The GOT finale was about as satisfying and well-constructed as I expected. Did you personally feel like you received your promised allotment of mature shame-muff and penitent tittays, because you know chicks don't get agency without having to give up the pink at some point. Just the girls, though- just the girls; house rules.
I used to wonder about the particular shade of harping piqueristic misogyny so evident throughout this fuckfest and how it could be so embarrassingly unselfconscious, and then I saw a pic of the author which... was extremely informative. Yes, I'm that shallow but you know, so is the rest of the world and that explains a lot, really. It's not like I'm some fucking flawless dreamboat myself, but as a writer I'm aware that our fiction reflects our personal reality whether we like it or not, and let's just say that if GOT was the shadow of my attitudes and perceptions, I'd look into those.
If you're having link issues on this site lately (Categories is the worst offender at the moment although that's flowing over to blank landing pages from the pictorial sidebar) I apologise on behalf of Weebly who have also managed to mangle the dating of posts. We're in 2016 last time I looked, but that palpitating woosh you hear is not the sound of the space time continuum swishing past your ears, it's the blood squeezing through my temples as a result of Support-rage jacking my systolic pressure. I'm working on a new Selected Ravings menu page so check that out if you get a chance. If you're really looking for something specific you can still find it by scrolling patiently or using the Search button, which on our Mac devices almost always requires a two-step entry but I think I'm going to stop talking about this shit now before I lose my fucking mind and bite a stranger in the face.
It's not like I haven't thought about migrating my wildebeest arse over to Wordpress or some shit like that, but christ knows I don't fancy the issues they seem to have either, which seem scarier, even more code-y and expensive to resolve. Sort of wish Apple would come up with a blog platform but don't suppose there's much money in it. In my darkest moments I dream of a cynical blogger confederation, preferably mounted on steppe ponies, making orchestrated raids on private addresses and dorm rooms in search of code dweebs which we will drag out into the street in the small hours with bullwhips and roughly muster at pre-decided points throughout the developed world, preparatory to their installation as slaves interns in secluded bunkers where they will be rewarded with chocolate fudge piped through the lines taped to their heads and punished with One Direction mixtapes and electrodes and/or christian romance novels. And for that violent fantasy alone I will probably go to the back of the support cue and find my posts corrupted with homemade Wookie porn.
The circle of life.
Luckily, I will be taking a short trip out of town soon. Does it sound like I need it?
Have some Die Antwoord.
I used to wonder about the particular shade of harping piqueristic misogyny so evident throughout this fuckfest and how it could be so embarrassingly unselfconscious, and then I saw a pic of the author which... was extremely informative. Yes, I'm that shallow but you know, so is the rest of the world and that explains a lot, really. It's not like I'm some fucking flawless dreamboat myself, but as a writer I'm aware that our fiction reflects our personal reality whether we like it or not, and let's just say that if GOT was the shadow of my attitudes and perceptions, I'd look into those.
If you're having link issues on this site lately (Categories is the worst offender at the moment although that's flowing over to blank landing pages from the pictorial sidebar) I apologise on behalf of Weebly who have also managed to mangle the dating of posts. We're in 2016 last time I looked, but that palpitating woosh you hear is not the sound of the space time continuum swishing past your ears, it's the blood squeezing through my temples as a result of Support-rage jacking my systolic pressure. I'm working on a new Selected Ravings menu page so check that out if you get a chance. If you're really looking for something specific you can still find it by scrolling patiently or using the Search button, which on our Mac devices almost always requires a two-step entry but I think I'm going to stop talking about this shit now before I lose my fucking mind and bite a stranger in the face.
It's not like I haven't thought about migrating my wildebeest arse over to Wordpress or some shit like that, but christ knows I don't fancy the issues they seem to have either, which seem scarier, even more code-y and expensive to resolve. Sort of wish Apple would come up with a blog platform but don't suppose there's much money in it. In my darkest moments I dream of a cynical blogger confederation, preferably mounted on steppe ponies, making orchestrated raids on private addresses and dorm rooms in search of code dweebs which we will drag out into the street in the small hours with bullwhips and roughly muster at pre-decided points throughout the developed world, preparatory to their installation as slaves interns in secluded bunkers where they will be rewarded with chocolate fudge piped through the lines taped to their heads and punished with One Direction mixtapes and electrodes and/or christian romance novels. And for that violent fantasy alone I will probably go to the back of the support cue and find my posts corrupted with homemade Wookie porn.
The circle of life.
Luckily, I will be taking a short trip out of town soon. Does it sound like I need it?
Have some Die Antwoord.
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