DO NOT DO THIS IN PUBLIC!

A friend's Facebook post directed me to a fascinating read in the Root, where this caught my eye: "So imagine doing exactly that, reminiscing on the late Eartha Kitt’s sexually charged portrayal of Boomerang seductress Lady Eloise, when some white lady materializes out of thin air and taps into her mutant power of not minding her motherfucking business."
The rest of that article is, of course, predictable.
Barbecue Becky and Permit Patty.


“You don’t belong here! You were talking about sex in public! Are you having sex in public? Because that’s what you screamed out loud.”


Let us talk about sex in public, please. It's a fascinating subject, and obviously appeals to many people, judging by what some folks decide to wear to mall. And by all of popular music since the sixties.
It's a deeply beloved past time.

And some of us like to watch people humping.

Mating displays in bars, for instance.

Well, it's not that we actually like seeing that, but hey, it's right in front of us, and you are putting on a show. So we watch, fascinated, like observing an accident in slow motion, while you rub and bump and lick each other, just as you probably learned from other fine people or parents of your class and background, about whom I shall say nothing but Christian things.
Because far be it from me to talk shit about y'all.

Some folks aren't allowed in the Frozen Food section of the Supermarket anymore. And there's a reason for that.

Body fluids.



Yeah, ya know life is too short to deal with all the Becky and Patty, so rather than reading people the riot act for being dipshits, I usually just step aside while muttering vile things under my breath. Or sometimes not so under.
I've unfriended people for racism and republican shitheadedness.
And people have unfriended me for being a liberal.
Or various other reasons.



By the way, there's gluten in many things, even in your macrobiotic vegan clothing and make-up, vaccinate your damned kids, and no you are not a deeply spiritual being. Or a poet. Yoga in sweaty groups is sheer evil.
Those colourful native fabrics make you look like a clown.
The whales hate you.


In other news: there are approximately three hundred calories in a Scotch Egg. Don't ask me why I know this, or what I shall do with this data.
It probably tastes better with Bearnaise.

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