#this book was a serious intellectual endeavour

[fideidefenswhore]

the not directly articulated thesis of hunting the falcon is that while catherine of aragon took henry's literal virginity, anne boleyn took his emotional virginity.

[penelopelima]

Look, I'm a big proponent of analyzing works of literature through the lens of feminism. I think it is extremely valuable, it adds a great deal of meaning and layers of interpretation to not only the work itself, but the many works that have been influenced or in conversation with it since. I think there is immense value in engaging fully with a text and critiquing its ideological content and messaging. I will always defend this. I also think criticism of the author's life and politics is relevant to the criticism of their work.

But at the same time, my biggest fucking pet peeve is when people go "this classic is X and I refuse to engage with it" or "this author is X so I refuse to read anything by him". And I don't mean in real, day to day life. Read whatever you want for pleasure, I'm not here to tell you that you have a moral obligation to read books that you don't enjoy. But when we're in an academic setting, or in professional literary critique, or even serious intellectual conversation, that doesn't cut it. Because you are meant to use your critical thinking and interpretations skills. You have to go deeper.

Arguing that classic books should not be studied or analyzed anymore because they have sexist content is counterproductive. Because, although the classic canon is reflective of real world marginalizations and I agree it should be updated to include voices that have been historically pushed aside... The fact stands that those that are considered classics have a great deal of influence in posterior works and the development in a whole culture's literature. When you argue for taking an influential work of literature out, you are arguing for all of us who study literature history, or simply want to be educated in it, to lose an important piece of the puzzle. I find hundreds of books I studied to be severely flawed, sometimes even disgusting, but they gave me tools to interpret many posterior works better. They gave me a clear view of society, even if that view is bitter.

To illustrate my point. Pablo Neruda, a Chilean poet, one of the most influential poets of Hispanic Post-Modernism and Nobel prize winner, was, by his own admission, a rapist. A few years ago, some of my university classmates organized a, let's say, campaign to pressure the deanery into taking his work entirely out of the syllabus. They argued, since this was a progressive institution, it was shameful to force students to read his works.

The thing is, I don't want to be shielded from the truth to the point where my higher education is incomplete. Where I cannot understand fully how a literary movement developed because my teachers have taken out authors that were key in its evolution. I want him to be reviled and the understanding of his work to be coloured by his extreme misogyny and selfishness. I want his accolades to be taken away and for him to be remembered as a disgusting rapist. While also being able to have a full picture when I inevitably encounter works influenced by his. I want to be able to know, and create my own opinion, instead of having a censor choose which works are apt to be read. If I am to practise feminist literary critique, I need to know. I need to have a full education, comparable to those of my peers, to those who come from a different university or school of criticism.

This is how critical thinking develops. You need the full picture. The good and the bad. Feminism cannot exist without critical thinking. It cannot exist without analyzing reality for what it is, and confronting it. Feminist literary critique is a difficult endeavour, oftentimes thankless and exhausting. It is looking again and again into the hatred and contempt men hold for women and have for centuries. It is engaging with it, confronting it. But it is worth it, and I believe that people who just throw the whole book away without reading it first because it's problematic are actively working against feminist literary criticism and erudition itself.

[onewomancitadel]

I have read a few posts here and there going around that are to the effect of criticising media literacy and consumption of fanfic, YA novels (read: hyperpalatable works) with the rejection of the canon which I think come close to a good point about the surge of what can only be called anti-intellectualism (a term unfortunately that has been ruined) but are asserted on an assumption that I disagree with. That assumption is chiefly that the way you cultivate your reading journey (especially as teenagers/adults) is on the terms of what is or isn't acceptable to read - which is not a thesis only put forth by (for the sake of this post) the 'pro-canon' crowd, but is similarly put forth by the fanfic/YA/romance/etc. crowd ('It's more diverse and this incentivises you to read it as a civic duty'). Interestingly both sides often fall into the trap of conceiving hyperpalatable genres as the good interesting brain candy books that you must read/or are the junk food you shouldn't eat and then there are the boring ones that require you to argue why the curtains are blue, and there are no emotional truths or stirring sensations - but might also be like green vegetables and should be consumed).

I still think it's coming from an inauthentic position and that is my chief problem with either sides of the debate of good books and bad books (books you should read for political, social, intellectual incentive). Certainly I think that the goal to understand 'literature' and the entire craft of reading and writing goes a little beyond what you yourself really want to seek out, but ultimately the most nourishing and most worthwhile endeavour is going to be discovering things on your own terms (What is your taste? What are your struggles? What do you value aesthetically... romantically... philosophically? What do you find pretentious? Why? Etc.). The false binary of good books/bad books means you may not value what you are reading because of some perceived characteristcs of, say, with fanfic - it's brain candy but not 'intellectual' - or with the classics - it's cerebral and therefore something you emotionally disengage from. This is seriously a sentiment I see on both sides. Fanfic is universally 'dumb', but the classics are 'smart', and the reason you read them is to develop media literacy/awareness, as opposed to something emotionally fundamental to the human condition lol - storytelling. (Side note: Yes, I am aware of the repeated sentiment that Dante's Inferno is fanfic, so there has been an attempt to legitimise the practice of fanfic in the canon. In terms of literary merit, I don't think this is the case).

I can see the security in embracing fanfic/YA/whathaveyou/romance as being 'dumb', or 'light' - 'let people enjoy things' - but I take major issue with the idea that entertainment which is lighthearted, or caters deeply to 'brain candy' or to the heart, does not carry actual craft or maybe deeper profound meaning - and is still on some level secondary to the 'serious stuff'. I'm relying on quotes here to tease out what I think are implicit assumptions I disagree with. What really offends me is the notion that lighthearted entertainment is simply dumb - to me these are low-standards.

In the reverse, the idea that the classics cannot move you in a 'brain candy' way - or that emotional disengagement is necessary in order to understand them, to reach a deeper intellectual engagement and to follow the proper order of literary criticism - is, once again, totally untenable to me. I do truly think there is a real problem in that people try to read 'the classics' and are put off because they simply do not expect to find an emotional world there or expect to be emotionally engaged.

This false dichotomy is very silly. What I think is even more silly is not cultivating your own reading journey by trying to find the things you care about and the things that move you and to understand that literary world you live in. The airs of reading one or the other (yes, nearly all the discourse I've waded through is one or the other) because of buried cultural sentiment or baggage from the annoying fans or that one bad teacher you had in English class or the time you tried to read Tolstoy and found him boring when he's One of the Greats (try Dostoyevsky) is annoying. Because one person proudly saying they refuse to read outside their own narrow world, whether it's fanfic or the canon, is annoying and stupid and makes me want to write a Tumblr post complaining about it. It really is, and almost always comes down to, trying to figure out who you really are and not who you are pretending to be. Lol!

There are really two contending issues here; the false binary of the canon and fanfic/YA/romance/lighthearted literature and the emotional engagement and brain candy or lack thereof and the discovery of reading that I think is more important than what you should be reading.

I really take issue with the idea that the brain candy/emotional engagement is something that is non-intellectual because it does a disservice to literature and also I hate posers!

[amr-hossameldin]

On Judging One’s Thought

As someone who has been struggling with writing for a while now, I faced a serious problem: I could not write a paragraph without stopping overwhelmed by disgust at what I was writing. I saw the string of words written down as nothing more than a pretentious attempt at meaningless sophistication. Sickened, I usually resort to scrapping the paper and throwing it away.

Given the usually philosophical nature of my writings, I wondered how did the likes of Nietzsche, Dostoevsky, Sartre and Camus manage to write and publish not paragraphs but books upon books of philosophical theorizing. How did they manage to see their late-night contemplations, a product of their -usually unfortunate- circumstance, as universally relatable? How could they claim they found answers to things like angst, absurdity, existential dread and the meaning of life? How dare they construct such concepts in the first place, not to mention preach them! My problem was not with the intellectual endeavor, per se. It was with the fact that, while fully aware that these are made-up concepts, they deemed the works meaningful, worth preaching and commanding respect! To wit, imagine you, my dear reader who is familiar with the myth of Sisyphus, writing ‘One must imagine Sisyphus happy’ and then proceeding to publish it in a book with your name on the cover.

I came to the following conclusion: To these writers, the feelings of angst or existential dread are urgent and dire problems- in need of immediate action. These feelings affected them on a daily basis. They were as serious as a physical wound. To these authors, engaging in philosophical thinking and proceeding to write down their contemplations is not tasteless theorizing; it is a reflex. It is an immediate response to a pressing predicament. It is just like how you would not worry about the best way to stop the bleeding out of your gun-shot leg, but the fastest way. To the thinkers, their work was the first answer that worked, and that is the best anyone in their right mind could hope for. This reasoning applies to artist of all kinds as well. Painters and musicians also need to look upon their work as some kind of creative remedy to a pressing urge, regardless of the approval of an audience-though having an audience is crucial to the entire process.

An important point is that philosophy, writing, reading, art and other seemingly individual, intellectual acts are all ultimately social exercises. Unlike the usual social events where the participants usually share a moment, the interaction here is stretched out. An author could have written a book a hundred years ago in Germany and you are just reading it today in Egypt. Yet, it is still a social interaction with an initiator and a recipient. Had the author not believed his words would be read, he would not have written. Had the artist believed his paintings would not be seen, he would not have painted. And finally, had the philosopher believed his ideas would not be contemplated, he would not have thought. In writing down any sort of text you are talking to an audience in your mind! Take away the audience, you take away the thinking. My claim is that all thinkers must have around them people with whom they can interact. Someone with whom they can converse and bounce ideas off. Someone to make them feel that the taxing endeavour of philosophizing is worth going through. Not only were Nietzsche, Dostoevsky, Sartre and Camus gifted, authentic individuals, they were also lucky enough to have people around them who understood them and with whom they could talk.

[dwellordream]

“...In early portraits Livia sports the nodus hairstyle, in which the hair rolls forward over the forehead and is then drawn back to form a distinctive topknot. This style was seen by Ovid as a useful corrective to a very round face. Generally in the heads of this group the face is a regular oval with broad cheekbones. The eyes are large and the brow above them arches slightly. The nose is large and aquiline, while the curving mouth and the chin are very small. The portraits project an image well suited to Livia—one of ageless and elegant beauty, calm and dignified, perhaps strangely emotionless.

The severity of the nodus style would be less appealing with age. Thus the hair in portraits of the Tiberian period generally has a centre parting, and falls from either side in waves. The head is still relatively youthful, given that Livia must have been now in her seventies, a tradition maintained by modern aging monarchs, whose images on stamps and coins tend to be frozen for several decades. It could be argued that the elusive issue of Livia’s appearance is irrelevant in a political biography. But it has some historical importance. The sources suggest that Augustus was drawn to Livia initially by basic sexual attraction. Some knowledge of her physical appearance would help us place that claim in a proper context. 

Whatever attributes Livia was granted by Nature she could enhance by Art. When it came to dress, Ovid attributes to Livia a surprisingly progressive attitude, that she was simply too busy to spend a lot of time on her appearance. The assertion has to be seen against the background of a large household and an enormous staff, whose task it would have been to pay attention to those details deemed unworthy of their mistress’s time and effort. The evidence for the wide range of functionaries operating within the household of Livia is dealt with in chapter 9.

At this point we can limit ourselves to noting the surprising number of helpers devoted to Livia’s personal appearance. Inevitably there were several ornatrices (dressers), as well as staff a veste/ad vestem, whose task it was to keep her clothes in good order. In addition, the ab ornamentis would have had responsibility for her ceremonial garments and accessories, along with a specialist who looked after those she wore as priestess of Augustus, a freedman ab ornamentis sacerdotalibus. Her calciator made her shoes. Augustus liked to boast that his clothes were made by his wife and sister. Perhaps, but they would have had help. Livia employed both lanipendi (wool weighers) and sarcinatores / sarcinatrices (sewing men / women). For her comfort she had an unctrix (masseuse). 

Perhaps most striking are the skilled craftsmen who would have been employed for the manufacture and maintenance of luxury items. Her aurifex (goldsmith) and inaurator (gilder) might have been occupied mainly with furniture, but the margaritarius (pearl setter) sounds like someone who would have been employed to work on her personal jewellery. Elizabeth Bartman has noted the absence of jewellery from the sculpted images of Livia, which she describes as ‘‘bordering on the ascetic.’’ This, of course, may have been a deliberate fabrication of Livia’s image in the sculptural prototypes that she allowed to be distributed. There was a tradition of Roman women making a sacrifice of luxury items for the good of the state, such as the women who donated their jewellery to help fund the war against Veii in the early republic. 

But it may be that Livia aimed for understated elegance, to be simplex munditiis, as Horace expressed the concept in his famous poem. This could explain why Augustus aroused amused disbelief among the senators when he held up Livia as an example of womanhood and, when pressed to explain, cited as evidence her appearance and dress and her exodoi (her public forays) as illustrations of moderation to be emulated. Augustus had the evidence of his own eyes, and he admired her for avoiding extravagance. But the senators perhaps may have seen a kind of elegant moderatio, the appearance of simplicity that only the best dressmakers, coiffeurs, and jewellers can produce, using the finest and most expensive material. 

Livia’s energies would have been channelled mainly into her role as wife of Augustus and as mother of Tiberius. We know little of her private interests, or of how she tried to relax. Only one scrap of evidence survives for anything remotely approaching frivolity. She seems to have competed inanely with Julia, the granddaughter of Augustus, over the record for owning the smallest dwarf. This was settled honourably, as Julia owned the smallest male, at two feet, one palm (about sixty-seven centimetres), but Livia could boast the smallest female dwarf, Andromeda, height not recorded. We might also detect perhaps a hint of a certain silliness when she was a young woman.

The story of her trying to foretell her child’s sex by means of a hen’s egg is noted in chapter 1. After Tiberius’ birth she seems to have consulted an astrologer (mathematicus), Scribonius. He was able to forecast that her son would govern, but without the trappings of monarchical rule, an especially impressive performance, because he anticipated this before the principate had been established and before Livia had even met Augustus. But this kind of behaviour should be viewed in the context of its age, and Livia was probably no more unsophisticated in such matters than the great mass of her contemporaries. 

Otherwise her interests are likely to have been more serious, and she seems to have been a literate and educated woman. At any rate, in one of his letters to her Augustus quotes frequently and extensively in Greek, presumably on the assumption that she would understand him. She did of course spend some time in the Greek world during the period of her first husband’s exile, but she would at that time have moved mainly in a Latin-speaking milieu. It is more than likely that she learned the language through formal tuition. Given her family background, we can assume that Livia would have been well educated as a child. Roman girls shared domestic tutors with their brothers before their marriage. There are many examples of the happy result of this practice. Pliny the Younger was flattered to find his young wife reading and memorizing his works, and setting his verses to music. Cornelia, the wife of Pompey, was educated in literature, music, and geometry, and enjoyed attending philosophical discussions. 

The existence of the highly educated woman, at least at a slightly later date, is confirmed by the caustic observations of the atrabilious Juvenal, who proclaims horror at females who speak with authority on literature, discuss ethical issues, quote lines of verse the rest of humanity has not even heard of, and even correct your mistakes of grammar. Apart from Livia’s knowledge of Greek, however, we have no concrete evidence of her intellectual pursuits, in contrast to her great-granddaughter Agrippina, whose memoirs survived and were read by Tacitus. But we do have some testimony about Livia’s intellectual sophistication. Philo was a contemporary and, though a resident of Alexandria, very familiar with Rome and the imperial house. 

For example, he met Caligula in person when he headed a delegation to Rome to represent the case of the Jews of his native town. In a speech that he attributes to Caligula’s Jewish friend Herod Agrippa, he has Agrippa cite the precedent of Livia, whom he represents as a woman of great mental ability and untypical of her sex, for he contended that women were generally incapable of grasping mental concepts (whether this is Agrippa’s or Philo’s prejudice is not made clear). Agrippa supposedly attributed Livia’s superiority in this sphere to her natural talents and to her education (paideia). Livia was well disposed to the Jews and generous to the Temple, and we might expect some gilding of the lily. But Philo’s characterization of her could clearly not have been absurdly wide of the mark, or the arguments attributed to Agrippa would have been discredited. 

The Corinthian poet Honestus describes Livia as fit company for the muses, a woman who saved the world by her wisdom. The inflated language traditional in such a dedicatory piece, however, means that it has little historical value. Apart from the uncertain case of Honestus, we have no other case of Livia’s supporting any cultural or intellectual endeavour, although she was an active patron in many other areas. In this sphere she was eclipsed by Augustus’ sister Octavia, who was a sponsor of the architect Vitruvius and to whom the Stoic philosopher Athenodorus of Tarsus dedicated a book of his work. Although Livia’s interest in fostering artistic and cultural undertakings might have been limited, there was one field in which her enthusiasm seems to have been boundless: the issue of healthy living, both physical and psychological. Despite her general reserve in most other matters, she seems to have been willing, even eager, to impart her views on the issue of how to live a long and robust life. 

She was ahead of her time in her use of what would now be called a grief counsellor. When her son Drusus died in 9 bc, she was devastated. That she managed to handle the situation with dignity was due to no small extent to the counselling given her by the philosopher Areus (or Areius) Didymus of Alexandria. Areus was basically a Stoic but kept an open mind to other schools and ideas, the kind of eclectic pragmatist that the Romans found appealing. He was clearly a man of great charm, and at the time of Actium, Octavian described him as his mentor and companion. Octavian reputedly spared all the Alexandrians after the battle and stated publicly that he did so because of the fame of Alexander the Great, the beauty of the city, and his regard for one of its citizens, Areus. In the event Alexandria did not emerge totally unscathed, for Octavian followed up his generous gesture by visiting the corpse of Alexander, where he behaved like the worst kind of bad tourist, touching the nose and breaking it off.

According to Seneca’s account, to which the author undoubtedly added his own imaginative touches, Areus, in giving his advice to Livia, described himself as an assiduus comes (constant companion) of her husband and claimed to know not only their public pronouncements but also the secretiores animorum vestrorum motus (the deeper emotions of the two of you). He clearly knew his patient well, and in the event proved a highly effective consultant. He gently observed that Livia had been in the habit of repressing her feelings and of being constantly on guard in public. He encouraged her to open up when dealing with the subject of Drusus, to speak to her friends about the death of her son, and to listen to others when they praised him. She should also dwell on the positive side of things, particularly the happiness that he brought her when he was still alive. The advice may have the shallow ring of the popular psychology handed out in the modern media, but it worked. 

Seneca observed how well Livia coped with her loss by following this advice, in contrast to the morbidly obsessive Octavia, sister of Augustus, who never ceased to be preoccupied with thoughts of her dead son Marcellus. Livia lived a long and, by her own description, healthy life, with only one serious illness recorded, when she was already eighty. Her formula for her robust constitution seems to have been proper diet and the use of ‘‘natural’’ remedies. She clearly had the irritating habit of healthy people who insist on inflicting on others their philosophy of wholesome living. For history this has proved fortunate, because some of her dietary recommendations are recorded. In her early eighties she anticipated a trend that was to reemerge almost two thousand years later, attributing her vigorous condition to her daily tipple. She drank exclusively the wine of Pucinum. This was a very select vintage, grown on a stony hill in the Gulf of Trieste, not far from the source of the Timavo, where the sea breezes ripen enough grapes to fill a few amphorae. Pliny confirms its medicinal value, which he suspects might long have been recognised, even by the Greeks.

It need not be thought that in following this regimen Livia had simply invented a formula for healthy living. In fact, she was echoing a nostrum that had become very trendy in her youth, and in doing so marked herself as an acolyte of one of the master-gurus of health-faddists, Asclepiades of Prousias. According to tradition, Asclepiades started as a poor professor of rhetoric before turning to medicine. During his career he acquired considerable fame (Pliny speaks of his summa fama) and provoked the animosity of other medical writers—he was still being attacked by Galen almost three hundred years after his death. The anger of his fellow healers is not hard to explain, because he turned ancient medicine on its head by distancing himself from dangerous pharmacological and surgical procedures, even describing traditional medicine as a ‘‘preparation for death.’’ Instead, he placed emphasis on more humane and agreeable treatments—diet, passive exercise, massages, bathing, even rocking beds. Pliny felt that he mainly used guesswork but was successful because he had a smooth patter. 

How effective he was cannot be gauged now. He is said to have recovered a ‘‘corpse’’ from a funeral procession and then to have successfully treated it. But famous doctors in antiquity routinely restored the dead to life. Perhaps more impressive, and more alarming to the medical profession, was Asclepiades’ pledge that by following his own prescriptions he could guarantee that he would never be ill, and that if he lapsed, he would retire from medicine. He was apparently never put to the test, and eventually died by accident, falling from a ladder. It is not hard to believe that Asclepiades might have exercised an influence on Livia, especially in that Pliny remarks that he almost brought the whole human race round to his point of view, and Elizabeth Rawson argues that a case can be made that he was the most influential Greek thinker at work in Rome in the first century bc. Pliny notes a dilemma that has a strangely contemporary ring—whether wine is more harmful or helpful to the health. 

As the champion of the latter belief Pliny cites Asclepiades, who wrote a book on wine’s benefits, based to some extent on the teaching of Cleophantus. Asclepiades received a familiar nickname oinodotes (wine giver), although to avoid being cast as someone who encouraged inebriation, he did advocate abstinence under certain circumstances. As Pliny words it, Asclepiades stated that the benefits of wine were not surpassed by the power of the gods, and the historian, like Livia, seems to have been won over, conceding that wine drunk in moderation benefitted the sinews and stomach, and made one happy, and could even be usefully applied to sores. Livia might have become acquainted with Asclepiades’ teaching while he was still alive (it is uncertain when he died), but in any case Pliny makes it clear that after his death his ideas took a firm hold on the population, and would still have been in circulation for many years after he made his ultimate precipitous descent from the ladder.

Apart from her views on the benefits of fine wines, Livia was known for other health tips. Pliny adds his personal recommendation for one of her fads, a daily dose of inula (elecampane). The elecampane, with its broad yellow petals, is a common plant throughout Europe, and its root has long been a popular medicine. Because it is bitter and can cause stomach upset if eaten alone, it is usually ground up, or marinated in vinegar and water, then mixed with fruit or honey. It was supposedly useful for weak digestion. Horace describes its popularity among gluttons, who could overdo safely by using elecampane afterwards. Then, as now, celebrity endorsements helped; Pliny observes that the use of the plant was given a considerable boost by Livia’s recommendation. In some modern quarters it is still promoted as an effective tonic and laxative.

…These curiosities do provide a possible context for one of the charges levelled against Livia, which the scholarly world generally agrees was groundless: that of using poison to remove those who blocked her ambitions. The accusation is one that powerful women in competitive political situations throughout antiquity and the middle ages found difficult to refute, because poison has traditionally been considered the woman’s weapon of choice. Because women took the primary responsibility for family well-being, they would have been the inevitable targets of suspicion if a person died of something brought on by gastric problems. If Livia had insisted on inflicting her home cures on members of her family, it is not difficult to imagine that a malign reputation could have arisen after a death that was advantageous to her. One also should not discount the possibility that the combination of birthwort and ash of swallows did more harm than good, and that she might indeed have helped despatch some of her patients, despite the very best of intentions. 

Allied to Livia’s preoccupation with herbal remedies is her passionate interest and regular involvement in various aspects of horticulture. The most vivid illustration of this comes from her villa at Primaporta . The highlight of the complex is the garden room, built and decorated around 20 bc in the form of a partially subterranean chamber nearly 12 metres long by 6 metres wide, perhaps a dining room intended for summer use. The most impressive feature of the room is the magnificent wall painting, unparalleled for its scale and detail. It creates an illusion of a pavilion within a magical garden, teeming with flowers and birds. Unusually for the Pompeian Second Style of painting, all structural supports have been dispensed with, even at the angles, although along the tops of the walls there is a rocky fringe, which conveys the impression of the mouth of a grotto. In the foreground stands a wicker fence. Behind that is a narrow grassy walk, set with small plants, bordered on its inner side by a low stone parapet. A small recess is set in the wall at intervals to accommodate a bush or tree. 

Behind it stands a rich tangled forest of carefully painted shrubs and trees, with various types of laurel predominating. The rich mass of foliage is framed at the top by a narrow band of sky. The painting is detailed and accurate, with flowers and fruit and birds perched on the branches or on the ground. The birds, of many species, range freely, with the exception of a single caged nightingale. Flowers and fruit of all seasons are mingled together. This rich extravaganza belonged clearly to an owner who exulted in the richness and variety of nature. But Livia’s horticultural interests went beyond a mere feast for the eye—she had a direct and practical interest in produce. She developed a distinctive type of fig that bore her name, the Liviana, mentioned by agricultural writers and recommended by Columella and Athenaeus, and which may have contributed to the tradition that she eliminated Augustus by specially treated figs grown in their villa at Nola.“

- Anthony A. Barrett, “The Private Livia.” in Livia: First Lady of Imperial Rome

[folk-vision]

Karl Hans (Joachim) Janke (1909-1988)

I ask you to keep the images and albums with the numerous drawings and models that I created for you humans.

Karl Hans Janke (1909-1988) graduated from high school and attended a technical college for a couple of years and studied dentistry although he didn't complete the course. He was drafted into the German army in 1940 where he was hospitalised on a number of occasions because of behavioural problems and was eventually discharged from the service on medical grounds in 1943.

By the late 1940s Janke was found to be malnourished and exhibiting increasingly eccentric behaviour and, after a short prison sentence and hospital assessment, he was committed to a psychiatric institution in Wermsdorf, Saxony in 1950 with a diagnosis of chronic paranoid schizophrenia. He remained at this facility for the rest of his life.

The institutional staff either encouraged or tolerated the passion Janke showed for sketching technical designs: he had his own "office" in the hospital in which he produced four thousand drawings and constructed hundreds of models of his "inventions". Apparently the boxes containing his works were stowed away at the hospital and forgotten after his death and weren't rediscovered until 2000 when the imaginative artistry and sheer enormity of his output was finally recognised.

Janke was, in his own mind at least, a serious engineer, intent on helping mankind by devising all manner of rocket ship (especially), space vehicle, ferry, bike, propulsion mechanism and associated transport system. His drawings range from simple prototype sketches to incredibly detailed schematics reminiscent of technical manual designs. He was an energetic correspondent with the patent office and various technological and aerospace type agencies and departments, endeavouring - without much luck - to share his inventions with his scientific "peers". Fearing theft of his intellectual property however, Janke was also assiduous in dating and signing his works with an accompanying statement declaring himself as the author and originator of each idea depicted.

It's an astonishing collection and, on casual perusal, might simply be regarded as an interesting and artistic obsession (like blogging?), albeit at the extreme end of the continuum. But the delusional nature of Janke's illness becomes readily apparent from closer inspection (and reading around). His elaborate and grandiose ideas about harnessing stellar atomic energy meld with naive conceptual visions for its applications and connections to nature and other lifeforms. He skips from a vague - to put it mildly - comprehension of the atom to designing end-point technical gizmos and transporters that will rely on his illusory power source. There is also a whole series of watercolour sketches outlining the origin of the world (including as a hatching egg), for instance, that hints at the breadth of eccentricity within Janke's deranged belief system.

I'm sure some people will consider Janke's thoughts and designs about futuristic transport to alien planets and odd energy sources to be visionary genius or prescient, with parallels in the modern world say, but they really are the product of deluded fantasies, no doubt helped along by photographs and schematics he saw in newspapers over decades that documented the evolution of rockets and satellites. This was a fellow who built a totally psychotic world in his own head - and he had no insight that it was from an illness - with only tenuous connections to reality; whose extraordinary artistic output wasn't so much a symptom as it was a documentary record of the nature and extent of his distorted thought patterns. That's not to say that his portfolio isn't brilliant in an 'outsider art' way. It is, of course. But any deeper meanings relate to aesthetic qualities or psychiatric disturbance and not to technological virtuosity.

Janke's works have been exhibited in both space art and psychiatric art exhibitions. The accompanying catalogues (linked below) have articles translated into English in which the authors speculate - perhaps wildly at times - about the probable background and origins of Janke's inspiration. One idea of particular note observes that Janke often backdated his designs and research to 1928 (he signs them with 1928-1956, for example) and the inference goes that 1928 was the year Fritz Lang released his sci-fi film, 'Woman in the Moon'*, (or at least, the year when the book it was based on was released; the film: 1929) which just might have been the trigger for Janke's life-long obsession with outer space creativity. Maybe. "Janke went to great pains to emphasize that all his technological inventions and ideas were for the benefit of humanity and aimed towards propagating peace. In his final testament, he wrote: 'I ask you to keep the images and albums with the numerous drawings and models that I created for you humans.' "

[alchemabotana]

Dear Awakening Healers - On Expertise

Dear Awakening Healers:

As you begin this path of newly acquired insight, it is important to review your expertise.

On a daily basis I receive many messages from people inquiring about assistance on their path. With technology, it is easy to reach out to established healers to seek input, guidance, and perspective. As you do this, please be respectful of the expert you are requesting assistance from. If you are intending to grow into the capacity of guiding others, it is important to not just treat others as you want to be treated, but to treat your elders in the ways they wish to be treated.

Do not be surprised if the experienced person you are seeking help from requires a commitment from you to work with them. This commitment may very well be a financial one. This is appropriate in our current economic system and cultural context in which shamans like myself do not have the traditional community support systems that ensure their basic survival in means of food, shelter, healthcare, and other financial resources. It is not a good idea to expect your approached teacher to work for free, and rhetoric implying that it is the teachers' responsibility as a spiritual being to be a "lightworker" who grants wishes based on your desires or interests, is not appropriate. Do not conflate ideas and systems in an attempt to Frankenstein disparate systems into something that makes sense to you, but is not what your teacher is offering. Do not attack your teacher when they challenge your basis of knowledge and experience. If you grow into the capacity of providing services and support for others, you too will have to exercise caution, discernment, and boundaries. The most simple expectation of compensation for your services is not unreasonable.

Check yourself and your enthusiasm: It may be very exciting for you at the start of your awakening. You may feel drawn to listen to podcasts and read books. You may feel that these endeavours of intellectual and academic research gives you authority in areas where you in fact have no standing. Suggesting to a teacher who you desire assistance from that you are on an equal footing, or that there is an implied consent before they have offered or agreed to assist you, is an assumption that does not endear you to a well worn shaman or other expert in their healing speciality.

This subversion of energy no longer surprises me, and on a real-world physical plane it is boggling to the mind that a person who is requesting you to work for them for free doesn't actually need your help. My question is always "then why did you reach out for help?" Truthfully, it is the need for recognition from someone who is already recognized in their field of expertise that drives these sorts of communications. Those who have gained their knowledge and wisdom from years of experience will be the first to tell you that outside approval and recognition, such as course diplomas or certifications in shamanic work, do not necessarily a shaman make. Additionally, it is incredibly problematic to believe that you will be granted entry and access to a lineage system simply due to enthusiasm, interest, talent, money, or coercion.

Acceptance: Accept where you are on your path and cut the comparisons. Being stuck in a cycle of comparison does not assist you in your journey. Remember that saying: it's a journey, not a destination. Destination addiction on the spiritual path is an illusion and will disempower you. Accept that if you have not been born into gifts, or are starting on a new path, that your newness is a gift itself. Allow yourself to be who you are, where you are.

Ask yourself if you are trying to participate in a trend of spirituality, or if you are serious about the path of initiations being laid out for you. Do not assume the path is easy or comes without significant sacrifice.

Be grateful: There is a large opening happening in many lineages to allow newcomers access to the spiritual knowledge long kept in secret due to persecution, genocide, and other horrors that you may have no context for. Be respectful of the context. Be grateful to be included in a lineage should it be opened to you, and do not assume that because you are being taught certain aspects of a lineage, that you have access or authority to the entirety of it. Be grateful if a teacher recognizes your gifts and provides you with teachings, tools, and connections to further development. You are not entitled to these things. You are not entitled to someone else's system, heritage, or knowledge. Be grateful to have access to support and a distillation of knowledge. Support is not something guaranteed on these paths. Be grateful because gratitude is the basis for the best and most significant openings on your path.

[sabineelectricheart]

Cailanian Juvenilia

Summary: Cailan has an encounter on the library that just might shape his youth.

Rating: K+ - Suitable for more mature childen, 9 years and older, with minor action violence without serious injury. May contain mild coarse language. Should not contain any adult themes.

Words: 1300

Notes: Cailan is hot. Why does the hot guy have to die?

The first time he realizes she exists, she is reading a book in the library.

Well, not as much realizing. Cailan knew the Teyrn of Highever had two children, but he had never acknowledged Elissa before, but only her brother, and that was only on the odd occasion they spar together. As much as he respects their lineage and desires to be friendly, their paths rarely seem to cross, and so he finds it not worth much of his effort.

If the noble girl spends most of her time here, and it would seem that she does, it was hardly surprising that they rarely meet. The young prince does not value much the enterprises of the mind, while she seems to be more holistic in her endeavours, both intellectual and martial.

Her clear eyes are roving over pages, drinking a wine crafted from words. She is drunk on the flavour of knowledge, and he can nearly imagine the giggle that may leave her mouth if he probed her with questions. It would be a mockery, but he feels as if he would not mind.

Elissa licks her lips, as if gathering drops of consonants that spilled over the brim. Her pupils are blown, her fingertips are twitching, her lungs look like they quiver with each breath, as if they cannot understand the oxygen that enters them.

Calian needs to be closer.

He starts by switching tables. He is one, two, three, four feet closer, and it still feels like eons. She barely blinks, and he doubts she can even hear his movements.

The prince came to the library with a purpose. There is an essay assigned by his tutors in front of him, but it is irrelevant. What is much more intriguing is the faded leather of her tome. He picks out Virgilian Juvenilia and keeps it in his mind, just for a future reference he swears he will not revisit.

His chest feels light and his head feels cloudy. He is vinous with an unknown high, with a dry pleasure he knows not. The paragraphs on his page rise, reorder, recongregate into a format he can barely decipher. It would have been panic infesting his brain, were it not for the bliss that fogged his peripheral.

He mouths the words, tries to taste them as Elissa does hers, but it is to no avail, because all he swallows is sin and desire. He is intoxicated, but it is on something else entirely.

He has never met something so heady as the smell of her perfume.

*_*_*_*_*

After that, Cailan became a regular fixture at the quiet library, which came to a surprise for almost all its regular patrons. Aside, of course, for Elissa, who had not been in Denerim for long enough to know the movements of its inhabitants.

Alas, the prince is always there. Always silent. Rarely reading. He is a completely inoffensive presence, until he was not.

It is on the sixth visit that he spills his ink bottle. Right at her feet.

He has memorized her schedule at this point, the noble girl that has seeped past his skull and taken refuge inside his dreams. He wonders if Elissa feels safe there, tucked beside those unconscious wishes. He wonders whether he has disguised his coveting look well enough for him to continue his admiration unbothered and unopposed.

He was prince, yes, but he is no rapist. Despite his position, he would not want to impose his company on the lady. He wanted to cause no harm.

Cailan, she whispered the first evening, perhaps as a silent acknowledgement she would not be allowed to give until he greeted her out of his own volition. He swore she did speak with him, in blissful amicability, and it was what reassured him to remain in the library, afternoon in and afternoon out. The only question remaining is whether her voice is truly so sweet.

The black liquid splatters against her skirts, blends in with the brown hem of them, and she does not take notice until he begins apologizing.

"I am sorry." Cailan mumbles, pulling his handkerchief out and pretending the tremble in his fourth finger is coincidence.

He pretends everything about them is coincidence.

Elissa looks up from her tome to find him kneeling before her, handkerchief blotting at her shoes. Her brow furrows, and she does not even bookmark her page before setting the item down.

"Do you always carry a handkerchief?" She asks, and he feels a new rush in his blood, one that promised a hard crash.

It is saccharine.

He gives her the reserved smile, the tilt few see. "You never know when you shall need one."

It is her turn to smile, and she holds out a hand, asking for the cloth.

The blond teen obliges, and, to his great surprise, she shifts to wipe the three drops off the tip of his shoe. His lips part, and some part of him no longer feels like quite the majesty.

In fact, he almost comes to desire to have no blue blood at all. Alistair, hidden away in Redcliffe, comes to mind in envy.

"Thank you, milady." He breathes, and the words equate to a prayer he has kept hidden for weeks now.

"My pleasure, Your Highness." She says, and he could not decipher what she meant by it.

Elissa returns the handkerchief, and he imagines the touch that stays imprinted onto the material. He hears those things take days to disappear. It fills him with an odd sort of delight.

The prince nods, and it is as though the earth shifts. He is almost unsteady, drunk on a person he craved without inhibition.

"Cailan, please. At your service." He replies.

*_*_*_*_*

Her eyes shine in the sun, and Cailan thinks it is the only light he needs to guide him anymore.

Her laugh is like Orlesian sugar, and it tastes warmer than the sweetest of honey.

"I am glad we met, Prince Cailan." Elissa says as she toys with the rings that decorate his fingers. "It has been one of the finer things in life, I think."

"And why is that?" He hums, blue eyes flicking up to hers.

It never fails to evoke adoration in the form of heated cheeks.

"You are like poetry." The noble girl responds, but does not elaborate.

He does not ask her to.

Her fingertips trip over his skin, and while it is not rough by any means, it is the deepest massage he has ever felt. The grass is soft beneath them, the chessboard long since abandoned in the middle.

Instead, between them lies a new connection. He is the same as she is, and that means a magic he has yet to master dances a dagger's edge.

However, regardless of the direction, he is not afraid to fall.

*_*_*_*_*

It only takes two weeks of knowing her, of truly discovering her, for him to arrive at the library by himself, out of his own volition, for the first time in his life.

Anora looks at him in confusion. She is a woman of letters, like the Cousland girl, but unlike the Cousland girl, that seems to be her only domain. For that reason, her surprise was expected, especially since he is never alone anymore, but he pays it no mind.

Instead, he is walking to the back shelves, the ancient literature section, and he chooses a large, worn book, though, no matter its size, what lies inside holds much more weight.

Anora gives him a surprised look, but he ignores that too.

As she helps him check it out from the librarian’s ledger, she drags a thumb over the title, and quiet dread blooms in her chest at the simple words engraved in gold against leather.

Virgilian Juvenilia.

*_*_*_*_*

Dragon Age: Origins Masterlist

[limejuicer1862]

Wombwell Rainbow Interviews

I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me. I gave the writers two options: an emailed list of questions or a more fluid interview via messenger.

The usual ground is covered about motivation, daily routines and work ethic, but some surprises too. Some of these poets you may know, others may be new to you. I hope you enjoy the experience as much as I do.

Jane Sharp

Jane Sharp has been called a surreal writer. She freely admits to inhabiting other worlds from time to time. When she is not writing she enjoys playing the piano and the cello. Her home is in Yorkshire where her roots run deep. She also has a passion for dark chocolate.

Jane’s Blog: https://www.janesharp.org

Higgs Bottom: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07WLVTQP6

The Interview

What inspired you to write poetry?

I began wanting to write verse as a young child, by entering competitions in the comic I took every week. I never won anything, but I was inspired by the fact that somebody did. Add imagination and a competitive spirit, plus a great deal of parental praise, and like a rosebud my passion for poetry began to blossom.

Who introduced you to poetry?

Moving past the nursery rhymes of my childhood, I was first introduced to verse by the elders of the Methodist Chapel in Long Preston. As a part of the annual anniversary service I had to learn a few lines to recite along with other children of the Sunday school. At junior school I moved through the nonsense poetry of Edward Lear, The Owl and The Pussycat, A. A. Milne ‘Where the Wind Comes From… ‘ etc into the realms of Walter de la Mare, and I found myself in the throws of GCSE exams, being taught by a young, just out of college teacher, Mr Jackson, who, in his first teaching position, turned up at school with a Beatle haircut and a snazzy jacket. I thought he was the ‘bees knees,’ and consequently went all out to impress him. He encouraged me to let my imagination go wild, and seemed to appreciate my efforts at story telling and writing poetry. I even wrote a play, ‘Oedipus,’ which I have kept to this day. I would say, he was the one person who cultivated the opening rosebud with his enthusiasm for literature, and his praise of my immature efforts.

How aware were you of the dominating presence of older poets?

By older poets, I take you to mean poets of past times, such as Wordsworth, Keats, Byron, etc. Having a general education, I was introduced to these poets at an early age. I still have my copy of The Golden Treasury, from my school days. As far as being aware of their dominance, I did not think of them in that way. I did not have a choice in the matter and was simply fed whatever the curriculum deemed appropriate. Fast forward to the present day, and I am happy to have been introduced to those heavyweights, just as I am happy to have been able to study the works of the war poets, and in more recent times, Ted Hughes, Sylvia Plath, Matthew Sweeney, Yevgeny Yevtushenko, and so many more excellent poets.

What is your daily writing routine?

The words, ‘daily routine,’ imply that I do something at the same time every day. For me, writing poetry is not like that. I sometimes wake up with a poem in my head, or at least a couple of lines, in which case I jot it down straight away. I always have a pen and notebook on my bedside table. I have been known to catch a line or two whilst swinging the vacuum around, or pegging the washing on the line, or even whilst waiting for a bus, but there is no daily routine. I do, however, make sure that I read at least one poem every day, and this can be first thing in the morning, or last thing at night. Of course the novel writing is more like a nine to five job when it is in full swing.

When I am in writing mode I can sit and work on a poem for days until it is finished, and even then come back to it a week later and make revisions, and that might not be the end of it. Unless I have a deadline there can be constant additions or subtractions before I am satisfied with the result. But generally I will have a sound outline in one or two days.

What motivates you to write?

Motivation: that great, unseen push. Well, it isn’t money, that’s for sure. I write because I want to write, because I have all these words spilling out of my head that are just looking for a home. They want to manifest, they need a physical form; they are ideas, which need to be spoken out loud, stories that don’t want to sit in the void, and characters that are banging on my skull to let them out.

Of course, deadlines for magazines, spoken word events, poetry society meetings, are all great motivators, and they bring focus and an intellectual approach to my writing. Being given a subject to write about is never as easy as going with the flow, but it is possible to stoke up passion for the unlikeliest of themes, such as ‘warts’ for instance, the subject of one of my poems.

What is your work ethic?

‘Just do it!’ I can be as lazy as the next person, but I know that if I don’t get off my backside and do something, it doesn’t get done. There is a time for work, and a time for play, but there is no ‘set’ time for either.

How do the writers you read when you were young influence you today?

A perfect example of this is when I began to write my latest novel, Higgs Bottom. The main character is a 13-year-old schoolboy. I had in mind Jim Hawkins from Treasure Island, and I did my best to channel him. It didn’t work. The way a schoolboy of today speaks is far removed from the way a young cabin boy would have spoken in 1756. Yet the idea of a first person narration did come from my childhood memories of Treasure Island. My reading of Alice in Wonderland has influenced my writing greatly; I take the philosophical ideas, and the bizarre imagery from such books.

Who of today’s writers do you admire the most, and why?

I have long admired the accessibility of poems written by Simon Armitage. His use of form is a joy, and his vocabulary hits the spot. He can be humorous whilst at the same time very serious. And, of course, he is from Yorkshire, and like all good Yorkshire people I support members of the clan, so to speak.

I also like the poetry of Isabel Bermudez, who I think is a rising star. I find her poems to be soothing, and thought provoking, and full of imagery.

Why do you write as opposed to doing something else?

Well, I do have many other things to do, such as practicing my cello, or the piano, or even reading, in fact I would say that reading is just as important to me as writing. And I have to make time to do all of these things. But I’m not the sporty type, I can’t sew, I avoid baking because that would mean I would have to eat too many cakes and biscuits, my grandchildren are grown up, therefore there is no babysitting, and I am retired from work, and, and this is a big and, I enjoy writing. I enjoy creating a poem, or a story, and what’s more I enjoy performing and making people feel emotion, whether it be laughter or tears.

What would you say to someone who asked you “how do you become a writer?”

This is an easy one. How do you become a writer? You write: you write every day. You write down what you hear people say, you write down what you see, you write down what you smell, and you write down what you feel. And then you write down what you think.

Tell me about the writing projects you have on at the moment.

I have just wrapped up my second novel, Higgs Bottom. It is now available on Amazon as a Kindle download, or as a paperback book. It has taken me several years to complete, and I am very proud of the finished work. Higgs Bottom is my second novel, the first being Tears from the Sun – A Cretan Journey. So, now I have to announce to the world that their copy is just sitting there waiting for them to snap up. It is a book for all ages, and here is a spoiler – Higgs Bottom is a place, not a bottom. I hope to write a follow up to Higgs Bottom, but I have a work in progress, which may take precedence.

I have also been working very diligently on a poetry collection, which is now complete and should be published before October is out. I have called it Scary Woman – A poet in Barnsley, and it is an eclectic mix of personal, serious, erotic and humorous poetry. I have to add that my husband, David, is such a great help in all my endeavours.

Wombwell Rainbow Interviews: Jane Sharp Wombwell Rainbow Interviews I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me.

[eternalweight]

Why study (more) theology?

A few months ago, in September, 2017, I entered Ph.D studies at the University of Toronto, School of Theology, and started a new journey in academic theology. Taking Christian theological studies to such an extreme level may seem for some an odd enterprise—are there not more lucrative and less churchly areas of research into which one might enter? Perhaps. But here are two less obvious reasons why I think studying theology is still queen of them all. Maybe these reasons aren’t appealing to you, but they were among the many I considered in choosing to pursue theology further.

1) Studying theology exposes those fundamental beliefs that hide beneath our everyday decisions.

Aristotle held that in every line of inquiry into something we achieve knowledge when we come to know and grasp its principles and causes. Most of us agree that we understand a thing when we know its primary causes and principles down to its very elements, like stripping a car engine down to see how it runs, or disassembling my sister’s dollhouse to help her understand the basics of how annoying it is to trip over. Theology, the study of God, shares in philosophy’s quest to go beyond the first principles of the natural order, the province of, say, physics, and seeks after those things beyond what we see and touch, meta-physics. Zoomed out wide, theology asks, “if God exists, then what is reality and how does the world work”? Taken down another level, it asks, “if God exists, how might that impact what is good, true, and beautiful”? Theology is less concerned with vindicating belief in God (apologetics) than it is seeking out the implications of that belief on our other beliefs, customs, and everyday decisions—something I think is a worthwhile endeavour. After all, most of us go through life believing that being nice is a good thing, that two and two is four, and that Nickelback is a crummy band. But why? I should add that theology isn’t a philosopher’s riddle, reserved only for those who can untangle every God-related conundrum. But it does come to grips with those stable assumptions lurking beneath what we believe and how we think and act. Indeed, in this way studying theology affords one the opportunity to see how this issue of ‘God’ bears on every angle of their lives—what we believe about music, literature, and even motocross reflects a fundamental theological belief, which is to say, a belief about God.

2) Studying theology is an act of Western self-reflection.

It dawned on me one day in graduate school that a person can’t come to understand Western science, philosophy, or literature until they appreciate the full measure of theology’s bearing on Western civilization. I mentioned that theology, rather than seeking to prove God’s existence, attempts to get at how God makes a difference on how the world works and why things are the way they are. And indeed Western thinkers made great advancements in science, philosophy, and literature which arose from certain beliefs about God and how his world must work. Atheism in the Western world never really became fashionable until well into the Enlightenment (c.1680–1800). Belief in God prior to and even during this time was thus no mere religious preference, but the fabric into which science and philosophy were woven. In the Middle Ages, Thomas Aquinas (1225–1274) was one of the West’s greatest philosophers, setting the stage for the study of politics, ethics, and psychology, all while campaigning for the centrality of God on every aspect of reality. His lengthy arguments, which philosophers still grapple with today, were the direct results of his quest to uncover the concord between faith and reason—a pivotal moment in the advancement of the observational sciences. Following in Aquinas’s footsteps, William of Ockham (1287–1347) was driven by a desire to safeguard God’s freedom and give a more robust account for the natural order—he sought in particular to place emphasis on the study of the unpredictable creation of a free God. Both these medievals were practitioners of science and philosophy, and yet their scientific and philosophical contributions can only be fully appreciated when their theological concerns are taken seriously. That is to say, we cannot understand them until we see the theological edifice into which their thought is crafted, for beliefs about God profoundly shaped such thought.

Theology’s influence on Western literature can also hardly be neglected. Augustine (354–430) practically invents the genre of autobiography with his Confessions, moved not by matters pertaining to his own self-absorbed existence, but by a deep desire to reflect on the loving character of a long-suffering God who forgives him even in the face of his sin and shame. Dante Alighieri (1265–1321) crafts a sonorous, poetic masterpiece filled with wondrous cosmic and celestial order, riffing off the literary giants who came before him all while filling out with remarkable detail in the Divine Comedy the remarkable vision of God and all things in relation to God. I could go on about art and music, about Rembrandt or Handel or others in the West whose theological vision stirred their head and heart. But at this point I hope you understand the centrality of theology in Western learning: reflection about God and his world served as the cradle of the academic disciplines, the canvas of the artistic imagination, and the jewel in the crown of the liberal arts. Theology gave traction to intellectual development and furthered creative freedom as indeed contemplating the divine prompted deep reflection about the world and our place in it. You might say that theology served as a mere crutch until humanity came to full adulthood with the advent of the modern age and the coming of the scientific revolution, being promptly disposed of when the study of God became disjointed from the study of the heavenly bodies and earthly matters. While I cannot here address this concern (for it is a serious one) the truth is that many in modernity’s shadows do not rejoice at theology’s quiet slide toward obscuration.

Studying theology therefore inches one towards a more robust understanding of the Western mind; it captures the symphony of tension at work in Western artists and scientists who hundreds of years ago sought to make sense of and depict their place in God’s big, mysterious world. Studying theology is thus a refreshing way to sit alongside giants from the past and come to understand our story better, for it is a story about our journey, and God cannot be passed over. Indeed as we stand along the banks of western intellectual curiosity, peering into the river of theological thinking we see our own reflection. For the theological currents that so shaped Western habits, customs, and beliefs are the very ones that forged our own.

—

I could go on, but here I’ve given you two reasons theology is an exciting field of study for me and a worthwhile topic to consider engaging more. Maybe I’ll share more later. Its worth noting however that theology is a discipline with its own set of challenges. For example, one doesn’t better understand and take advantage of the stock market, or know how properly to diagnose and treat malaria as a result of studying theology. In this way theology is a field with little ‘practical’ import. But that is precisely the way it should be. Theology is more concerned with the kinds of people who use stock markets and diagnose and treat others. In this way theology need not look beyond itself to justify its existence: studying God is a good in itself. But theology does not, as it were, remain by itself. For as surely as faith works through love so the student of theology is moved to a labour of love, moved and motivated to action by the very object of their study, who is Love (1 John 4:8). Theology is a journey, and this quote by Augustine captures its spiritual dimensions. For me, the photo below also depicts the wonderful embarkation on this journey. 

“God is the fountain of our happiness, He is the end of all our desires. Being attached to Him, or rather let me say, re-attached…we may rest in Him, and find our blessedness by attaining that end. For our good, about which philosophers have so keenly contended, is nothing else than to be united to God. It is, if I may say so, by spiritually embracing Him that the intellectual soul is filled and impregnated with true virtues. We are enjoined to love this good with all our heart, with all our soul, with all our strength. To this good we ought to be led by those who love us, and to lead those we love.” 

Augustine, City of God Book 10, Chapter 3.

[jeromechill1]

Evidence-based health practice: a fairytale or reality?

This blog, written by Leonard Goh, was the winner of Cochrane Malaysia and Penang Medical College’s recent evidence-based medicine blog writing competition. Leonard has written an insightful and informative piece to answer the question: ‘Evidence-based health practice: a fairytale or reality’.

Details of the other winners are here – many congratulations to you all.

The philosophy of EBM has its origins in the 19th century, though it was only relatively recently in 1991 that Gordon Guyatt first coined the term in his editorial, espousing the importance of a clinician’s ability to critically review literature and synthesize the new findings into his practice [1].  His comments sparked off the EBM movement in a medical fraternity that was increasingly unsatisfied with basing clinical practice on anecdotal testimonials, leading to the worldwide incorporation of EBM classes into both undergraduate and postgraduate programmes, as well as workshops for already-practicing clinicians.

It has to date percolated into the public arena, to the point where it is not uncommon to hear patients asking, “so what is the evidence for this treatment you are proposing?”

EBM was formally defined as “the conscientious, explicit, and judicious use of current best evidence in making decisions about the care of individual patients” in a 1996 article [2], and subsequently revised in 2000 to mean “a systematic approach to clinical problem solving which allows the integration of the best available research evidence with clinical expertise and patient values” [3]. The revision attempted to reflect equal emphases on the clinician’s individual clinical competency and cultural competency, addressing the common criticism of its prior definition that it was “cookbook medicine” that negated individual clinical expertise and the choice of patients.

There is a constant struggle to balance clinical decisions in accordance with the three ideals, especially if current best evidence contradicts individual experience and patient choice. But the main issue with EBM is, in my opinion, the validity and applicability of research results to the real world. Research conclusions are drawn completely from statistical analysis, yet a vast majority of clinicians lack a proper in-depth understanding of statistics to come to a correct conclusion. 

Take the p-value for instance.  It is commonly understood that results are statistically significant if the corresponding p-value is below 0.05, and statistically insignificant if the p-value is above 0.05.  However, this dichotomy is simply not true.

The p-value threshold of 0.05 is an arbitrarily defined convention that was first proposed by RA Fisher in 1925 and has since been used for convenience sake. Furthermore, p-value significance should in fact be seen as a continuum; results with a p-value of 0.049 is not markedly more significant that one with a p-value of 0.051, yet we proclaim the former a significant finding and disregard the latter.  This invariably leads to faulty reporting of study conclusions [4].

Digging deeper into the principles of p-value, it becomes apparent that there is a subtle difference between our commonly conceived notion of it and its exact meaning that can elude even the most astute of clinicians – the p-value does not comment on the truth of a null hypothesis, but rather is about the compatibility of the research data with the hypothesis. To remedy this, the American Statistical Association published a statement on statistical significance and p-values [5], but we can be sure it will take a significant (pun unintended) amount of time before these deeply entrenched misunderstandings are rectified.

This insufficient understanding of statistics means that research studies are vulnerable to statistical manipulation, whether unintentional or otherwise.  Indeed, Stephen Ziliak and Deidre McCloskey, authors of the book The Cult of Statistical Significance, estimate that between 80% and 90% of journal articles have serious flaws in their usage of statistics; even papers published by the New England Journal of Medicine were not spared.

On top of that, huge numbers of papers published every day, making it a Herculean task to determine what constitutes “current best evidence” – it takes time to do a literature search, identify papers, and evaluate them, time which our clinicians simply do not have. Even if correct methodologies are in place, there is concern that claimed research findings may possibly be merely accurate measurements of the prevailing bias [6].

Adding insult to injury is the presence of predatory open access journals in the publishing industry. Neuroskeptic, an anonymous neuroscientist-blogger, illustrated this by submitting a Star Wars-themed spoof manuscript that was absolutely devoid of scientific rigor to nine journals, of which the American Journal of Medical and Biological Research accepted, and the International Journal of Molecular Biology: Open Access, Austin Journal of Pharmacology and Therapeutics, and American Research Journal of Biosciences published [7].

While the Neuroskeptic’s intent was not to make a statement regarding the brokenness of scientific publishing but rather to remind us that some journals falsely claim to be peer-reviewed, this concomitantly highlights the very real probability of better-concealed, intellectually-dishonest papers masquerading as legitimate science, impeding efforts to uphold an evidence-based health practice.

Is evidence-based medicine then an unrealisable fairytale?

To conclude as such would perhaps be exceedingly harsh. Yes, our practice of evidence based medicine is flawed, as pointed out in the preceding paragraphs. That, however, is not to suggest that we should cease striving to improve upon it. Evidence based medicine represents our best hope in ascertaining that we provide our patients with the best available treatment options, and we should persevere in our endeavours to further actualise this fairytale into reality.

But should this be our utmost priority?

In today’s world, where our medical profession is increasingly governed by statistics and algorithms, it is easy to mistake evidence based medicine as a panacea. We would however do well to remember that as much as it is a science, medicine is also an art. It is crucial that we do not lose sight of our raison d’être – to cure sometimes, relieve often, and comfort always.

  References

Guyatt GH. Evidence-based medicine. ACP J Club [Internet]. 1991 [cited 2017 Sept 25]:A-16. Available from: http://www.acpjc.org/Content/114/2/issue/ACPJC-1991-114-2-A16.htm

Komatsu RS. Evidence based medicine is the conscientious, explicit, and judicious use of current evidence in making decisions about the care of individual patients [Abstract]. Sao Paulo Med J [Internet]. 1996 [cited 2017 Sept 25];114(3):1190-1. Available from: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/9181752

Sackett DL, Straus SE, Richardson WS, Rosenberg W, Haynes RB. Evidence-based medicine: how to practice and teach EBM. 2nd London: Churchill-Livingstone, 2000

Hackshaw A, Kirkwood A. Interpreting and reporting clinical trials with results of borderline significance. BMJ [Internet]. 2011 [cited 2017 Sept 25];343:d3340. Available from: http://www.bmj.com/content/343/bmj.d3340

Wasserstein RL, Lazar NA. The ASA’s statement on p-values: context, process, and purpose. Am Stat [Internet]. 2016 [cited 2017 Sept 25];70(2):129-33. Available from: http://amstat.tandfonline.com/doi/pdf/10.1080/00031305.2016.1154108

Ioannidis JPA. Why most published research findings are false. PLoS Med [Internet]. 2005 [cited 2017 Sept 25];2(8):e124. Available from: https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pmed.0020124

Predatory journals hit by ‘Star Wars’ sting [Internet]. 2017 [cited 2017 Sept 25]. Available from: http://blogs.discovermagazine.com/neuroskeptic/2017/07/22/predatory-journals-star-wars-sting/#.WcfXB8gjE2z

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[calculatemygrade-blog]

find out final grade

In the route psychotherapy regarding menage environment, philosophy beliefs, grade a calculator strategies, and educator action of students, Cano and Cardelle-Ellawar (2008) nominal that parents’ educational point and family’s intellectual condition are two getable roots of philosophy beliefs active the speeding and sweat active in acquisition, which in their move influence students’ gpa final grade calculator strategies and pedantic action and middle the effects of family variables. The results of line reasoning suggested that whatsoever blood characteristics can promise children’s epistemological beliefs. The modify the educational layer of the parents, the much prospective their children gift instruct naïve beliefs roughly hurried, facile learning, a prove which is in understanding with those of Schommer (1990, 1993a). They observed that these beliefs depend not exclusive on parents’ educational attainments, but also on how these attainments are reborn into an occupy in mixer, cultural, semipolitical, and highbrowed activities (house intellectual–cultural climate). The exceed the family’s mortal climate, the many refined the child’s beliefs nearly average of grades calculator and the higher their action academically. Tho' this finding is loosely ordered with those of Schommer (1990, 1993b) as regards tribe upbringing, it goes somewhat too far. What do you conceive virtually this? What do you conceive active X™s theory? I expect you™re taking kinda a dogmatical range on this. What about . . . ? OVERVIEW OF THE what is my grade on a test In the exam music of this chapter, I interrogatory whatsoever results of a how to calculate a semester grade to calculate my grade in a class of EFL candidates in the prefatory and front courses. An attitudinal questionnaire provides statesman responses to synergistic accumulation activities. In analyzing the assemblage, I liken origin students with more front students in dictate to endeavour the foretelling that there present be long-term attitudinal personalty of the noncompetitive practices of the LMR worthy as students amount finished their studies. I also inquire whether there are sexuality differences in activity to helpful activities. Pursuing the results of this speculate, I recognise excerpts from one student™s book as she tries to use the LMR-Plus Work in her internship (see way beneath, œJournal Substance from the Classroom). These excerpts lucubrate the successes and challenges of a beginner™s use of the expose. Miss bees may arise crosswise as serious-minded, and tend to maturate their friendship groups among confusable types. The tutorial grouping is one that is historically embedded in university pedagogy. Its office is to refer students actively in the how to find semester grade noesis by assemblage in dwarfish groups in prescribe to instruction a set theme or job. Most tutorials testament refer between fin to dozen students, although there are many universities where tutorials are conducted on a one-to-one supposal. The tutor™s enactment is to ease communication or, for problemsolving tutorials, to support students encountering difficulties. In increase, they may be required to modify an categorization of your status and execution. It is worth intellection a soft statesman strategically around what you can acquire from tutorials beyond the subjectbased docket on which your forgather give employ. For representative, a tutorial is a kindhearted of meeting and finished your involution you module be potential to acquire interpersonal skills that module channelize to meetings in another authority contexts erstwhile you graduate. Who are the tutors? The womens™ unit chisel the mens™ team by 15 points and the childrens™ group pace them both. The boy™s unit won the reckon. Use second when you are at an ˜energy low™ to assure turn clerical activities by composition up and filing your notes; use your ˜high energy™ dimension for modifier cerebrate. Be organized " appointment everything as you perceive or make it. Stock your matter in an union way " expend in a broadcast of important ring-binder folders, one per topic, with black dividers to conception divers elements of the class. This will work you to acquire things speedily. You could lay the subjects alphabetically or chronologically, for warning. This is a matter of individualised penchant. The important situation for retrieval purposes is to be consonant. As shortly as you turn to use physical from any variety of seed, always line dr. all the action message required to relocate the source should you poorness it at a afterwards saucer. This message present also be necessary should you compliments to restate several of the accumulation from this thing in your text. This effectuation that you should listing all the substance required for the write system you may customarily use, for representation, the Philanthropist Method of referencing (Ch 35). Inaction your expert. Before your communication associate, secure that you are allowed to use a computer, and corroborate that it is a modeling that is permitted for use if there are any restrictions.

[lamotheloves-blog]

Outsiders are not always good, and governments are not always bad

The Rise of the Outsiders: How Mainstream Politics Lost its Wayby Steve Richards

Across the western world, people have risen in revolt against their traditional rulers. In Britain, they voted for Brexit, and in the United States they elected Donald Trump.

The recent general election came too late for Steve Richards to include it in his study of this phenomenon, but he does observe that without UKIP, there would have been no Brexit.

And his argument is by no means invalidated by the collapse on 8th June of UKIP's vote. He recognises that the fall of the outsiders is inevitable, over time. If they gain power, they become insiders, and have to face all the draining, confidence-sapping dilemmas that arise in democratic politics. That is happening now to Trump.

But sometimes the role of the outsider is to force the existing parties to take seriously a subject, such as immigration, which conventional politicians would prefer to ignore, as being simply too difficult.

Richards sees a pattern in both Europe and America, with mainstream parties suffering a crisis of identity, and new entrants to politics profiting from a topsy-turvy era in which experience of government is a disadvantage.

He is alert to the paradoxes which afflict the challengers:

Outsiders acrossthe democratic world are intimidatingly strong and yet transparently weak. They win power. They bringabout historic change. They influence policy, even when still distant from securing national power. These are extraordinary achievements for political novices, like winning Wimbledon or the US Open, having played only a few games at the local park. Yet in most cases the outsiders are pathetic, fragile, inconsistent, inexperienced and often quite silly, thelast quality being especially dangerous for those wishing to be taken seriously on the political stage.

And he notes the weaknesses of the mainstream parties. Their propensity for sticking to outdated orthodoxies was demonstrated with particular clarity after the crash of 2008, when they had nothing new to say.

Outsiders such as Bernie Sanders could step into this intellectual vacuum and declare: The people bailed out Wall Street. Now it is time for Wall Street to bail out the people.

Challengers have no need to say how they will achieve their aims. They voice the anger of the people against the government which got us into this mess. Richards refuses to be swept away by such demagoguery:

It is the juxtaposition of 'the people' against the elected insiders that is chilling. Roughly translated, it conjures up abizarre contortion in which the people elect representatives who, irrationally, betray them. The people then turn to outsiders to save themfrom the consequences of the democratic process. Or outsiders encourage them to think along these dangerous lines.

I am not sure Richards does justice to the extent to which politicians start doing things to please their parties, on whom promotion depends, rather than their electors. The widespread and deeply felt opposition of the German public to giving up the German mark was not properly reflected in the votes and debates held in the Bundestag. Hence the rise of Alternative for Germany, a new party which made the argument for leaving the euro and restoring the national currency.

Nor does Richards do justice to the elemental human need to find someone to blame when things go wrong. Sovereigns find it convenient to blame mistakes on their ministers, and so do voters, who in democracies have become the sovereign power.

This happens to be at the front of my mind because I am writing a volume which will contain brief lives of all 54 prime ministers from Walpole to May (or all 55 from Walpole to May's as yet unknown successor), and have recently been working on Baldwin and Chamberlain.

Both those Prime Ministers and Conservative Party leaders were immensely popular in the 1930s. In 1931 and 1935, the party won huge general election victories, and in 1937 Baldwin handed over to Chamberlain, who to general approval pushed ahead with the attempt to appease Hitler.

There were strong arguments in favour of this policy. To risk the bloodshed and suffering another world war would bring when the horrors of the last one were still so vivid was intolerable. Britain's armed forces were in no fit state to fight a major war, and to do so would most likely mean the loss of the British Empire. And most reasonable people recognised that the Treaty of Versailles had treated Germany with unsustainable harshness.

To accommodate the more reasonable of Hitler's demands made sense, and Chamberlain was cheered to the echo when he returned from Munich having done so.

When this policy collapsed, people looked around for the guilty men, found them in Chamberlain and Baldwin, and wanted Winston Churchill, during the 1930s an outsider, to take over.

Just now we look for someone to blame for the fiasco that was the Conservative general election campaign, and again the Prime Minister is the obvious candidate, for it was her way of doing things which failed. She used to be remarkably popular, and now, suddenly, she is remarkably unpopular.

I have stretched far beyond the bounds of Richards' work. He makes, in studiously moderate terms, a defence of the business of government, with its inevitable compromises, as an endeavour which is noble, and which must be explained as noble to voters, not just condemned in the cheap and simplistic terms used by most outsiders.

Richards is a man of the Left, but from a Tory perspective, one can agree with him in finding something sinister in the dangerous, lazy, foolish anti-politics instinct. Demagogues peddling simplistic solutions are not admirable.

But Richards is wise enough to see that the mainstream parties have in some respects become vacuous, with the word liberal becoming almost meaningless. He also remarks, truthfully enough, that there has always been a degree of disdain for elected politicians.

The insults hurled in earlier ages were at least as vicious as anything hurled today, and outbursts of bad behaviour in the Commons in some ways keep it closer to the wider public than perfect manners would.

But I am again straying far beyond Richards' theme. The pity of his book is that it is unlikely to be read by angry populists. It will appeal to sober, serious, well-meaning people who do not require its insights.

We now need a modern Bagehot, capable of treating the subject of outsiders in a more prescriptive and historical manner. For the phenomenon is as old as government itself, and in the febrile state of public opinion, demagogues see their chance.

[thesnootyushers]

The British public loves a good police show. Here are some of the best!

The TV police procedural has been a stalwart of British television since Dixon of Dock Green first walked the beat in 1955.  The genre has evolved and developed over the years, but the British TV bobby has never been too far from our hearts as we have tuned in en mass to watch their adventures.

With the recent death of Inspector Morse author Colin Dexter, and the highly anticipated 4th series of the amazing Line of Duty starting later today, Snooty Ushers Dave and James have put their heads together to make a list of our favourite British TV cop shows.  The only rule was that it had to be about actual British police (so no Sherlock, Cracker, or any of those amateur sleuth shows). So, in no particular order, let us begin

Just missing out: New Tricks, The Fall, Ripper Street, Between The Lines, Rebus (with Ken Stott, not John Hannah),  Maigret (because it is French!), A Touch of Cloth

Line of Duty (BBC, 2012-)

Dave: What better place to start than with the original inspiration for this list, the brilliant Line of Duty.  The show focuses on AC-12, a special team of elite officers who investigate the police. While this echoes the similarly themed Between The Lines from the 90s, it stands on its own as one of the best British police procedural dramas.  About to enter its 4th season, each series focuses on a different, but interconnected case, fronted by a high profile British actor.  The AC-12 team recur throughout.  It is grounded firmly in reality and it so brilliantly written, intricately plotted and tightly directed that something as simple as 3 people sitting in a room having a conversation can deliver such incredible tension.  The cast to deserve so much credit, the AC-12 officers led by Irish stalwart Adrian Dunbar’s damaged every-man Superintendent, Martin Compston is instantly relatable as the terrier like DS Steve Arnott (although I do take issue with him not using his Scottish accent), but it is Vicky McClure as DC Kate Flemming who is the real star.  The 3 series so far have weaved such a tight web of intrigue and tension that I wouldn’t dare revel any plot points here, I would just implore you all to catch up before the new series starts.  If you need another reason, Keeley Hawes, in Series 2, gives one of the most devastating, intense and down right brilliant performances in recent memory.

James: This is a show that proves that British TV can match anything from around the world. It’s also my favourite ongoing British show of any genre. One mistake seemingly ruins a promising young police officer’s career, and he is shunted to the AC-12 (“Internal Affairs” if we were in America), in an attempt to push him out of the force. But instead, DS Arnott truly finds his niche, as does the show itself. There are loads of police shows with conflicted and morally ambiguous lead characters, but Line Of Duty focuses almost entirely on their feet of clay, yet never falls into witch-hunt territory. Lennie James, Keeley Hawes, and Daniel Mays have given three different performances as heroic cops who come under AC-12’s gaze, and the three series so far have all taken different paths, never covering the same ground. And the interrogation room scenes are the high point of the show as weeks, sometimes years worth of story lines are brought together. A truly great show.

Life on Mars (BBC, 2006-07)

Dave:  If Line of Duty is grounded in reality, this is something different all together.  Sam Tyler (John Simm) is a DCI working in Manchester.  When he is involved in a car accident, he wakes up in 1975.  He is still a cop, but a rank lower and finds himself working for the oafish DCI Gene Hunt (Philip Glenister).  This just worked on every level.  The ambiguity surrounding Sam’s predicament kept us guessing.  Is he dead? crazy? In a coma? Or has he actually traveled back in time?  The world of modern policing contrast with the good old days of the 70s made for some thrilling moments and some genuinely funny moments too, with the chemistry between Simm’s straight laced, lateral thinking, by the book cooper and Glenister’s blunt instrument works a treat.  The ambiguity continued after the conclusion of the series, with the story continuing on the 80s set sequel series Ashes To Ashes, which saw Gene Hunt move to London and paired with a female detective (Keeley Hawes).  While never hitting the heights of Life On Mars, it ran for 3 seasons and gave us a satisfyingly heart-breaking conclusion.  This will be forever remembered for giving us immortal and unforgettable DCI Gene Hunt.

James: Whether it was their intention from the very beginning or not, the makers of Life On Mars got to cherry pick all of the best bits out of 70s cop shows. We got a modern piece of television – Sam Tyler struggling with the nature of his reality and Gene Hunt getting into car chases and punching criminals. And as someone who lived in Manchester it was great to see how they shot around the city to get that Seventies feel.

Also, the third series of Ashes To Ashes also deserves a mention, as Daniel Mays (who featured in Line Of Duty as well) gave a fantastic performance that shepherded the whole saga to a great conclusion.

Snooty Usher TV Trivia Fact #711 – The American version of Life On Mars (with Harvey Keitel as Gene Hunt) ended after one season, and being years away from wrapping their own version, the original writers gave their US counterparts free reign, and they came up with a doozy. Both the “modern day” and 1970’s realities were both just a simulation to keep astronauts minds active on a mission to Mars, and a glitch had causes Sam’s program to jump from one simulation to another.

Snooty Usher TV Trivia Fact #712 – There are currently Czech and Russian versions running in those countries that take their Sam Tyler character back to Soviet-era police, giving another level to the show.

Inspector Morse/Lewis (ITV, 1987-2015)

Dave: Based on the novels of Colin Dexter, Inspector Morse ran for 33 episodes across 13 years, becoming one of the nations favourite detectives.  He was the epitome of the gentleman detective, a middle class bachelor with middle class interests, he drove a classic Jaguar, listens to opera and has a fondness for real ale, this was contrast in his relationship with his partner DS Lewis, a working class family man from the North East.  Set in the beautiful city of Oxford, with the various colleges and classic architecture used as a stunning back drop.  Now, the term national treasure is banded about a little too often for my tastes, but is there a better way to describe John Thaw?  His gruff nature embodies Morse with an every-man quality that masks his vast intellect.  Kevin Whately’s Lewis is perfect foil as his put upon Sergeant.  Their relationship is central to the show’s success and longevity.  The series ended in 2000, when Morse collapse and died of a heart attack, his legacy would live on however when in 2006, when Kevin Whatley’s Lewis would return.

Robbie Lewis is now a Detective Inspector, he is widowed and his kids are grown. Paired with a new DS, James Hathaway played by Lawrence Fox.  Hathaway is a chain-smoking, emotionally detached intellectual. Lewis is Colombo like, in as much as his scruffy appearance and the fact that is not an Oxford man, means he is constantly under estimated by the high brow university community.  While he relies of Hathaway’s classic education at times, he is more than a match for Oxfords criminal element.  Lewis and Hathaway’s chemistry would rival but not quite eclipse that of Morse and Lewis, but was the driving force behind this shows success, it was baffling when after 7 series and a natural conclusion, they brought the show back for 2 more years, changing the dynamic of the leads and for the first time in nearly 30 years, the show began oustay its welcome.

The conclusion of Lewis was not the end for the franchise.  In 2011, ITV turned back the clock with the prequel series Endeavour.  Set in 1965, it focuses on Morse’s early years as a DC.  Shaun Evans does a great job of honouring Thaw and giving us a believable young Morse and Roger Allam adds a touch of class as Morse’s noble DI, Fred Thursday.

James: Morse is a national treasure. It really is the gold standard that all detective shows are aiming for. The character work between Morse and Lewis was brilliant, and they knew when to inject some levity and humour into what was a serious drama. Decades before Sherlock, theses were basically films that were shown on ITV, and we got thirty three of them. Although Lewis is slightly in its predecessors shadow, it featured a nice change of dynamic with the two leads, and in a nice touch of symmetry, there were also thirty three episodes of Lewis.

I would echo Dave to say that Endeavour really does uphold the quality of the shows that came before it. There’s the same sheen of quality, and Shaun Evans portrays Morse’s traits without simply mimicking John Thaw.

Snooty Usher TV Trivia Fact #713 – Inspector Morse author Colin Dexter made a cameo in all but three of the Morse episodes.

Snooty Usher TV Trivia Fact #714 – In the pilot episode of Endeavour, Morse questions a newspaper editor.  The editor asks if they have met, as he seems familiar to her.  The editor is played by John Thaw’s daughter Abigail. She recurs throughout the series

Luther (BBC, 2010-16)

James: Neil Cross wrote for Spooks and Doctor Who before being Luther, and his writing deserves a lot of credit. He has created a conflicted detective haunted by his past, and set him in a harsh, yet real-feeling London. However, in this could be the set up for almost any detective show – Idris Elba makes Luther into a great piece of work. His performance really nails the complex character, making him sympathetic but still hard as nails. He will make a great next Bond… or Doctor Who!

The show also stands out by giving Luther a full-on nemesis. Ruth Wilson play Alice Morgan, a character who comes in and out of the show. Cross has always said Luther is inspired by Sherlock Holmes and Columbo, and by giving the detective his own Moriaty, Luther raises the bar again.

I truly hope that we get more episodes of Luther. The most recent series was only two episodes, and surely it would be possible to squeeze another couple into Elba’s (and Cross’) increasingly busy schedule. Perhaps just even a one-off to finally wrap up the series, although the end of the third series seemed to do that quite well – coat and all – before it was brought back. Maybe Netflx or Amazon Prime could throw enough money at it to get another go around.

Taggart (STV 1983-2010)

Dave:  Now, I am a Scotsman who has lived in England for the better part of 10 years and this show has a lot to answer for.  The amount of times I have been asked to utter the phrase “Thurs bin a murder”, well let’s just say it is more than once.

Set in the Maryhill area of Glasgow, Taggart was and remains the UK’s longest running TV police series.  The show survived the death of its title character, when the great Mark McManus died in 1994.

Jim Taggart, was a gruff no nonsense Glaswegian, with little time for sensitivity.  The show was just so brilliantly Glaswegian, the best part of watching this growing up was trying to spot the locations where it was filmed.  The show declined in quality following McManus’s death, relying on the more gruesome elements to attract viewers, (I recall one episode where 6 people were murdered, too much!!).  Those early years though gave us something so intrinsically Scottish that DCI Jim Taggart will forever be one of my all time favourite TV cops.

Heartbeat (ITV, 1992-2010)

James: Trips to Aidenfield were a staple of Sunday nights when I was growing up. It started out with Nick Berry was Nick Rowan, a London police officer who moves to North Yorkshire with his wife , Dr Kate Rowan (Niamh Cusack). The two of them have to deal with small town life, as well as some pretty hard hitting storylines. Bill Maynard’s turn as lovable rogue Greengrass provided the  light relief, and the policing team of Ventress, Bradley, and Blakeston were always welcome.

Later series broadened the focus from a single lead character when Rowan transferred to the Mounties in Canada after Berry decided to leave. Jason Durr came in as Mike Bradley, and it became more of an ensemble show, with the storylines moving into the more usual Sunday night territory that. But those early shows left and indelible mark on this Snooty Usher.

Messiah (BBC, 2001-2008)

Dave:  The first series of Messiah was one of those shows that just blew me away.  It was dark, it was scary, it was gruesome.  Ken Stott is DCI Red Metcalfe, he and his team are faced with series of brutal killings.  As they delve deeper, they find that someone is killing people, mimicking how Jesus’s apostles died. Now, I am a sucker for serial killers with a religious motive and this is one of the finest examples of it.

Red and his team returned for 3 more series and new cast taking over in 2008 for a further 1 series, with Marc Warren taking over from Stott in the lead.  While they were suitably gruesome, it never quite hit the heights of this ground breaking first case.

James: My sister and I used to buy cheap books from charity shops when we went on holiday. One of these books was about a series of gruesome murders that wove religious themes into plot. We talked about how it would make a great film or TV show – and when we got home we found out that it did! Ken Stott was just perfect as the detective trying to get to the bottom of these horrific crimes. He played the role like a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders, like he constantly had a splitting headache. The supporting characters were excellently cast as well.

A Touch of Frost (ITV, 1992-2010)

Dave: I love Del Boy Trotter as much as anyone, but for me at least, this is David Jason’s finest hour.  The gruff, empathetic Detective Edward ‘Jack’ Frost.  Based on the novels of R.D Wingfield, A Touch of Frost was a firm favourite in the McKee household.  This is set in the fictional town of Denton, in the south midlands and while they are completely different, it is difficult not to compare Frost with ITV other long running Detective series Inspector Morse.

Frost never had an established DS like Lewis, working with a series of different sidekicks which really worked.  The humour in the show came from Frost’s interactions with his boss Superintendent Norman “Horn Rimmed Harry” Mullett.

James: A Touch of Frost was great. David Jason knew just how much comedy business to put into his performance. I think everyone was surprised just how good he was in the more serious role, and I remember trying to find out if Denton FC was a real football team.

Prime Suspect (ITV, 1991-2006)

Dave: While I enjoyed the early episodes of Prime Suspect, I was never a massive fan of it, mainly down to the fact that I don’t really like writer Lynda La Plante’s work.

Having said that, the quality of this show and the performance of Helen Mirren demands attention.  Ground breaking and harrowing at times, this gave us a really believable, flawed female lead. Tennison has been oft imitated and never, to date, bettered.

The Bill (ITV, 1984-2010)

Dave: And finally, no list of police shows would be complete without this long running series.  Set in the fictional Sun Hill Police station, this gave us a load of memorable characters. Remember PC Reg Hollis? WPC June Ackland? DCI Frank Burnside? The list goes on.  It lost something for me when it changed from the 30 minute episode format, but I still hold many fond memories of this show

James: I love shows that are truly episodic. Whether it is the monster of the week episodes of shows like Buffy or The X-Files, or the half an hour episodes of The Bill that were on every Tuesday and Thursday. The ongoing tales from Sun Hill lost something when it went to an hour long, but those early episodes will last a long time in my memory.

Until next time, thanks for reading. Stay gold Ponyboy, stay gold, and catch ya later on down the trail.

10 Of The Best British Cop Shows The British public loves a good police show. Here are some of the best!

[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.”’

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

‘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.”’

[calculatemygrade-blog]

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