Candace Lain Faucher (address deleted) writes:I'm actually well aware that breasts are quite sensitive. But to say that any personal stimulation caused by someone walking around topless is any sort of justification for keeping them covered doesn't logically play out for me. I mean -- if you walk around without a bra, isn't that the same thing? Wouldn't of the fabric of a t-shirt rubbing up against a woman's breasts be even more stimulating? Is it equally lascivious for someone with a clitoral piercing to receive the same stimulation by walking or running around, and if so -- should they be banned, except for use in private? Not having breasts myself, I cannot comment on what sensual experience might arise from moving about bare chested, but it hardly seems a threatening prospect in any event.>I am referring to being taught that the breasts are easily stimulated -
>i.e. "petting...." How this movement (which could very well include
>walking/etc) can and does cause stimulation. I view the breasts as a
>sexual part of the woman. I do not feel that it is appropriate to display
>breasts in public for a number of reasons. Perhaps you personally won't
>mind men gauking at your wife/girlfriend ..... but, I feel that (call me
>old fashioned) modesty is still the best policy.
Why does any sexuality surrounding any woman's breasts mean that they are forced to cover them at all times, unlike men, whose breasts are also sexual, and furthermore, only sexual? And why, then, wouldn't women who dislike the feeling of having their breasts touched be allowed to bare their breasts in public? They exist; and I'm sure they'd be pleased to have your blessing.
And, as I'm sure many people with large breasts can testify, men -- not all men, but those that are inclined to stare -- always gawk at breasts. So many of my friends have to endure this staring, and subsequent treatment, every day. Out of sight hardly entails out of mind. Because they're there. And if you have large breasts, or don't wear a bra, or wear tight shirts, aren't you as "guilty" of putting yourself "on display" as someone who merely wishes to bare their breasts? Anyway, it really is the secretive sexualization of breasts that causes this problem. It isn't the fact that breasts are sexual organs that causes such shame and prudery -- it's the sexualization we place upon them. Breasts are a complete mystery to men, and in cultures where breasts are openly displayed, they lose most, if not all, of this 'private parts' burden.
As to your remark about men gawking at my girlfriend -- well, might they not anyway? I'm involved with someone who not only is really very beautiful and special to me, but yes, she also has large breasts. And not only do men stare at her, but they've stared at her since she developed them. This scrutiny makes her uncomfortable -- as it should -- but she's learned to cope with it. And if she decided to bare her breasts -- or if any of my friends did, for that matter -- I'd show my support. Her body is not -- and furthermore, no one's body -- mine to possess, or covet, or guard jealously, simply because we share some sort of romantic bond. I don't own anybody. It would be her body to do with as she pleases, whether she wants to expose it, pierce it, tattoo it, tan it, paint it, implant nifty cybernetic parts by which to enslave humanity with ruthlesss robotic tyranny, or whatever. She's probably going to get a breast reduction at some point soon... again, those are her breasts, and if she chooses to have them reduced to spare her discomfort, pain, and stigma, and then proudly and confidently display them -- well, that's also entirely her choice, since the only person it really absolutely concerns, is her. I'm sure I'd be part of any decision, but that doesn't mean I myself am owed this.
>It takes but only a second of the mother's time to place a tiny blanketBut that's you. I might agree that it's personal, but breastfeeding for me is only as private as it is made by the family. I personally wouldn't be offended if someone fed her baby in front of me in a restaurant, beside me on the bus, or in a bench in a mall. A mother and baby obviously wouldn't necessarily be ashamed to nurse in front of me. I wouldn't have a problem eating in front of a baby, even if it were attached to someone's breast. Frankly, breastfeeding is a clean, healthy, bonding practice, and I'm happy to say that I wouldn't judge, harasss, find offense with, or disapprove of a mother and a baby who didn't have the "common decency and consideration" to take such a thing out of my sight.
>over the breast as the baby feeds (in public places). Merely a matter of
>common decency and consideration for others.
>I see no reason for open display with regard to breast feeding - good
>judgement is called for. If I am sitting down in a restaurant awaiting to
>eat my meal or be served - I personally wouldn't "fancy" witnessing a
>mother nursing her baby. Not a big deal - just feel that this is a
>personal and private time between the mother and infant ..... not needed
>to be shared with every Tom, Dick, and Harry sitting near by ....
>Again, I would agree that women will do whatever they want - I personallyOf course it represents a good change. Naturists aren't promiscuous and perverted sex fiends. At least, no more than you or I might be. A lot of them are serious Christians, and in any event, they'll ask you to leave if you engage in inappropriate behaviour while among them. These people obviously have no difficulty separating nudity and sexuality, and frankly I think that's the best, and healthiest, sort of progression you can make. It seems to me that such sexual attitudes and "morality" are highly advantageous, and it has nothing to do whatever with "flaunting" what you have, whether you "got it" or not. A lot of nudists are elderly, and many of them have less than perfect bodies. Just like the rest of us, they have big fat hairy men, too. But naturists are quite accepting of the human body by definition... and once its uncovered, it doesn't have to be perfect, or hairless, or covered with makeup, or anything.
>prefer to see women being attractive without wearing "Why Bother"
>outfits. Never really understanding that saying, "If you've got it -
>flaunt it." Thong bikinis were banned in Florida which really amazed me
>since this is the prime location during March Break ...
>If I am into such nudity or lack of clothing - I would go to places that
>offer this. Yes, it is a sign of the "times changing...." That doesn't
>necessarily mean that it is a good change.
>Playboy magazine has made millions upon millions of dollars by offerringDesensitized? No one said any such thing. But Playboy makes its money because we really are so obsessed with the human body. For that matter, so does every beauty and fashion magazine. We take such great pains to conceal and perfect it. I think the idea is that if you expose your body, and in turn accept the bodies of others, the obsession -- the frenzy -- probably won't be so compelling.
photo's of women's breasts - now some are informing me that if women start
>removing their tops in public places - men will become de-sensitized (sp)
>by it all ...... sorry ..... don't buy into this at all for one second.
>I have never viewed breasts as "any dirty little secret," but, I doAnd this is your opinion, and rightly you are entitled to it. So long as you don't attempt to tell others that they may not bare their breasts, simply because as an individual you personally disapprove. It seems to me that this is a very clear option, but I myself am delighted that women have been at least presented the choice. I highly doubt there will really be a rush of topless women this summer -- or next summer. But isn't it great -- and isn't it about time -- that finally women have at least been told that they won't be arrested for it? Unfortunately, and it is clear, they will be judged.
>believe that it is a private area of my body to be shared only with the
>man "in my life." Personal option yes.
>I do not see removing my top as giving me any "equal" rights to anything
>except alot of gauking eyes.
>I prefer to enjoy my visit to the beach or pool without "Look at me," as
>my goal - which is what will occur if you remove your top.
>Perhaps you could touch on the subject of morals if you do respond to thisDo you mean to say that by baring your breasts, you would be less moral than someone who does not? Or, to play it through, that since you choose not to bare your breasts, you are more moral? I'm sure this isn't what you're saying. But myself, I can't see how morality enters this decision at all. I think the only consideration is whether it will receive undue attention, or provoke harassment. I read of at least one case where a woman walked around downtown on a summer day, free as a bare-breasted bird, and went completely unmolested. I'd hope that this would happen more often than not.
>posting.....?
Since one of the things we'll be selling are pairs of balloons crafted to resemble breasts (accompanying a poem by a dear friend and co-editor), I thought it would be clever and nifty of me to present to you today some of my thoughts on breasts, as provoked, with my ire, by some of the sentiments flaring up now that women can, in Ontario, legally bare their breasts in public, just the same way a man can. Some people are objecting to it on various moral grounds, and anyway, I ranted. For reference, the first part of this piece, quoted with ">" is to denote that that part of the message is being quoted (like in e-mail). This comes from the feminism SIG on my little wee FreeNet if you want to check it all out there. You can even telnet in (telnet.ncf.carleton.ca) and login as guest. Then just type "go fem" at the main menu prompt.
Candace Lain Faucher (address deleted) writes: > I see no problem with sun-bathing/enjoying the wonderful rays of sunlight > topless - that is, in the privacy of your yard/pool/cottage - whatever. > What I do have a problem with - is the ability to create more exihibitionists. > > I see no logical reasoning behind flaunting oneself for ALL to see. I > realize that many do....... > > When I attended Secondary School - we were taught in Health class that our > breasts were a sexual part of the body. Since this has suddenly been > changed somehow ....... become some kind of ridiculous campain for equal > rights ....... I would also hope that our schools have stopped teaching > that the breasts are a sexual organ. > Guess Playboy and all the rest of them ..... have had the wrong idea too....Breasts have a pronounced sexual function, but they have a function equally as important as this that I'm sure you also learned about in health class, and probably life -- feeding babies. A woman's breasts have also come to be equated with more than a woman's sexuality, but a man's. Men find breasts to be very aesthetically beautiful, and erotically stimulating. And there's probably nothing wrong with that, except that they have become so highly sexualized that the way people perceive women, and the way women are perceived, have a lot to do with this part of her body.
Somehow this dualistic nature of breasts creates problems for a lot of people. I mean, there are men who find breasts to be perfectly presentable so long as they exist in a magazine or someone's naughty webpage or whatever, but the moment a breast is presented with a baby attached to it in a mall, they become biological and obscene. A lot of people find public breastfeeding as objectionable as public toplessness, or even more objectionable. Then again, a lot of people don't see the problem with either.
What is, and what is not presentable varies greatly from year to year, and culture to culture. People formerly could not go to the beach showing any skin save what would normally be visible through normal modes of dress, but that doesn't mean a man's or woman's knees should be covered. Or that it's wrong to let people see your navel. Or just some of your breasts, so long as you keep those nipples covered. God forbid. Thong bikini bottoms are another example of this. Maybe you "shouldn't" walk around showing your bare bum, but a lot of people can, and do, and while in some situations this isn't really appropriate, in others it is, and while you have to bear the burden of people noticing, and even staring or making comments about your exposed flesh, it's really your prerogative.
And anyway, what are a man's breasts but for their sexual function? It's not fair to just say that the ability of a woman to bare her breasts in public represent some ridiculous attempt at equality. Breasts are as sexually functional as they always have been, but so are the breasts of a man. The only difference is the sexual perception of them. Male nipples have some degree of heightened sensitivity; some men can even orgasm through the stimulation of their nipples. I can't. But some men can. Should they then cover their chests at the beach or in the park? Heck, everyone in the world engaged in this discussion is pointed out that a lot of men have some pretty large breasts, too. Some because of their enormous pectoral muscles, but a lot more because of deposits of fat. Whether or not these breasts are sexual or aesthetically pleasing to look at plays no part in whether men are allowed to take their shirts off. There are just some situations where everyone has to wear a shirt. I think, though, that just as fairly there ought to be situations -- public situations -- where women have the same freedom.
Look at naturists (no pun intended). This has become a very popular lifestyle for a lot of people, and families, and they do a lot more than just take their shirts off, or flounce about in revealing bathing suits. They take everything off, and they do it in front of, and with, their children. They show off their sexual organs -- even the ones no one gets to show at the beach -- and yet no one feels particularly ashamed, and no one is attempting to express some radical equality agenda. They enjoy the sun, and the outdoors, and they feel that nudity is a wonderful, natural state. They patently are not exhibitionists. Exhibitionism has a lot to do with sexuality, and that isn't the attitude naturists express. They have simply shed a lot of the shame and inhibition we've been socialized to feel about our bodies, much the way they shed their clothing.
Breasts are what you make of them, but the fact remains that in some form or other, both men and women have them -- just as men can grow breasts and women can lose theirs thanks to the creative hormone therapies that come with sex changes -- and there are a lot of cultures -- even western cultures -- where bared breasts are not at all an issue or a problem. The heavy sexualization that you talk about in Playboy, etc. is to a large degree caused by the fact that we force women to hide their breasts, and thus they become a very sexual mystery exceeding their own sexual function for the woman. As any woman with large or small breasts knows, some very unhealthy attitudes and perceptions accompany them from men, and also other women, and I think it would be wonderful if instead a more positive, natural opinion of a woman's breasts could be fostered just by making them less of a dirty little secret.
So I think this is the day that finally the good Rob and I will be able to exchange our places in the evil and good universes respectively, and resume our normal lives. I've been messing around with his good computer (although unfortunately it is also white... someone pointed out that he had a blue computer, but why doesn't everybody have a black PC? And what the hell is a Macintosh anyway? You ignorant monkeys...), and just like in Star Trek, I've managed to fix everything by reversing the polarity on the framistatz compensator. All I have to do now is reverse my Windows startup wave file, get Netscape running, load Tie Fighter in the background, and start pressing buttons until the phase shift boots me the hell out of this dimension.
I know, I know -- you'll miss me. It isn't that I have found any particular problems with your good universe, but it isn't really my home or my life, and as I have said -- you still have a lot of morality and hangups here that I can't quite get around. In this universe you're still quibbling over issues such as whether or not women should be allowed to bare their breasts in public, which really just point out your heavily repressed sexuality; and let me tell you, that sort of scene just isn't my bag. The evil universe is a lot more tolerant and indulgent of a lot of things that your screwy Judeo-Christian guilt and morality presently forbid, and there's just no way to adapt to such oppressive shame and prudishness. Hell, even your maxi pad commercials skirt the issue with that mysterious clean blue liquid. People always think that evil is this terrible corruption of morality, and maybe it is, but -- jiminy crickets -- look at what you gain by adhering to bright and shiny goodness. This universe has been completely held back by "good" things like God, family values, Kraft Dinner, McDonalds, and Disney. Do you seriously think that the aliens we know and love in the evil universe are going to welcome a society that worships talking ducks that don't wear pants, and yet in the same stroke derives prejudice, righteousness, ignorance and hate from some mystical godly goblin in the sky that no one's ever seen? Hardly. I think I'd like to meet the good Rob, from everything I've seen of his innocent and delicious friends, and his room, and his porn, and I'd probably like him, but let me just say now that it's his existence that keeps me from wanting to push the evil button that secretly exists on this computer, and declare war on your crappy universe myself.
I've left a note here for the good Rob, detailing to him what, exactly, he would need to do to send me an e-mail that would reach the evil universe, in case he wants to ever arrange a deliberate switch sometime -- you know, to change the pace. So it's entirely possible that I'll be back someday... although not particularly soon if I can help it. I need to cleanse my palate of this bland oatmeal reality, and then maybe I'll have the gumption and ire to come back and teach you primitives a thing or two about living.
I'll be leaving around 2:00 PM... just as soon as Law and Order finishes. But anyway, I'm sure the good Rob will have some adventures to tell you about once he's home.
Ta.
She has a boyfriend now, too. I'm not sure how or when, exactly, they met, but they seem to share a lot of the same interests and projects (like performing technical effects for plays at a local theatre), so I'm assuming they met as a result of their similar lifestyles. He seemed nice, if quiet -- but I suppose the same has been said about both the good and evil versions of myself. Apparently he was a little insecure about meeting me, but I can relate to that, too. I always find it awkward to meet people's boyfriends or girlfriends or, if I'm the boyfriend, meeting their close friends. Being the attention whore that I am, these people constitute prime threats to the uninhibited flow of love and attention that I constantly require from my friends and loved ones. And there is, too, the consideration for him and me both that at one time I was pathetically in love with his present girlfriend. I mean, she and I met when I was fifteen, and she was seventeen, and blimey if that didn't quickly turn into the largest and messiest crush of my entire life (to date). I was this shy, timid, meek little goofy bookworm, who spoke to no one and preferred it that way. Even then I stood out as a freak in the rural atmosphere of Smiths Falls, and having people pay attention to me back then was the equivalent of a public flogging. But she was a "weird chick" even then, and there I was, this unassuming little thing riding the bus, eternally buried in some book or other, and I suppose she found that at least a little endearing, because she struck up a conversation with me one afternoon.
You're probably assuming that I shrank even further into my little shell when someone -- a girl, no less -- engaged me in human interaction, but actually I responded to her in a way that vaguely resembled some of the charisma I have now. We talked for the entire journey of the bus (which on rural routes is considerable), and as we parted ways on the different ends of Weedmark road upon which we lived, I was, in my fifteen-and-impressionable way, quite charmed. It quickly became infatuation. We talked every day during high school, and at some point I started writing her letters. They were like notes, really, but instead of passing them in class (she was a grade or two ahead), we exchanged them pesonally during the course of the day. This was the beginning of a long-standing fondness for correspondance with just about anyone to whom I feel friendship, and actually my sad obsession with e-mail probably got a big start in these early days. The letters I wrote tended to be quite long, and -- for some reason -- they were also funny. To my embarassment she often read them out loud on the bus, and everyone would laugh like goons while I sank into my seat. I was flattered, of course, but to this day I haven't liked people reading letters (or stories) I've written in front of me (and it happens from time to time). I guess I also thought of myself as this budding artist, and I started including regular cartoons in my letter. They were just these one-panel cartoons that took up an entire page, and they detailed my perspective of high school life in some really warped ways. Again, for some reason these were also really funny, and surprisingly well drawn. Unfortunately, I only have photocopies of most of them. There are probably some gems that have been completely forgotten about. But to my delight she still has all the originals, and all my letters, kept safe and treasured through all these years and all her travels.
There is nothing I love to hear the way I love hearing that people save my letters. It's nice to know that, in spite of breakups, or fights, or distance, that these personal little words remain safe because they are so valued.
So, anyway, after all those years of friendship, when I was seventeen she transferred to Canterbury high school, in Ottawa, which is an arts-intensive school with all kinds of amazing programs like drama, dance, music, photography, and the visual arts. My stalker is a student of dance there now, sort of carrying on the tradition of my closest friends. I wrote her weekly, sending these huge letters full of goodies, constantly pining to see her again, which unfortunately only rarely happened, since I was generally bound in my little rural prison. But there were times. I've always sort of thought that at some point she wanted to give the possibility of there being more to our friendship a chance, but I was really too timid to know what to do, and eventually she was stuck in Ottawa, and that gradually faded.
And then she moved away for good. After graduation, she found a job in northern Ontario to coach figure skating, and after a sort of goodbye evening out, she was gone. From there she moved to Melville, Saskatchewan, and then to Clearwater, B.C. We wrote now and then, but our lives were going in different directions all of a sudden, and slowly, as I finished high school and moved to Ottawa, and made new friends, and met my first girlfriend, and so on, and finally the letters dwindled to maybe one or two a year.
But to a large extent, she really did shape the person I've become since those days of being an introverted little weiner. She was my first really weird and open friend -- in a subsequent group of many -- and encouraged me to express myself in ways I usually repressed in the tight and confining environment of a small town. Now that she's moved back, I'm happy to have her here, and I'm happy that finally she's met someone who really and affectionately loves her, even though it would have killed a younger version of myself to know it. I'm hoping that we can be groovy pals once again. It seems like proper closure to a friendship that has spanned so many uncertain years.
But I guess I've been thinking about the past too much lately, and finding myself -- evil or not -- dwelling upon regrets. You know, we all have these little regrets about the past. There are all kinds of things most of us wish we could do differently. I wish there were days I could relive in my friendship with her, just as I wish I could have acted differently when I thought she might be returning some of my affection. Life wouldn't really be so different now -- she still would have moved away -- but once upon a time, she was the most important thing in my life, and I think some honest, healthy closeness might have prepared us both for a lot of what has happened since. Leading to other thoughts of regret that come from my past. I've hurt people before; not intentionally, but because I was so inexperienced with emotion -- love -- and with relationships and I wish I could give happier endings to days that were full of a lot of mutual tears and of arguments, and other things. I wish I could have done things differently with the first person I was ever close with. I was seeing her at the same time I met my first real girlfriend, who I call "Phil," (there's a story to that. Read the Classic Snivel to find it) who first dyed my hair blue, and who I lost my virginity to (and vice versa), and ultimately found myself sincerely dumped by. I thought about the close moments this person and I have shared, and the way we fit together in an embrace, and the ways we've hurt each other, and the fact that she is in a lot of ways no longer possibly capable of wanting me anymore, although at least we are still friends.
It was in this lonely sadness that I called my friend Charlotte, hoping for a friendly voice and her comfortable cheeriness. To remedy my dwelling, she told me that she would be coming back home this weekend, having now given up two jobs and even a very special lover (who is leaving at the end of May for Scotland, but with whom she might otherwise have time with, were she not ending her stay in her magical faraway city so soon) to spend the summer in Ottawa. But she was also telling me of an on-line conversation she was having with an old lover and part-time nemesis, and she was talking of her musing over whether or not she should stay, or go, or at least prolong her time where she is happy before leaving, and he asked her about the summer crowd that made coming home to Ottawa so worthwhile. And she replied, "Well, there are a lot of people that are going to be there, but there's really only one person that matters, and that's my friend Rob," and even now I'm still glowing. I mean, in my evil universe the real Charlotte is already hanging around, and we get along famously, but I must admit they were powerful words to hear. It's nice to just so spontaneously be made to feel so important.
Granted, she also discussed her plans to sneak out early this morning, purchase some strawberries, and feed them to her lover along with a specially prepared love-breakfast omelette, but I still feel important, so there.
So when the load finished agitating and rinsing and spinning and destroying the environment, I tossed every last article into the energy-sucking dryer and let that baby go full-action. And while that abomination of nature was being allowed to take its course, I sauntered jauntily into the kitchen for a refreshing glass of fake peach juice. Allow me to say unto you, my sons and daughters of the good universe, that there is no finer fruity beverage than peach juice. If it were caffeinated, I'd drink nothing but. And this stuff is fake peach juice, because all it is, really, is no-name flavour crystals to which you add water. Like Tang. But better, because it's peach Tang. Mmmmm. But while I was soothing my parched membranes with that tasty beverage, I heard a tremendous rattling coming from our dryer. "Buttons," I thought, "and nothing more," but I was forced to investigate for fear of my confidence leading to disaster (what if instead of something minor, there were small pieces of uranium being knocked around in the dryer, heating up furiously and ready to explode like a homemade fission bomb?).
So, off went Mr. Dryer (which, incidentally, is older than I am. I tell you, they made real dryers back then. A dryer a 1960's housefrau could be constantly running for fear of her authoritarian husband coming home to sheets that weren't Spring fresh, and still have time to make him his dinner and endure him in their bed at night. I guess I should mention how instrumental Valium was to all this. So anyway, my point would be that the only thing to survive the upheaval and equality instigated by the sixties are the very tools of Satan that made the drudgery of the housewife possible in the first place. Hooray irony!), and all my damp and steamy clothes were piled into the hamper while I did a little investigating of the circumstances at hand. At first I didn't find anything, but I persisted in my groping through wet underwear and socks, and then I started finding me some loose change that obviously the good Rob had forgotten some night when, exhausted and in the company of a ladyfriend, he'd tossed his jeans into the laundry basket and forgotten about them. I'm sure in my universe, the good Rob is doing the same thing.
I was amazed though. Tumbling around in my dryer was like four dollars in change. Now, since we have goofy Canadian change, that only meant that three coins were rattling away (plus some nickels), but there's nothing quite as rewarding as finding four bucks in undamaged currency that you'd forgotten even existed, and thus being able to add it to the feeble sum I had to spend at my disposal (not wanting to further deplete the strained bank resources of the good Rob). That'll buy me some coffee and a happy ending and everything.
So I think the moral of the story is obvious. Dryers have untold and terrifying powers capable of enslaving a gender, fomenting cultural revolution and chaos, showering you with money, and of course -- drying clothes.
I'm sure he'll be fine though, if you're really worried about him and were curious to know his fate. The worst that might happen would be his inability to resolve the fact that his friends like to eat mice.
Well, actually they don't like to eat mice. I'm being a tease. But the funny part is that the good Rob doesn't know that, and he'll probably be forced to eat one or two himself before they admit their little joke. Vegetarian boy.
One of the people not in my collection of prisoners (I've managed to calm them down a little, and convince them that it would certainly be in their best interests just to play along, pay attention to me in large amounts, and love me the way they love their good Rob, so they have the freedom to more or less come and go now) is Rob's friend Charlotte, who is still living in her faraway magical city. It's really a shame she can't be here to enjoy this little transition, partly because frankly the evil Charlotte would have gotten a kick out of bondage photographs of her good self, and also because her evil counterpart contributed to the corruption of my morals and declared a holy war against -- and destroyed -- the Cheese God of my ancestors and this would have been the ideal passive-aggressive way to have my revenge. To be fair there are no major religions in the evil universe -- merely fashionable ones practiced in the name of continual hedonistic rituals, plentiful candles, incense, and delightful costumes -- but I still would have taught her good self a few things about my version of religion; oh yes indeed.
By extension, also of interest here is the shocking prevalence of major religion in this universe. This existence seems plagued with churches, ceremony, the belief in higher powers, an afterlife, and all of the judgemental, righteous, ignorant facts of life that are entailed by such notions as supreme beings. I can only assume that this is what is holding back the cultural evolution here, and as such why the (good) aliens have not yet contacted you. It's a shame. This backwards universe really should shape up. If you good universe types could just get over your sense of guilt and shame and realize that evil truly is the way, you wouldn't live in a universe that lacks both flying cars and lightsabres.
You pathetic monkeys.
Crap. I slept in again. Meaning that this is quite late in being updated today. Ever since I came to this lousy good universe, I've never been able to get more than five or six hours of sleep, and it's really making me cranky. Maybe it's the stress of living an assumed life, or maybe it's just the good Rob's shitty little bed, and definitely it has something to do with all the socializing and running around I do in this universe. I'm a pretty high maintenance person myself, but the social arrangements that good Rob engages in are cleary the sign of someone who constantly needs attention, affirmation, and backrubs.
Well, you don't hear me complaining about the backrubs, but the point is that I'm tired and busy, and it can be tricky to avoid just wanting to pull the blankets over my head, and deal with the guilt later. Like, when the good Rob comes back to this universe and has to deal with all my slacking.
Anyway, over the day I'll be updating this more, so please just patiently keep reading. And a word of counsel: if it weren't for the fact that you people are up at the ridiculously early hours that you are, instead of waking up around 2 or 3 in the afternoon as is my wont, there wouldn't be this problem, because you wouldn't be loading up your overworked web browsers until I'd had a decent night's sleep.
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