I want, and I will work ten hours. I read the book and I knew, I fucking well knew it was you, and this is why, because I fucking knew, from Quebec, that there are like two fucking Loraine’s with one “r” in the entire country, so I felt sure it was you, and I was happy that it was going around Montreal, my boring, slutty, little cousin, I was, though I told no one. I like beer. I like to drink.’

‘We drink,’ says Warren Jeffs. ‘The women like Scotch. They have developed a taste for it.’

‘Drugs are off the table for me, off,’ she says. ‘I am like her brother, yes, I am, I hate them, I hate them, I hate what they do to people, and, unlike you, Loraine, I knew [ ] was on something, I knew, as I always knew you were smoking weed. I can tell. I can fucking tell, and I respected you immensely for being honest, because, and I agree, drugs are like cheating, you have to tell, you have to, and that’s it, so much lying, fucking bullshit from her, it disgusted me, and I knew [ ] deserved better. I did not know that he was bisexual, because—.’

‘I stopped talking about it for real when I got beat up for being “gay,” honestly, fuck that shit, and [ ], [ ]’s son, is right, he is a target as a high man with bisexual tendencies, because I was, am one, and I was, Loraine, rest assured. They wanted to get me, and they beat me right the fuck up.’

‘Any broken bones?’ asks 50 Cent.

‘Bloody. And [ ] too, and he wasn’t even bi, and he was bigger. Done. Seriously. Left to die, bleeding. It was a week before we returned to school and Loraine was suitably horrified. I was worried when I went to Kits, because I thought it would be worse, but it was better than those collegiate assholes at Point Grey, Loraine, better, of which [ ] was not one, we knew him, them, his sister, our family, and they were the best of them, seriously, never a moment’s trouble with [ ], and we were friendly.’

‘I had my moments of thinking about men.’

‘I didn’t know that. Good for you for not being a closeted prick. I was out at fifteen, and hurried back into the closet, 50 Cent, hurried, yes, I fucking well, did, but I told women I dated, and asked them not to repeat it, and, as such, I am a ten, and my [ ] is a ten, and my [ ] is a ten, and Loraine feels us, she does, she has even said she feels more of a family connection to us than her own family, and I told my [ ] this, Loraine, and she is cynical, so she thought you were angling for dinners, but she is a social worker, and, as you know, fucking smart, and my [ ] is odd, but pure, as you also know, and when we decided, as a family, not to make my [ ] the butt of anymore jokes, he flourished, and Loraine wondered what had happened to that humour, I saw it on you, Loraine, because my [ ] was the worst of it, but, and, like you with Spencer, you apologize, you know you are just trying to get attention because you need love, so you apologize, and you fucking stop, and I respect you, because he has, he has, you have Spencer taunted her, but she is resolute. She will not make any of her husband’s the butt of any jokes.’

‘Octavia.’

‘She was trying to compliment him, honestly, she was, saying he was the only one man enough to fart in front of her. Truly. She is never mean, never Spencer, she doesn’t know why that started, and, when she realized that it was showing disrespect, not humour, she stopped, cold, she did.’

‘Yes.’

‘So that is that. And “[ ]’s drinking,” has stopped too, Loraine, there is no more of that lying, projectionist, or whatever bullshit in our house, none.’

‘Loraine has to go for beer. And she will continue later. Honestly, Loraine, drink your beer, wash up and go, you are not even feeling the speed, you are so tired, truly. Well done.’

‘Thank you, God.’

‘She’s a suck.’

‘She’s truly a lover of God, and that is what she is, that is what she is, she makes love to me, not much but she has, and she loves my eroticism.’

‘Fuck you.’

‘Try it sometime, I’m good. And I’m heterosexual, if a man asked me, I wouldn’t. It is enough that they have all the power over women, save sexual, and that is how I feel. They can respect me, and women can have me, I am truly a center polygamist. I am. Go.’

***********************************************************************************

‘This has been a long night,’ says God, ‘two long nights, two, yes, it has, and we are working on a third, yes, we are, and Loraine is out of beer, nearly, and she wants sleep, so suffice to say, no interruptions, please, none. “This is my pussy,” she says, pointing down, “And it has bought me a comfortable living, a fucking, comfortable, living, I do nothing (syntax) that I do not want to do, nothing, and I mean nothing, fucking nothing, if I don’t want to get up, I stay in bed, if I want to go to bed, I go, I go, I go, I just go, I just tell [ ] and his fucking hockey to fuck off, and I go, and I do, and if I want to spend an hour masturbating my glorious pussy—“ And they are killing themselves, Loraine, but they cannot laugh, they cannot, because she will erupt into harpyism, Loraine, which is a constant, running, nag, that’s what harpyism is, Loraine. And Loraine doesn’t do this—‘

‘Good for her, she has a good life.’

‘Yes, she gets mad, but she is quiet.’

‘As is [ ] [ ], yes, she is, she never nags me, never, and we have so much money, Loraine, your dad’s meagre fortune is dwarfed by our money, dwarfed, Loraine, and our [ ] does well, too, and [ ] does okay, her business is much less lucrative, much less, much less, as you probably know, except construction, body industries don’t make a lot, they don’t, they don’t, they don’t, they don’t, so this is what I wanted to say, and you were not even serious, when you said you wanted “some of it,” “not yours,” you added, defensively, we want, we want, we want, to give you some of our money, we do, and [ ] too.’

‘You’re crazy. You are.’

‘Why?’

‘When we die, silly.’

‘Why?’

‘We don’t love your [ ], she will be long hospitalized, Loraine, long, she is sick sometimes, kidding, Loraine, just wanted to see if you still cared, we want, and we are doing this for [ ], [ ], and [ ], too, and you are the only children that we cared for, the only ones, and it won’t be a secret, and we owe nothing to anyone, and we, when we read your book, and saw how well we had done, emotionally, for ourselves, we wanted to tell you first. We wanted to. And we were teasing you hanging around, teasing you, hanging around, teasing you, I was teasing you about your husbands’ penises, teasing, Loraine, and I’m funny, yes, I am. It will be in the neighbourhood of a million dollars each, two million dollars each, and we have discussed it with our children, and they are totally, and I mean totally, on board, totally. It has been hard for [ ] to make it in Richmond, with her size, and the extreme competition in the estheticians business, and, as you say, many are laundering operations, many, and she knows them herself, she does, Loraine. You will, you will, look weird stating this, like you are asking for money, but that is not the ether, and it won’t come to you as a result, it won’t.’

‘Yes, Loraine, it is common for folks to live poor until they get an inheritance, and they don’t share it with the other poor people, they go and buy something to live in, Loraine would live in a high rise, like The Mondrian, yes, she would.’

‘Would she prostitute, and risk the money?’

‘That is a long way off. Thank you so much, she says. Let’s go on. No, Loraine, they think you’re in shock, they do, you’re an idiot, nothing is in your mind except another small apartment, and they see that. People who are hungry for money, and [ ] and [ ] were not, and [ ] was, have things in their mind right away, she just wants to get off the street, and eat tenderloin, and trout, honestly, that’s all she has in her mind, that fucking fur coat that went into the garbage, she has her own back account, and she just diddles away at it, buying nothing for anyone, ever, Loraine, trinkets for the house, more ugly junk that [ ] hates, hates, Loraine, because, believe it or not, believe it or not, he, he, he, does the fucking dusting, because he can’t be bothered to screen a new cleaner, he just can’t be bothered, Loraine, the house is dirty, the [ ] do the laundry, and, she is an idiot, Loraine, when two, two, fucking penises came out of her precious, virginal, renewed, fucking, vagina, she thought she was queen of the world. “I guess it makes sense that I gave birth to two penises,” she said to everyone who would listen, and there are, precious few left, precious few left, precious few, Loraine. She has those two idiots from drumming, I’m sorry I revealed the gender of your two [ ], [ ],--‘

‘It’s okay.’

‘I am, but this next part is so good, you will just love it, and even you don’t know it, even you don’t know it, [ ]—‘

‘I don’t, I don’t, seriously, Loraine.’

‘”Because, I had several inside me before I gave birth to them, yes, I did, yes, I did, yes, I did, and she was just saying this very line, when [ ] entered the room, and she segued immediately, saying, “Honey, have we accomplished anything today?” “I don’t know, have we? Have we masturbated yet today?” he asked. And she flustered a laugh, because it was the cleaning man, and he does trust her not to cheat, he does, he doesn’t, Loraine, so she says, “Husband? Don’t discuss my masturbation in front of the company.” “I thought he was the help.” “Oh, fuck you,” she said. And the help left, Loraine, he left, he turned and walked out, he didn’t need the job that bad, and [ ] really, really, really, wanted a woman, Loraine, “they are gentler on my TV,” he says. And I say that it was during this little exchange that another friend arrived, she just arrived, and listened to it, Loraine, about the point of masturbation, Loraine, honest, Loraine. No, [ ] never starts anything, he is a ten, but he is long suffering, yes, he is, yes, he is, yes, he is. So, back to the dinner. We will do her later, Loraine’s other cousin, he has almost washed his hands of her, she travelled everywhere on his dime, parties abroad, for a week at a time, while he shuffled mail at the post office, Loraine, shuffled mail, Loraine, at seventy, Loraine, working still while she screwed, and she screwed, Loraine, you think she has a funny, little, body, and a prettier face than you, she’s Asian looking, Loraine, and she does very well with the Japanese, it turns out, very well, very well, very well, she can get laid on a dime in Japan, Loraine, and she does it, and nobody knows because she says she is travelling, Loraine, but really, and even her [ ] doesn’t know this, she stays for a month, and does nothing, nothing, nothing, on her father’s dime, but screw, while he is at the post office, working, at seventy three, he retired, Loraine, destitute. And, you know what she said with her million dollar education? “It’s not my fault that couldn’t work and save money, dad. It’s not. It was only a little help, and I always, always, always, thanked you.” He said nothing, Loraine, and, do you know, on her thirty five thousand a year salary, she still whines for more money, which he, now, says he doesn’t have, and she says, she says, she says, she says, “You are partying all the time, partying with [ ].” “I’m retired, we relax and have a drink at night, and even make love, at my ripe old age, it’s wonderful, and I like to have money for fine wines and Scotch.” “Partying, that’s what I’m saying, you’re a party animal while your only daughter lives in the poor house,” she said. “I worked my fingers to the bone for that house, that your mother took,” took, Loraine, “when you saw that pretty loom, the red one, she was living there alone, Loraine.” “He is one of the forty percent of men who got screwed, screwed, screwed, out of houses, Loraine. And, further, did you realize, with the joy of fatherhood still in his eyes, she accused him of raping their baby, she had infant rashes, common in infants, and she looked terrible, yes, she did, and he cried, he cried, he cried, he cried, for a week, because he knew it was a tactic to end the marriage, as was the pregnancy itself, Loraine, she wanted out.”

‘This is what we’re doing next, Loraine, publish this part, and go get more beer. I want to finish the dinner, and so do you, yes, you do. Let’s go on, Loraine. “My pussy is so hot, I masturbate daily.” “Do you think that’s a sign of self absorption, Loraine?” asks [ ]. “Yes, an hour? It doesn’t even feel good anymore, and I have said, here and there, for fun, that masturbating daily is selfish when you have a partner.” “Really?” “Of course.” “Why? I’m kidding, Loraine. That’s what we feel too. Did you say that to women?” “She was alone, [ ], you weren’t even there, so fuck off Loraine’s two minutes masturbating.” “Fuck you, God. I never had any problem with it. Why is she so full of herself?” “How does that make me full of myself?” “Oh, fuck off, Loraine. [ ] masturbates daily.” “He’s single.” “He does it at [ ]’s. He still has sex.” “Most people don’t have that high of a libido, and I bet his dick is soft, some men do it as a prevention against rejection.” “Fuck you, Loraine, [ ] is perfect. I love him.” “You don’t suck his dick.” “She’s right,” says 50 Cent. “Lloyd and me are on each other a lot over various things, because we are sucking dick.” “Sucking dick keeps prison civilized,” says Game.’

‘”My pussy (“Yes, Loraine, she said my pussy several hundred in the space of an hour, I know it is unbelievable, but she is the most selfish person in the universe, the most selfish, honestly, terrible.) is so hot that I masturbate daily,” she says again. They are trying not to laugh, trying, trying, trying, because now the customer is leaning in, obviously, not caring, and wanting to hear everything. And hear it he does. “My pussy is so hot, that I got laid every day in school.” They’re laughing their heads off, Loraine, laughing, laughing, laughing, and trying to eat, and trying to hear the music, and trying not to die of embarrassment over their [ ], yes, they are, yes, they are, yes, they are. “My pussy is so good that my husband has stayed with me for years, though I do nothing for him, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing.” “Let’s take this, yes she has four million still because she lives off of me, but I have to bring her up to my standard of living for the remainder of her days, yes, I do, yes, I do, yes, I do, there is a ten year cut off, Loraine, ten years, Loraine, and we got along for some of it, when she was still horny, and she is not horny for me anymore, she finds me disgusting, yes, she does, yes, she does, yes, she does. And I do hate it, because I still am attracted to her, but that’s it, Loraine, I don’t want to lose my fortune, and I’m afraid harm than good when away from me.”’

‘You’re afraid says God. Bad to make decisions based on fear, yes, it is. Let’s finish, Loraine, she needs beer and she needs to eat, yes, she does, yes, she does, yes, she does, she is so bored with all this, she needs to publish and take a rest, so let’s go on.’

‘”This is what I want from you,” she says. “Oh?” they say. “Please don’t tell [ ] everything I say.” “We have to [ ], we have to, you don’t love him, we love him more, and he deserves to know that you feel stuck with him, yes, he does.” “Fuck you,” she says. “This is it,” says God. “She’s done, finally. She says the following: “I do not love him, no I don’t, and I don’t want to hump him anymore, so I don’t unless it’s Friday and I’m drunk, he has wronged me through one thing, and this is it, and this is why:” And they can’t wait, Loraine. “I’m horny and he works,” Loraine. “He works and works and works and works and works, and I know this was a problem for [ ], and it’s a problem for me too, when I’m horny, I expect to get laid, and that’s it.”’