I don't really talk about Venusian Girl with anyone much. A close friend, a snippet here or there with someone close maybe. And I didn't write about her to you guys. I mean...who ARE you guys anyway? Random strangers? A couple of you have become friends I think, by virtue of the fact I read your blogs regularly and have done so for many months so you feel familiar. And I don't mind exposing myself generally, but as always, there is the other people. I think it has something to do with wanting to protect those you love.
Warning: This post may ramble - I just noticed I am figuring stuff out as I write....it's usually good for me but it invariably means some rambling will occur!
I wrote about my meeting of Venusian Girl here. I met her a year ago. A year and a month and a half ago to be more precise. And I told her how I felt pretty much right away. And then we did this little dance for something like 8 months and then I told her ok. Make your mind up or get lost. And she didn't make her mind up so I cut her out of my life and never even thought about her. I spent time with another woman that is the longest I have been with anyone in over a year. Something like a month and a bit. Then Venusian Girl did her sneaky, please notice me, I am here, kind of want to be in your life, please say hello to me thing. She's English by birth (apparently, but I know she's an alien freak though) so this is the equivalent for say an Arabic woman of covering herself in ashes and tearing at her hair whilst wailing to the skies.
And all of a sudden I was thinking about her again. But now I had perspective. And the son-of-a-bitching thing is.... not a Goddamned thing changed. She Is still The One. She fits. I fit with her. So... so why is she not on my dick 24/7?
(I know girls, I'm a romantic at heart)
Well. And then it came to me. I know when she moved away and how. After we'd spent that resurrection week-end together (Easter) and everything was confused and emotional and I just felt it that now was the time to resolve an old, old, old, score and I left to go to Italy and find a person. And in some way I must have been... there is in my life a...something...a sense I have, something guiding me.
That person had moved. The coincidences that stacked up to my finding him again were more than coincidences. There is a ... something like I said...a sense of fate. Or is it faith. Guiding me and my life.
And she was alone and I thought about her that whole week-end. And she was at a party. And I have no way of knowing this. But I just suddenly knew. She did something with someone. Whether it was a whole football team in a gangbang or whether it was just a random smooch, or maybe just a thought too, the next day that peculiar sense of her got to her and then when we saw each other again she said she didn't want to see anymore. She said she didn't feel it. Because she rationalised her behaviour after the fact.
Surely....Surely if I gangbang a whole football team (or whatever it was) it must mean I don't love that guy. I couldn't possibly. It must mean I don't care enough about him. And I should do the right thing and tell him.
Though it takes you a week to do so. And you've got cocaine inside you when you do see me to tell me. Though I only find out later.
And it threw me. Because her words did not match what I felt. I don't mean what I felt inside me. I mean what I felt inside her. And her eyes were strange. And it confused me. My body was telling me the opposite of what she was saying and what I was seeing. That mute thing that just knows was disagreeing with reality all around me. Without using any words. ANY words. It's a dichotomical thing being a Martian.
This was before I tried cocaine. Martial Law. Be straight. Do all the bent things and do them all standing up straight. Take it like a man. All that. No drugs. Ever. Never touched that shit. Pathetic, weak assed, insect-distraction.
But she did that stuff regularly for many years. Hanging with the wrong people because what else are you going to do if you're smarter than everyone around you and your brain goes so quick you get bored with normal humans? I guess if you're a soldier boy you go looking for all the places to crash into and measure yourself against to get over the fear you grow up with. And if you're a Houri* girl you do the same. It's just different places and different ways. The fear is the same.
And what else are you going to do if you like using your body and have it used? And is it what you want?
No.
But what else is going?
And even if it (he) comes along... would you even recognise it Venusian Girl?
How could you?
When everything male you have know has let you down. Starting with the very first male.
And so I try it with you a month or more later. Because I am not scared Venusian Girl. When I left to go look for that old battle of mine without plan or thought or anything other than this sense inside of me that now is the time and that it has come, you looked at me a little scared and said to me I was reckless.
I am not reckless blue-eyed girl. Monsters and War scare men and women and children.
But only because they get frightened and so do not study them. And why should they study them. Soldiers died a long time ago. Might as well have been Mars for the distance there is now between soldiers that are men and what gets labelled as that now.
I am not scared. And I am not reckless. But if I can seem so to my enemies or people who know not of things martial...so much the better.
And I am not scared of doing any of those things that "soldier boys" are not supposed to do. So I snort coke with you. Let me see this thing that has such a hold on you even though you deny it. And I do. And it is nothing. It is less powerful than I thought. I set my mind before it and I go through the three days of neurological depression enforced by the laws of physics. And I learn about the eyes getting stuck. And a-sudden I learn how I was confused when you lied to me about not feeling it. You lied to yourself but it was not enough to fool my wordless body which senses true things. You did fool my ears and you did fool my eyes. And maybe you confused my brain. But none of that is enough. I can only listen to what feels true inside. And not even you can fool that part of me Venusian Girl.
And yet you do not leave. You try to stay in play. And then we drift apart. And what are we gonna do since we both like using our bodies and having them used Venusian Girl? So of course we fuck ourselves into other people and do it with abandon and do it to heal and if not to forget, to get enough distance from each other.
Do you make that mistake Venusian Girl?
Do you make the mistake of thinking just because I might be in love with you, just because you might be The One I will not cut you out from my heart in a moment and walk away and never look back? Do you really think I am someone that will not or cannot do that? It would be a foolish mistake. I told you long ago, when we first met. Do not think that just because I may seem to be going where you think you want me to go, that I am doing as you want. I only and always, will only do as *I* want. And I do not expect The One, whoever she might be or even if I find her, to do any different.
If you get to be with me Venusian Girl it will only be one way. It will be because you give yourself to me. And not a little. Not most of you. Not 99.99% of you. And not because *I* want it. But because *you* want it.
Every.
Single.
Atom.
Of you. And I will allow you to be near me only if you give it all, your whole body, your whole mind, your whole soul, given of your own free will. Because if you're The One, if I Love you... If I finally have learnt this word Love...
Well.
Then.
You will have all of me. Without reservation or hesitation. Because if I can't trust you with every little part of me absolutely, then what would be the point. What is the point if you don't love like that. And What would I want to waste a minute of my time with someone that isn't built that way too unless I was an idiot.
And I'm no idiot blue eyed girl.
And you know I am no idiot.
So don't play a fool's game. Find out.
We want the same thing.
The Truth.
With a capital T.
So we go to dinner and it always seems something always gets in between us. But you're done with your latest bit of fluff as you called it. And I am temporarily between mine. So we talk.
And you have changed in these two months when I forgot about you. You are slow. In the depths you move so slow compared to me. Your fast dance of light daggers I first saw the first day I met you is blindingly quick. You punch holes in the surface faster than I can. But all I need to do is close my eyes to your flashes. And I can pluck you out of the air and hold you still and fixed by the blind and mute stare of my core. So it has taken you a few months. A year. Yet it seems as if you have learnt a few things. You are starting maybe to see...the futility of your little cosmic dramas. Surface movement without substance.
But I see you Venusian Girl. Even if I wonder at times, if you even see yourself. And I know. There are depth there inside you. Deep enough even, to contain me. And I want that. I want to see there and feel there and touch there. And explore those depths of you even as I explore you.
And you still do get to me.
And we eat. And we talk. And as always your presence has something in it of the divine. The facets of that Goddess that rules us all** are all there all the time. The merciless whore. The hurt little girl. The sensual slut. The sensitive intelligent girl. The barren, dry, cynical old crone. The Woman. The ever-changing, perennial Woman that you are.
You play your little game again. It is a source of amazement to me that I can see now that female side of things, where you do things sometimes with no conscious knowledge of what you are really doing, and yet, a female knowing that still means you are not ignorant of your games. If a man behaved this way to another man, a duel to the death would probably be understood and accepted as the only fair and equitable answer to some of the things a woman will do as a matter of habit.
But it shakes me no longer, and your baiting me is seen through. I have changed too little girl. I told you I had killed that Dragon. And I have cleaned up house and removed lots of the left-over tentacles and rotting parts of Dragon-meat that were left scattered around my internal mansion.
So I tell you. Come with me. And you try to stave off a reply. And I tell you to not dare to say maybe. Say No. And you say you'll tell me on Monday. And I don't have any reason to believe your promises of you getting back to me. Our history has given you a bad name there hasn't it darling?
But I do.
And just like you seem to know when not to challenge my eyes anymore, no matter how much you test and push and game, from the very first, you have always known when I am at that place where if you were to cross it, you would lose me. No one ever has understood that before you. And in the same way, I know when your playing is over and you're just scared. And I notice it and I say so without thinking. My mouth just wording what my eyes see. And you're tired. And a little weak. And God I feel like holding you. And as I say "You're scared..."
And you look away and lower your eyes and your face and with a small voice say "..yes...so...? It's ok to be scared..." Almost like a tiny challenge. And that little girl you kept locked up in your dungeon for so long seems to have timidly just stepped out of the darkness a little bit and with a courage she does not really think she has she has spoken up...
And stupidly, because I am male after all, I ask a question. This dance between us...it is an animal thing and primitive. Not because we are not smarter than that, but because it's true. And it transfixes us both Lucie. But you have not seen courtship between animals in the wilds of Africa like I have. Or maybe you have. But on TV. And it is not the drunken couplings of humans in the civilized world. It is a soft thing even when raw. And the female is shy even as the male gets confused by her timidness. A part of me realizes it even as it's happening.
"What are you scared of...?" And even though you don't answer so directly, well how could you, you are female, it is impossible. You do try and you do say something like...two weeks of you figuring me out...and look away in mock stress and fear again. But not all of it fake.
And I still, and still stupidly, do not know the answer to my question exactly. But I know you like me. And I know it has something to do with... not directly related to your being afraid of being in love with me. But not, not related to it either. And so I feel good even if I don't know the how or the why. But then, I don't need to know. That mute part of me feels it. And sometimes I wish it had words to teach me faster and let me know more precisely and louder.
But I guess, even though we don't know yet and we're not there yet. For sure, we will find out on this trip together will we not. And it is ultimately what I want. This thing between us. I want the truth of it. Whatever that truth is. That is what I want. And I want it true. Without any force from me or shaping to my will beyond that which is my divine right as it is yours. But I will not take you any other way than if you come to me of your own free will. All of you.
You know my heart, because I have put it in front of you and opened it without compromise and now at least, if not before, without fear. And though I hate to admit it too. You were right to stay away before. I do not want to give you half or three quarters or 99.99% of me. I want to give you all of me.
So on Monday you tell me your boss is upset and you are probably better asking on Tuesday. And then Tuesday you email me to say you have heard from your boss. Prolonging the suspense. But I know the answer already though yes, it does get to me a bit. And then you tell me. Yes. You're coming.
So we are going away for two weeks to Africa.
You will meet my brother and my sister and my mother. And God forgive me, I do not want to and I hope to find a way out of it. But I know. I know because standing next to you I cannot help but be forced to evolve. You don't do it to me so much as I do it to myself. It is as if your presence reminds me. And I know I do it to you too. If that isn't a clear sign too Lucie, I don't know what is.
So I know. We'll probably go and see that crazy old bastard of my father too.
How does it happen to be, that it is you and me? How does it happen to be that we have not yet made love? Not really anyway. And I wonder if we ever will. And paradoxically and incongruently, I also wonder, will our children have your blue eyes or something green like mine? But my mother has grey-blueish eyes too. So maybe they will be blue.
Will I ever get used to you?
And I already know. The answer is no. Because from the first day when I saw you and had that flash. From back then even I knew. Even if you got old and became ugly and wrinkled. I am lost in you. In those eyes I love so. And I am happy there, never getting used to you.
And you don't know anything about Africa. Don't even know where it is on a map. Well, why would you? No one ever showed you before. And you did have other things to worry about growing up. And I know in that fucked up continent somehow you will see me. Unless you are terminally blind. And you will see me as I am. Because life is raw there, and real. And the light is bright. And you cannot hide your core for long there. And then we will know. What is this thing between us.
It's been almost a month since I've seen you after you said yes to the trip. We leave in 3 days. And it just works out we'll only meet at the airport. Isn't that just weird and yet somehow also typical? And maybe right too.
Who knows what fluff and parties and stuff that is not relevant to us we each have to get out of the way.
Well. You know yours.
And I know mine.
And we're already starting in those silences between us that I saw on that very first day.
And I don't like them much right now. But I also sense they are right. Same as I did back then at the beginning.
So. Friday we go.
I am at ease. Not thinking about it despite this super long post here. Not worried. Not sensing anything but just the fact that we are going and we'll see.
But you did make me wait until Tuesday about a month ago didn't you.
So. I'm going to see if I can make you believe that at the airport they only hire pygmies for border control. So not to stare please.
I want to kiss you though.
Under an African sky.
Late at night.
In the hot air blowing by, and if it's there, that wild huge full moon.
And I hope I do.
* (From Wikipedia) - Classical Arabic Usage: Companion Pure, most beautiful of eye
European Usage: 'Houri as Whore' misconception - The English word "whore" comes from an original meaning of "lover" and is not etymologically related to the Arab non-indo-European word "houri"
** It is quite clear to me that God is female. If he were male, things would make sense. But this is not unkown or disturbing to me. I am Venetian after all, and they were Trojans, and the patron Gods of Troy (Ilium) were Aphrodites and Ares. And it was due to Aphrodites after all that the whole war started. Those of you so inclined might also want to read the graphic novel Slaine: The Horned God. It explains the relationship between a female God and her male Hero in a way that I think is closer to reality than many mainstream religious models.
Went ice skating the other night. I was asked to come along by these two girls I know whom were showing a bit of London to a couple that is here from the USA on holiday.
The skating ring is at the Tower of London and the rental skates are these very orange things that had buckles that popped open with the same frequency as a drunk twenty-something year old girl at your average London club.
Yeah. That's right. They basically just stayed open no matter what kind of dignity you tried to impart on them. Not that it made that much difference to me given the last time I was on skates I was about 10 I think. Anyway, I landed on my arse only 3 times so I was pretty pleased with myself really.
The cool thing about ice skating is that paradoxically I found it a very useful Systema exercise. The range of emotions you go through is quite amazing. You have to contend with your own ineptitude (well if you skate with my natural grace I mean), the random sudden stoppings of other people. Or their random cutting you off, falling flat in front of you, bumping into you and so on, as well as your own random thoughts so internally it's sort of:
I wonder if I can squeeze past that group or...WOW, look at the legs on her...wait...was that even a woman or was she like 16?...Oh well, I'll never know now, gone past and these things don't have brakes...SHIT! Get out of my way fuckhead...Phew, made it, hey where are my friends? ... You're holding my hand kind of tight...and I know maybe you're a little worried about falling, or maybe you're trying to tell me something else, but that's my dislocated thumb you're squeezing on lady...and if you go arse over kettle, I'd kind of like to still have it on my hand afterwards instead of in your pocket as a souvenir of this very special day...Damn Dude! Kick my leg like that again and I'll ask you to go to the center of the ring and...oh wait...it's an octagenerian with his little grand-daughter....I'm an asshole...ooopppsss ah well....wow..the ice is really fucking cold on my hands...better dust it off my ass before I freeze something important!
And so on. And of course everyone else on the ice is going through their own version of it so it's not too dissimilar to a mass-attack exercise. Except it's sort of nicer. And once again I was struck by how nice people were to each other. There are clear signs with foot tall lettering on them, saying not to take pictures or use cameras on the ice. And I can see why. Some moron stands there taking pictures and gets run over by the 30 people trying to avoid crashing into him.
Of course as soon as we got on the ice the girls want pictures of everything. You can't blame them. It's biological. Females are born with the Attention Whore gene wired deeply to every DNA strand.
So I moronise myself (off into a corner though, because I'm not that retarded) and take the pictures so they can be happy and of course this ice-ring guy comes to stand right next to me. I am taking the picture anyway so fuck it. Let him scream or shout or kick me off. He waits patiently until after the picture is taken then with a smile on his face and a very polite tone tells me:
"Sir, we ask that people refrain from taking pictures on the ice because it can be dangerous for others, however if you want to take pictures it's fine, may I just ask you perhaps step off the ring and take them from the side here?" And he wasn't being a smart arse or anything. Just explaining it very politely.
I thanked, him apologised and no one requested any more pictures for the rest of the evening, yet no one felt bad about it. Well done, oriental guy at the ice ring, whoever you were.
Later I was getting braver and even though you couldn't lean into the skates, and I do believe even if you knew what you were doing those things would severely impair you, I was trying to go faster. I did get up to a good speed and I was doing ok by not running over the face of any small children or old people or people who fell over in front of me, but then all of a sudden these two girls just decided to swing out from the side and they were holding hands and stumbling along in the famed and honourable duck-walk fashion.
I never did find the brakes on the damn skates. And there was no swerving out the way.
Now when you crash into someone from behind like that the only decent thing to do is try to hold them up regardless of whether you go down or not.
I do believe that as I took a firm hold of what felt like a very nice tit in my right hand, the force of the impact probably let her know simultaneously that I am uncircumsized. And she felt that with her butt I'm pretty sure.
The experience was no doubt jolting for her, but after the first shock I felt her whole body sort of relax into me as I held her up by her breast and flank while we sort of involountarily simulated anal sex with ice skates on. She didn't fall though, neither did her friend, whom in the gratest of threesome traditions held her friend's hand throughout - moral support for these rough first-time experiences is important don't you know - and neither did I.
It was all very spontaneous, as I gently let go of her, I did the gentlemanly thing:
"I am sorry, I really didn't mean to grab hold of that... very nice though it was" and I smiled. Maybe it sounds lecherous and creepy when you read about it in cold blood, but at the time it was just my honest sentiment on the whole impromptu anal-rape-on-ice thing.
She looked at me incredulously for a quarter of a second and then, probably instinctively realising that inappropriate as my comment was it was just my genuine sense of things, both her and her friend just burst out laughing. No one offended, no one upset, and our asses all collectively warm.
It makes for such a nice feeling. Of course I better harden up because I'm going to see my family in South Africa for two weeks over Xmas and New Year and that kind of touristy feeling of everyone loves everyone will get you hijacked, anal raped and killed for real. But still. Maybe I'll cut little crosses on the head of the Cor-Bons. That way if I have to shoot anyone they'll still get that blowing-kisses-at-ya feeling.
I think I'm getting all spiritual and stuff. I know you can tell.
In the last week or so a couple of everyday events made me think there may be hope for your species yet.
The first was on the Tube in rush hour when, on my way to work (religiously late as good work etiquette dictates) I got onto a carriage that was miraculously relatively empty.*
NOTE FOR THE FAINT OF HEART: If you are offended by racial sterotyping please look away now. In fact go away altogether, never to return. You Humans look all the same to me anyway. And you all smell like Earthlings too.
Incident 1
As it happens, we had a classic scene. What looked like your average English Builder type** but of a surprisingly sober variety. That is, he was not roaring drunk yet at 8.00am. He also looked relatively clean and sober. The belligerent drunken nature he exhibited seemed to be not so much fuelled by drink but rather it was as if he'd just finally achieved DNA modification and exhibited all the charm of his bigotry, repression, lack of self-dignity and inbred stupidity naturally now through the mere act of existing. Scientifically it was quite fascinating.
He was also picking on a man half his size whom was clearly of Asian origins. Now I didn't ask the little guy to chew a piece of pork, pull out his dick to see if it was cut or ask him why he wasn't wearing a little Mussulman hat to confirm it, but if I had to guess, I'd say he was Islamic. As he continued to take abuse from the English Builder (they should have their own classification in Latin I think. I submit: Anglo-Saxonus Parlayticus Belligerens) the little Asian guy had red rimmed eyes and you could just tell he was now well on his way to becoming a dynamite-wearing, infidel-popping rag-head.
The Paralyticus Belligerens was indeed physically intimidating and was actually touching and sort of shoving the little guy who was getting mild moral support from a friend of his that was trying to placate the builder guy by apologising.
Apparently the Paralyticus had been standing in the middle of the doorway and the little Asian guy had pushed a bit to get in. I mean...give me a fucking break! It's rush hour on the central line at 8am. Even if you're sitting down in a seat and using your Metro Newspaper Shield (TM) to fend off the other Tube dwellers you're bound to have someone's penis in your ear and a fat woman's sweaty armpit dripping gently on your face.
And people who stand in the middle of open doorways in rush hour in London are legally executed on the nearest sidewalk. Everyone knows that.
Anyway I was in a good mood and noticed all this quite dispassionately. This is a first for me. I even caught the little Asian guy's eye and his rage at the injustice he was suffering was palpable. I smiled and nodded to him sympathetically but "not a sausage China" as they say in Saf AfriKa. I could see when that little fucker was gonna pull the pin on his latest fashion accessory he would be including me in the passenger manifesto.
But you see the point is I was calm. I was not in the least anxious.
Systema is definitely a cool thing. It does surpass Karate-Do. Some part of me still twinges at saying that out loud. And publically no less (!) but it's just a fact. In the old days I would have built up so much tension and kept quiet and then just popped.
This time however was different. The builder wouldn't catch my eye back so I stood right next to him, interposed myself a bit between him and the little Asian guy and called him. It was instinctive, I didn't plan anything. I always amaze myself at my instincts afterwards. I guess it's...training. And I don't just mean martial arts.
"Hey mate."
Silence. Tries to ignore me.
"Mate." he can't ignore it now. The tone is not confrontational but it's decisive. Steady.
He looks at me now.
"What's wrong mate." but it's not a question. His brain can't cope with the incongruity. I am white, I am a skin-head worse than him and I probably look like a poster-child for the BNP to him. And I called him mate three times in a row. Once could be anything. Twice is trying to get his attention. But three times so quickly and his own verbiage has him somehow trying to categorise me as something akin to a mate. Or whatever passes as a semblance of that in the festering swamp that no doubt is his social circle.
Which was conflicting with two other things. I wasn't actually asking him. I was telling him. And I wasn't at all intimidated or intimidating either. Well..not by virtue of any tone or action I was doing. Which in itself is intimidating, but not in a way he could register. He gave a hurried explanation trying to dismiss me. Saying the Asian guy pushed him. The other Asian man took this opportunity to apologise further and the Paralyticus said in an obviously threathening manner: "It's ok...we'll sort it out..." And the little Asian guy took a step away. Which gave me just enough room to open my newspaper right in front of the Paralyticus and effectively cutting him off from the Asian guy.
And then I just started to read it. Actually read it and not just pretend to read it. Of course, the little robot guy inside me gets switched on at these times. He's like a recorder of events. A kind of emotionless logical transcriber. He just notices and records. It's useful for later. He seems to always be there whenever anything eventful comes up. He's useful for later when thinking about what happened. Allows me to go over the events and notice the details. It's a useful way to learn. Some other robot-like part of me was also thinking that it would be easy to do the backhand head turning Systema thing to the builder guy. That part though unlike the Stenographer does have some emotion. It was sort of looking forward to trying it out in "field conditions".
It was subtle but effective. Here was Paralyticus complaining about how his dignity had been affronted by the little Asian guy. Whenever he moved I just casually interposed myself or my paper between me and the Asian guy. I wasn't even aware of it until later. If Paralyticus had touched that paper or me he would have had this skin-head weird BNP looking guy go off at him. It was all race based too so it must have fucked with his head. It was probably the equivalent of a stormtrooper trying to execute or brutalise a gypsy suddenly faced with someone wearing an SS gestapo uniform standing between him and the gypsy.
What the fuck is a poor inbred racist to do right?
The Asians talked in their language (Urdu? Hindi (I don't think so but maybe I am wrong)?) and one of them I didn't realise was with them got off at the next stop.
At the stop after that the driver and a station official came to the carriage and with a minimum of fuss got the man off by telling him someone had laid a complaint against him. In less than a minute the little Asian guy and the builder were both off the train to deal with it alongside the underground officials and the driver was off again. Violence had been averted and I had a pleasent chat with the Asian guy that was left on the train.
I hoped the fact a skinhead looking guy had helped his friend a little might later help slow his progress towards wearing dynamite in public places. I think if the underground guys took out batons and beat the builder guy for a good 10 minutes it would be better. We should think of safety first.
Incident 2
Ken Livingstone is an asshole. He sits in his office late at night then checks which bus routes are most needed and then he makes sure only a few busses operate those routes. Personally I think he has a group sex fetish which would really explain the whole Transport for London policy. Trust me. I worked for a firm that worked for TfL directly. Can you say Cluster Fuck in 10 different languages?
So we wait for this bus for at least 45 minutes. It's the number 100 and this was Thursday the 6th of December and it's about 10.30 at night. it's pouring with rain and it's cold too. Every other bus number at Liverpool Street station arrives twice before finally a number 100 bus arrives. It's packed to capacity within seconds and off it goes on its route. At about the third stop of the route the bus driver stops, opens the doors and bereates an unseen guy.
It went something along the lines of:
"The bus is full! What do you want me to do? Ask people to get off? It's FULL! Wait for the next one. There's another one just a minute behind me. Just WAIT for the NEXT one! It's only a couple of minutes behind me, there will be another one."
Now the guy was unseen to me but that bus driver was one lying motherfucker and I objected to that on principle internally. One minute? Maybe we should put you under the fucking rain naked until the next fucking Number 100 bus shows up you asshole. And since it'll only be a minute it won't kill you of hypothermia right? And if you survive maybe you'll get a better idea of time you prick.
Anyway the bus driver closes the doors abruptly and starts to drive off. This is when a tall, thin, Algerian looking guy tells him to stop and let the guy he just bereated on. The bus driver stops and begins to loudly bereate the Algerino as well.
"Well do you want to get off then? There's no space on the bus! Do YOU want to get OFF then?!?"
And the Algerino calmly responds: "Yes. Yes I would."
Now I'm thinking this bus driver is a real fuck. I mean ok we're standing, but again, there isn't that feeling that you now know what the guy standing next to you's ear wax tastes like. There is plenty of room for even 3 or 4 more people. I mean compared to the Tube we could hold a volleyball game in this bus.
Anyway, the Algerino actually steps off the bus and now I am curious to see who's going to be let on. But no one gets on. The bus driver in his usual charming voice shouts at the whole bus to clear the central area. And then begins to lower the ramp.
The back doors open and now it becomes clear that the reason I couldn't see who was waiting outside to get on was not just due to it being dark and raining and foul. It's because they guy is in a wheelchair with muscular distrophy or severe MS.
The Algerino helps him up the ramp and then climbs on too. Good thing too because I would have had a few choice words with that bus driver if he hadn't. The whole bus was sparkling happier thanks to the tall Algerino guy. And the little (white) guy in the electric wheelchair thing struck up a conversation with an old lady also sitting in the disabled spot.
I thanked the Algerino guy for giving me more hope for the Human race. He just said : " Yeah, I mean come on, you can't leave him in the rain".
It was nice. Total strangers looking out for each other in a huge city like London. And I don't think it was because it's getting close to Xmas either. I mean the rag-heads don't celebrate it right? (of course he might have been a devout Christian Lebanese person for all I know. But you know...first impressions and all that :) )
And even a Martian Dago like me who's not baptised is bound to go straight to Hell if I celebrated the pagan holiday the Christians hijacked as their own. Which works fine by me. I'd rather stick with the original version of week-long orgies anyway thanks.
Post Scriptum
Oh and whoever that bus driver on the number hundred bus at about 10.30pm on Thursday the 6th of December 2007 was...
You're a total asshole. Merry Christmas to you, Fuckweed.
Post Post Scriptum
I didn't Zap gun anyone this whole week. That means I was on the GOOD boy list. I'm getting presents! I just know it!
*This means you did not get the sensation that your carriage companions had the same carnal knowledge of your body as a very tight condom might have. It was the kind of day where you could just be at the "cocktails before dinner" stage of sex with a total stranger, which is the daily routine for commuters.
** You know, loud, covered in fleks of paint and plaster, unshaven, somewhat malodorous both from his own lack of extensive personal hygene as well as the genetically aquired feature of basically sweating alchool due to the amounts imbibed by generations of his ancestors as well as himself.
Mark replied.
It was indeed a little form letter printed by software. They are very sorry about the needless conflagration such an event might have caused. They send libations and apologies.
The war is finally over.
Peace ensues, ticker tape parade, partying and jubilation for all.
The picture is from the parade given to the Apollo austronauts, hence the American flags, but hey...those Yanks give good parades.
And I just love this picture. In fact the whole war with Vodafone was really just so I'd have an excuse to post this after I won that battle. There's a similar one I like called The Kiss though more recent and not sure who it's by, but if I find it... watch out Microsoft. Or the Papacy. Or something anyway...
...but Diplomatic Immunities Threatened
Those of you that follow this blog (all three of you) will recall that Vodafone and I had entered into some hostilities. Last week there was basically all out war with a further three letters from me. After they cut me off I had to retalliate with this missive:
Note the diplomatic nuances when I wish them virulent infections of the anus... I know, I know, but Noblesse Oblige (Royalty has Duties [of etiquette])... so please, hold your applause.
Vodafone
POBox 549,
Banbury
OX17 3ZJ
23 October 2007
To Teresa [CENSORED] – Customer Relations Specialist
Re: Account for tel n. [CENSORED]
Dear Madam,
Once again it seems Vodafone has outdone itself in the ability to deliver a level of “customer service” that is right up there with explosive diarrhoea and projectile vomiting.
Without any warning, via text, phone call, e-mail or letter to me, your company has (yet again) blocked my line.
This happened several times way back in 2005, as you should be aware of by now, given my letter to you dated 16th of October 2007 which included some 10 pages of previous correspondence or so. Not to mention your own records, which you should have.
As I have pointed out to you in my last two letters, any time of my day or part thereof that I have to spend to rectify Vodafone errors, mismanagement, inability to comprehend the English language or any other number of afflictions that seem to plague your company’s account management and/or PR personnel, will be charged for. Similarly, I will also charge for the time it will take me to get a contract with another service provider as a result of Vodafone’s inability to provide an uninterrupted and professional service, and as far as I am concerned, being in breach of any de facto arrangement I might have had with them.
This letter (which is being sent to Vodafone customer services via e-mail as well as yourself by hardcopy) then serves several purposes:
- It is a bill for a further £300.00 as I have had to take time out of my day to make temporary alternative arrangements to remain in communication with my immediate client base.
- It informs you that should my service not be restored within 24 hours (that is by midnight on the 25th of October 2007) I shall consider you to be in breach of our de facto agreement and that this will constitute grounds for me to no longer be liable to you for any monies purported by Vodafone to be due concerning said agreement except for those due as a result of my using the service up to the time of cut-off. Any monies due by me up until said cut-off will be off-set against all monies due to me from Vodafone as detailed above and below as well as previous communications and such monies will become immediately due by Vodafone to me.
- It also serves as a fore-warning that any further disruption to my day that may result in the future due to my having to acquire a new service provider will be billed to you at what I should hope if by now my familiar rate to Vodafone of £300.00 per day or any part thereof.
- It is also my way of forewarning you that my fees are immediately and promptly payable and should I not receive said payment within the next calendar month of the date of this letter I shall commence legal proceedings against Vodafone for recovery of said compensation to me.
- Furthermore, said legal proceedings may well include any loss of earnings, cost or liability incurred by myself as a result of interrupted service from Vodafone. As well as any and all extra costs or loss of earning incurred as a result of my needing to get a new phone number since your customer service line which I called 4 times today was unwilling, unable or otherwise incapable of giving me my PAC number allowing me easy transfer of this number.
- It serves to remind and make you aware of Vodafone’s many shortcomings with regard to my account and the “service” you have provided to me in this regard.
- It serves to inform you that in the event of my not receiving a satisfactory solution to this situation from Vodafone I fully intend to make all of this information public and indeed already am doing so since this is my correspondence to you and I am fully entitled to publish it on my blog, print it as pamphlets to distribute to my friends and even strangers passing by really. Your corporation uses its faceless corporate wall of impenetrable bureaucracy and roboticisation funded by almost limitless resources to frustrate and crush any kind of attempt by a normal person to receive a simple measure of decent service, customer satisfaction or rectification of wrongs done by Vodafone. I will therefore use my ability to mock your company’s incompetence and/or possible illegal, quasi-racketeering like behaviour at will. Nor do I limit myself to this but instead I also fully intend on taking any and all legally enforceable actions against Vodafone in the eventuality of non-satisfactory resolution of the issues identified in this and previous letters to you.
- It also serves the further purpose of mocking your company just for my amusement. I mean what the hell, if I’m going to go to war with Vodafone I may as well enjoy the process. Frankly your level of service is a joke itself, so we’re about even there.
In closing, allow me to detail that to date Vodafone owes me £600.00 and unless reconnection of my line is done by midnight of 25th October 2007 they will incur further costs as described above. I also take this opportunity to wish whoever is responsible for this travesty of customer service a virulent infection of the anus complete with flesh-eating bacteria.
Most Sincerely,
Giuseppe Filotto
Cc: Paul [CENSORED]
Management Department
Accounts Department
It sort of went downhill from there really for a couple more letters....
but then, miracle!
Someone finally contacted a human with a functioning brain a certain guy called Mark.
Mark did not seem to be a Vodafone clone. He actually made sense, understood the situation and wrote back to me promptly by e-mail on the same day. He offered some minor adjustments to my line, basically being one free month of line rental. And an apology for the time this took to resolve when it was quite clear the problem should have been rectified much faster than this.
I wrote back that despite his offer I felt that the trouble I had gone through warranted more than what he offered.
He made a more reasonable offer and then agreed to some conditions I sent to him by mail.
Now Mark was not a Vodafone clone but he was still having to communicate from Vodafone offices. It was pretty clear that he did have a brain, that he did get what I was saying and that probably too, he had a good laugh at some of the stuff I wrote.
I invited him for a drink if he's ever in London, so we could have a laugh about all this being as he genuinely seemed like a nice guy tasked with the unfortunate mission of plugging up Teresa's and whoever else's mess with reference to my account.
So I got a new phone at a nicely discounted price and I was very happy with it, true to his word Mark also lifted the barring on my SIM card as soon as I told him I had settled my account balance, which he took me at my word on because it doesn't show in their accounts for three days.
I got the new phone delivered and all was rosy and peaceful. Then Friday evening I got this in the mail when I got home:
You can see the problem really, can't you.
Just as we finally agreed on terms, some over-zealous idiot in the rear fires a barrage of cannonballs at my lines...
This won't do. It won't do at all.
Now it has to be understood that in the previous hostilities, my letters were widely seminated throughout Vodafone. They have such problems with record keeping I wanted to be sure they got to the right person you see. That was my aim. The ridicule and exposure of stupidity is just a coincidental result of that. Nothing to do with me really.
Nevertheless I wouldn't be surprised if at Vodafone right now there is a small but spreading underground trade amongst disgruntled employees of the letters I sent to them after the virulent infection of the anus one. They were all in a similar vein.
Mark has read them all before he contacted me I am pretty sure. So we understand each other quite a bit by now I feel.
I had to reply in some way of course...so I wrote to what I think of as my friend at Vodafone: Mark.
I hope the response will be positive and that it will settle things....I really do.
Dear friends,
as you may have seen a couple of posts ago, Vodafone has begun hostilities. Today, in an act of unprovoked aggression they actually cut my line off.
I have responded by writing them a letter that includes the phrases "explosive diarrhoea" and "projectile vomiting". I know it's all a bit technical but I was trying to impress upon them their level of customer satisfaction as experienced by yours truly.
Sadly, despite my wishes to the contrary, I am not too hopeful that we will resolve this amicably.
In political terms they basically cut the power lines to my small indipendent country * and ended all diplomatic contact with our senate. And ejected all our embassy staff from their large and militarily powerful state*.
Continuing with the analogy, we reverted back to our wind turbines' ability to maintain us self-sufficient and we retaliated by sending them a diplomatic package of 17 tons of human excrement deposited directly at their seat of parliament. We thoughtfully also sent along many independent media journalists to chronicle the event (that would be you guys) and billed them for the whole event given we see it as a cross-cultural teaching programme for their minister of foreign policy. This first lesson was entitled "What your customer service foreign policy looks and smells like to your customers neighbouring states".
We have also given them 24 hours to reconnect us or else we will consider their actions an act of war against us.
Watch this space people. It's about to become interesting.
Oh. Please feel free to send your friends here and their friends too. I am almost sure within 24 hours they will not have re-connected me. At which point I shall post here the verbatim communications I send them. I promise you it will be entertaining.
Disgruntled Vodafone or ex-Vodafone customers/employees/victims are most welcome. And if there's enough of you out there let's go ahead and make it a class action suit.
* These images are from a very cool anime cartoon called Nausicaa. I highly recommend it. It's one of probably my top 20 films ever. Nausicaa's little country, The Valley of the Wind is set upon by power hungry megalomaniacs with no concept of natural processes. That sounds kind of boring but it isn't. There's lots of cool stuff in this story. Giant insects, aerial combat, ethics, heroics, weird creatures an amazing ecosystem, a sense of wonder and of course the inevitable: death and love. Similarly this war with Vodafone may seem like so much boring-ass paperwork and a futile attempt by one deranged individual to fight what is really de facto corporate extortion. But I am going to make it sooooo much more than that. And I plan to enjoy the process. My outraged sense of justice and Martian pride may force me to take action considered a waste of time and at least mildly deranged by most humans, but there's no reason I have to do it without taking any pleasure in it. Besides. It's one lone Martian against a huge behemoth of brutality and incompetence. How can I resist.
Wear the damn shirt.
We have been refreshing on your blog every 30 seconds for a week.
People are online from Cambodia.
Burma Protesters wear Red for solidarity with the monks. Some of us even shaved our heads (not that there was much to go) in kinship with the monks. See? Here I am all baby smooth. So wear the shirt already!
The Human female that posed as my grandmother on this planet long ago used to say that:
Good Manners Don't Cost Anything
Vodafone insists I pay them more money for paying them money.
Yes you read that right. It's not a typo. They seem to think it's ok to charge you extra if you do not pay by direct debit. There is of course no legal basis for this. It's like saying that if you pay your grocery bill using two £10 notes instead of one £20 note you get charged an extra £1.
I don't think that's very polite of them.
[Editorial update: I just had a conversation with a pretty colleague of mine about this. And she assures me they charge her extra for paying by direct debit. And they want to charge ME extra for paying by NOT direct debit. So...I guess we should just stop paying all our bills to Vodafone alltogether. You know. To avoid incurring extra costs for...errr paying the fucking bill?!?!!?]
Excuse me, but I will NEVER have a direct debit. For anything. Ever. I learnt my lesson due to ...yes Vodafone. Over 10 years ago and in another country, but I learnt. A Direct Debit order is essentially the same as giving a stranger your house keys and saying here you go, leave it tidy after you're finished taking what you need will ya?
So when I got a contract I made sure I told them I would not sign up for direct debit. The girl assured me ok fine that would be great. So I said ok then I'll just strike out this clause on the contract.
She said...umm...no don't do that. Just trust me.
I like that. Trust amongst people doing business with each other. Especially when it's little old me with a huge faceless, person-less entity like Vodafone.
Trust.
Yay!
So I never filled in my bank details or signed the contract agreement. She took it and processed it anyway.
Because hey. We trust each other right? Besides she was kind of cute and I flirted shamelessly.
[Editorial Note: Here's a lesson for you girl: It's not just guys that get distracted and do stupid shit because someone is flirting with them. And yes. I am a male slut and proud of it. Don't get upset if you're actually reading this you cute thing. And you have my number right? Call me and we'll see that you make it up to me. It's cool. Don't worry if that last line confused you. What colour panties do you have on?]
And then it started. Vodafone telling me they received a cancellation of their debit order. And telling me they would bill me extra for the pleasure of paying by other means, which is electronically if you must know, which is painless, paper-less and takes 3 days to just appear in their account. Complete with reference number so they know who it's from. Why would this cost them more?
Because according to them it takes them 2 weeks to find the money in their account. And that would be my problem apparently, see? It's not enough I pay taxes to support a bunch of vermin that just breeds its own kind ever more populous without doing anything other than parasitically draining the humanoids among us (I speak obviously of politicians and cops and most public servants with very, very, very few exceptions if any.)
So I challenged them to produce the contract they said I had signed. They went away for two years. But it cost me days of squabbling, reconnection and disconnection. I sent them a half dozen letters and wasted a lot of time. A few weeks ago I got the charge on my account again. I wrote to them and they wrote back almost the same kind of drivel of 2 years ago. But I learn. We Martians learn. So in my first letter this time I told them they should refer to the extensive correspondence from 2 years ago which cleared this matter up. And that if I had to do it for them I would charge them my standard daily fee.
They wrote back that I had signed an agreement and that I should produce the waiver of the fee I had from them in writing since they would never issue such a waiver but only removed a small, one time charge, as a sign of goodwill. So I produced it. And charged them. And not paid my bill nor will I until they either cut me off in which case I will just go to a new provider, or accept that they are wrong and actually no they do not have access to my bank account so...err...go fuck yourselves and grow a brain. And pay me my day's worth since it actually took me a lot more than that to go dig this crap up from my files.
Here's the letter. I sent them today. I have taken out the names just because I am civil. That can change of course. It's up to them. Points 4 and 5 and the conclusion might be the bits you other Vodafone customers will enjoy the most.
Dear Madam,
I refer to your letter dated 17th September 2007, our telephonic conversation prior to my receipt of same and all the attached correspondence which should hopefully be self-explanatory if you read it chronologically. For your ease of use, the correspondence included has been filed with the oldest communications last, I suggest you start there and read your way to the front and thus the present of this situation. [It's 11 pages of correspondence]
In more particular response to your recent letter and with reference to my own letter to you dated 10th September 2007, I would like to clarify the following points:
- With regard to the charges for the call to the 0703 number on the 20th July at 13.29 pm, I accept your comments and recognise I will be liable for the cost incurred for this call, as I had already agreed with you telephonically. [Apparently I called someone that has a telephone number that looks like a mobile but is actually a paid service. I don't know. No you perverts it wasn't a sex line. I have no clue. It was a 30 second call. I know. That makes it easy to make rude comments. Go ahead. The legions of female concubines I have will sign affidavits to the contrary. Anyway....]
-
With regard to the charge for payment by non direct debit, I reiterate my previous comments, refer you to the e-mail dated 26 September 2005 [Attached. Where they waive the fee after a series of about 10 e-mails explaining all the crap they did to my line as a result too] and point out to you these fees have been waived since then in writing and in actual fact by not having been charged since then and refunded for the time previous to the 26th of September 2005. Therefore I will NOT pay them now or in the future and I expect Vodafone to honour its commitment to waive such fees.
- With regard to your erroneous comment that I signed up to this charge, and set up a direct debit, I once again challenge you to demonstrate this by showing me a SIGNED copy of any agreement to this effect I entered into. I NEVER signed such an agreement and I specifically did NOT sign any agreement to enter or activate a direct debit as I have made clear anyway on previous occasions. I have NEVER instructed my bank to activate ANY direct debits as a matter of course. I also refer you to your company’s previously already wrong statement to the same effect as evidenced by Vodafone’s letter from your [Name Deleted] dated 19/10/2005. Kindly note my response in my own letter dated 4/11/2005 (points number 1 and 2 on the first page of this letter).
- With respect to my letter to you dated 10/9/2007 concerning the fact that I would be billing you for my time should I have required to spend further time addressing your company’s obvious and repeated flaws in managerial, and accounting procedures as well as (apparently at least) inability to properly access historical documents, I am hereby informing you that my daily fee of £300.00 is now applicable and due. I will be deducting this same fee from any outstanding or due balances on my account until full payment has been made.
- To be fair, without further investigation your company’s apparent inability of following simple archival procedures with regard to accessing historical correspondence may simply be further inadequacies in management procedures or training (or both). Further investigation would be required before I could advise you adequately in this regard. In this respect, should you require further archived e-mail and correspondence between myself and Vodafone, I am hereby advising you that a further fee of £300.00 would be incurred by yourselves for both my time as well as access to said documents which I at least do file and archive.
In conclusion:
I expect to never again see the fee for payment by non-direct debit on my account, and I furthermore expect payment or credit on my account to an equivalent value (£300.00) for my time and effort which was not inconsiderable in retrieving correspondence with yourselves from over 2 years ago which you should in any case already have and be in possession of.
In fairness the accumulated time taken by myself in this regard is more than one work day however presently I have limited myself to charging you for a single day.
Please be advised that should you require further information from my archived data or require further direction from me in how to manage your ongoing concern in a more professional, accountable and ethical manner you will then incur another fee of £300.00 per day or part thereof.
In the interest of expediency I will deduct the currently due amount of £300.00 from my Vodafone bills until such time as either I have received payment in full or I have deducted the full £300.00 from your phone bills to myself, whichever comes first.
I trust this letter now puts this matter to rest once and for all. If however this is not the case, feel free to further employ me either on an ad hoc basis at a fee of £300.00 per day or part thereof, or if you should require a more formal, in depth and more general improvement of management in your company across a number of departments on a contractual basis to be agreed and discussed with the relevant persons at Vodafone whom may be authorised to make such decisions.
In view of Vodafone’s current apparent problems with document control I have taken the liberty to issue copies of this letter and attached documentation to your [Name Deleted], the Management department (if there is one) and the accounting department (which I believe exists and is designated as such). I have not billed separately for this small service as a goodwill gesture.
Most Sincerely,
Giuseppe Filotto
Cc: [Name Deleted]
Management Department
Accounts Department
This lady was rude on the phone when we spoke see. Professionally rude. The kind of person that without expressly saying so says:
You are a liar!
I actually know you are not but I don't give a fuck because I work for a giant faceless corporation and my job is to drive the little people batshit crazy by being an obnoxious bitch. Just because I can. BWAHAHAHHAHA!
And we will fuck you over and there is nothing you can do about it. I hide behind a wall of corporate roboticisation and legalese that will make you wish you are dying of leukemia before you actually get through to any of us in anything resembling reason!
AND THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT!! Bwhahahahahaahah!!!
That basically is what she said on the phone. Of course it didn't sound like that and it was all curt and devoid of human emotion and all officialliouness lathered in dogshit (sorry I just can't bring myself to keeping it clean in the privacy of my own mind. And this here blog is a mild reflection of my inner workings. Mild. I assure you.)
But I can do the straight-laced official thing woman. And that there letter above if I were that way inclined you understand, because I wouldn't be of course. Because I am a gentleman. But of course someone else might think it was my way of saying:
Oh yeah? Well tell you what you stupid bitter dumbass, I might not be able to do much, but I will show everyone you work with what a stupid bitter fuck-face you are and how unprofessional and retarded you are for trying to pull that shit on me. AND I'll make sure everyone recognises you for the cock-starved sour bitch you are. You haven't had any decent sex since 1943 have you? Well here's a whole truckfull of go fuck yourself for ya. That's ok sweetie-pie, don't thank me yet. I've only just started. Ball back to you (don't mind the gag-straps on that there ball. Just close your eyes and open up.)
But of course anyone that interpreted it that way would be wrong. I wouldn't do that. Like I said. I'm gentlemanly and shit.
And now onto that credit card company that pissed me off. I am trying to think of how to include the phrase "Ass-munching-service" for that letter.
My Zap Gun is all charged up fuckheads. Line right the fuck-up!
After some thought (and more women) I have been able to condense the long version into an easily understood version.
For me the Ideal Woman happens this way:
1. She must stop me in my tracks visually. Literally.*
2. She must be able (and more importantly willingly enthusiastic) to have porn-star sex with me.
3. I must actually get along with her personality-wise and intelligence-wise.**
4. That je ne sais quoi that makes me click with her and her with me so that we basically become symbiotic.
They should also probably happen in that order too. I mean getting to know someone quite well can take a while...and the last thing you want to do is spend weeks getting to know her well only to find out when you're both naked that she thinks blowjobs are disgusting, or to be done only on special occassions, sex as a whole should only be done twice a week and anal sex is unchristian and will make you go to hell.
This of course puts me in a bit of a paradox. After all the number of women that stop me in my tracks is really tiny. I've been spoilt in the past I guess (yes I know...tragic isn't it - BWAHAHAHAHA!)
And having porn-star sex with them before I really enquire about their name, hobbies, life plans etc...well, let's just say that the chances of success if you walk up to a hot woman and say "Fancy a quickie in the nearest dark corner of this department store?" are pretty slim.
Add that to the fact that the really hot ones are really few and you're down to single figures in a city of some 10 million. And those ones are probably on crack or have razor blades in their mouths (or other orefices). Neither thing is good.
And then I want them smart. This is where it becomes clear to me I am from another planet. Male Earthlings have no problem agreeing with me on points 1 and 2 but generally they really are not fussy about point 3.
I am. All these points are severely important to me.
As for that mystic click. Who the hell knows. I seem to only get it when they are severly brain damaged in some weird way.
As you can see the list of requirements is set out for the most efficient way (time-wise) to figure out if any given girl is The One.
In keeping with this time-saving philosophy though it would seem that the only reasonable thing to do is to date porn-stars.
I mean think about it...
Proportionally the number of them that are really hot is high.
You get to see what they look like. In detail. And that's before you even say "Hi".
You get to see what they can do in bed. And if you're any judge of character maybe also figure out if they are really just going through the motions and are completely numbed by drugs through their work-day, or if they are at least vivacious enough to inject some artistry in their chosen profession.
Besides, some of them might have interviews on-line which might give an indication of their IQ as well. Admittedly you'd probably want to go for a video interview on this one...what with their personal web-pages probably not being really you know...(gasp) genuine.
So it just leaves the question of the mystic click.
Oh yeah and you know, getting to meet them in order to propose and all that without having to go to a porn-star convention.
* I happen to think this first impact, at least for me, includes an element of thin slicing on my part so it's actually more than just her looks but most average Earthlings wouldn't be able to tell the difference.
** Ignorance doesn't particularly disturb me as it's curable. Stupidity however is pretty much a non-starter for me.
This is an appeal....
Loony received an amazing piece of fashionable apparel which you can view here.
We all want to see her wearing it pridefully. We being mainly me since it's a beautiful shade of Martian red.
We martians have a thing for Red.
So go on. Use your comment box and make all of Vox-dom happy as we get Loony to wear it take a sexy picture of it and post it on her next entry...we only need a few more votes to have her do it...!
