The production of bovines thus ensues.

So guy 1 pulls out a sword and sets about to maim guy 2.

Guy 1: I’m not exactly sure where your spleen is, so do me a favor and cry out when I stab it
Girl: Stop it. We’re dating. What’s the big deal?
Guy 1:You’re the one who felt there was a need to hide it from me.
Girl: Why can’t you be happy for me?
Guy 1: He’s my nemesis! It’s like Yoda banging the Emperor
Luke Skywalker: This is some sick shit
Yoda: Just happened, it did
Emperor Palpatine: And now, young Skywalker, you will take off your pants.

This comes complete with Yoda in bondage gear.

As Michael says the consensus of his IRC was: It’s something you can’t unsee. You’ll really really want to unsee it, but you can’t unsee it.

This got me thinking, and like for Gaston in Beauty and the Beast, thinking is a dangerous pastime. But it got me thinking about this story I read, I don’t really know how it got me thinking about it, but it did. Anyway, it was a ficlet about a guy and his dad. Sort of a pre-slash.* **

*Slash being homosexual fanfiction. It comes from the way a romantic relationship is denoted in fanfiction Draco/Harry. Pre-slash being something that leads up to the romantic/porn part depending on what you’re reading.

**Slash = BEST THING EVER! I am addicted to it like it’s crack.

This particular piece was only about 400 words, and nothing actually happens in it, but it definitely gives you the feel that something would have happened and/or will happen later. And it got me curious as to what actually would have happened.

Now I know, BELIEVE ME! I KNOW! You’re sitting there going “How in the name of all that’s holy did you a) get from the comic to this and b) get frickin’ disturbed enough to want to know what happens in a story between a guy and his DAD!”

To both parts of this I have only one answer: I do not know.

I mean it’s like you know how if you think about your dad and mom having sex, unless you’re rather warped, your brain sorta fizzles out? You can objectively know that your ‘rents did it. But I know I can’t picture it in any more depth than that. I don’t really want to think about anyone else I know’s parents having sex either. But for some reason, it doesn’t bother me so much as long as it’s fiction.

The same sort of thing with incest. In real life, it’s disgusting and nothing I want to think about, but in a well-written story, it can be… interesting? Or at least in a well-written story, it’s not an immediate deal breaker. (Also not a deal breaker in VC Andrews–which are NOT well-written stories but addictive in the way soap operas are for people who watch TV.)

… It sort of makes me want to use the concept as a… meme. Not that I want to write a continuation of Blue’s story, but sort of use her story as a leaping off point for something of my own. It’s a good thing Kellie’s not around as I’m thinking of this. When she finds out I’m likely to die. Even after six and a half years of friendship, she still has some hang-ups. Qualms. Morals? There are definitely places she won’t go, even for a good story.

Oh well, if she kills me, I charge you with the task of putting this on my tombstone: I blame Luke!

Maybe it’s just they’re creepy looking and they are slapstick and silly, but in a vaugely sinister way. I mean okay, the Keystone Kops and the Three Stooges were slapstick–but when you looked at Larry, Curly, Moe & Shemp you saw their faces, you didn’t see the mask, the illusion. I mean would it be “funny” if the guys in the circus beating each other up and shoving pies in each other’s faces were dressed up like Richard Nixon and George W. Bush?

Okay, well, it would, vaguely, but what about dressed up as famous sufferagettes or Nobel Peace Prize winners?

Also, let me repeat that clowns are just creepy with their multi-colored puffy hair and their white face and their bulbous noses. Plus, I think they’re all secretly hiding claws behind those kid gloves, and teeth like Jaws from James Bond, and they’re like one scary big footed step away from tearing your heart from your chest and making a balloon animal with it!

Okay, so maybe not quite that bad. But still *shudders*

Now, my dear friend Kellie on the other hand thinks clowns are just silly and no one should be afraid of clowns. And just because one clown is evil or half a dozen clowns are evil this doesn’t mean that ALL clowns are evil (she’s wrong of course, but I think that Kellie is used to being wrong.) She does however think that all alligators are evil. They’re scary, with big teeth and big jaws and lots of pounds of bite force, and they jump up out of the water and attack things.

According to Kellie, you cannot trust anything that has that many big teeth on such prominent display.

Now, alligators have a place in the world. They keep swamps from becoming overrun with rodents and the like that would destroy the swampland. What place in the world is there for a clown? We’d have less villains? Less balloon animals?

I don’t know that we’ll ever see eye to eye on the subject. I can’t convince her that alligators have their place… And there’s no way to convince me  that clowns are anything other than unnatural. I’m not one for conspiracy theories, except about rappers penii… and clowns.

But you know, the debates about alligators vs. clowns? More fun than a clown car on fire! (Foamy luv)

In the commercial it says that Extenze are scientifically proven to make larger a “certain part of the male body”. The phrasing makes me immediately want to chime in with “the ego?” But I assume they mean the penis. I mean I understand that some men don’t have much to brag about down there and as “size matters” at least to guys… and sometimes to girls. But okay, let’s say you send off for your magical penis pills, how do you know you’re getting bigger?

I mean do you do before and after pictures like the people in exercise machine/diet/diet pill commercials do? Maybe with one of those stripey walls they use to measure stuff on Mythbusters? I mean I get that that’s more for measuring force or speed than measuring actual length of things, but still… Do you use a tape measure, or something like a child’s growth chart.

“Okay now, dick, we started out at two point zero five inches and we’ll stop measuring when you’re 11 inches.”

Now that wouldn’t be something you’d want on the wall when your mother came for a visit.

When I asked Michael–the only male I actually asked–about measuring he said “How do you know that men don’t already measure?” Remind me never to borrow a ruler from him. And then he said “don’t you think that most guys would be familiar enough with their own to know when it’s growing?” Well, I guess they do handle it a lot, but um… I mean I don’t have a penis so I don’t have a direct comparison, but if it’s like I dunno, boobs, the only way I know whether mine are growing or shrinking is by whether I’m falling out of my bra or not.

Granted I don’t use my boobs to take a leak but if I remember my sex ed right–which it’s been fifteen years so maybe I’m not–but I thought that when Mr. Happy was–well–happy you couldn’t take a leak. And besides it changes–uh–dimensions when it’s happy. So the size it is when you’re just taking a leak is not the size it is when you’re waxing your carrot.

Or maybe he was meaning that guys spend a lot of time polishing their pickles. Somehow I’m beginning to see how people might not want to know.

… And when they say bigger, do they mean thicker? Longer? Both? And is the growth just there or does it only show up when happiness is all around?

Everyone other than Michael who I talked to about it said they didn’t know–and didn’t want to know. I think I may be the only person I know with a truly inquisitive mind…

I mean you can’t unthink a thought. You’re kind of stuck with it once it’s come out. It’s like a really annoying neighbor, it’s just there and bothering you until it decides to go away on it’s own–or until you blow either his or your own brains out. And that’s as my mother says “A permanent solution to a temporary problem.”

What I remember most clearly though was about fetishes and the pancake bunny.

I find fetishes interesting. I don’t exactly know what mine are, I’ve never really found anything that I’m that into… I can tell you I’m not much into S&M, mostly cause I’m too lazy to be a good top and too bad at taking directions without smarting off to be a good bottom. Besides I have zero pain tolerance and I’m claustrophobic.

Pretty much everything I can think of, I have no real interest in, I could take or leave. Which kind of messes up my theory that most people have a fetish, you know? Maybe I do and I just don’t know it. Maybe it’s really out there and I just haven’t been exposed to it. But really, if I haven’t figured out something I can’t live without by now, can I really not live without it?

To quote the great George Carlin: These are the kinds of thoughts that kept me out of the really good schools.

Which brings me to my second topic. The pancake bunny.

The Pancake Bunny

I don’t know why this image flashed into my head this morning. I was just trying to relax and stop thinking about fetishes which was just making my head hurt. Michael shared this one with me as a good way to deal with a troll on one of the forums I’m a part of. He also told me to put up the Swedish Chef? You know from the Muppets? Because this particular troll is Swedish, but I thought that was kind of insulting and stereotypical, which I try to avoid being, even to trolls.

From the pancake bunny, after I’d gone to the bathroom and filled my glass of water back up, I came back in my room and laid back down, and then started thinking about vampires. Not as disconnected as it might have seemed from fetishes as there are a bunch of barely pubescent girls who are REALLY into vampires right now. Now I like vampires. I’m not going to say I don’t. I like vampire movies, I like good books about vampires, which I’ll say Twilight isn’t. I’ve been stuck on page 67 for seven months now. I don’t dislike it–I don’t like it, I am in a complete and utter state of “meh” on the subject. I can tell you, though, Stephenie Meyer can’t write.

But here I am getting off the topic again. I do that a lot, as you’ll find, my thoughts just sort of wander and lead me to places I don’t even know how I got to. I call it the “Oooh, shiny” thought pattern. It’s like “Think think think, Oooh, something shiny! *Thoughts shoot to the side* think think think Oooh, something shiny! et hoc genus omne” See there I did it again.

The interesting thing about vampires is that there was a while there where they were basically an allegory homosexuality. Specifically, male on male homosexuality. If the vampire and the poor schlub being bitten were both men then the vampire was both asserting his dominance over the man and invading his body unnaturally. Read Dracula with an eye toward that line of thought… Of course vampires have pretty much always been sexual. Which is why they’re so bad right? Because sex is bad or so we were taught.

Which to dart back down the path of Twilight for a second, is why–other than he sparkles–Edward is so damn pussified. “Oh, we don’t bite people, we only bite animals.” Sure, then suck off a sheep, that’s perfectly okay.

… Somehow I think I said something wrong there, but as I’m not sure what, I’ll leave it…

But seriously though, folks, I get that women write men more as we want them to be than as they really are. (Which is nothing new look at women in literature over the course of history and tell me how often the women really seem realistic) But, honestly, lemme give you an analogy: Say that you have a handful of Jello (Don’t look at me like that) and that Jello is any perfectly normal human urge. While it’s just sitting on your hand it’s in a state of acceptance. You’re acknowledging that you have the urge. Now close your hand, the Jello’s gonna start oozing out between your fingers, off the side of your palm. The act of closing your hand is the act of repressing that human urge. But the urge doesn’t go away just because you closed it off, it escapes. And the more violently you squeeze the jello, the faster it escapes and with more force. Think about it.

So, the problem with Edward Cullen is more or less he’s got no real place for his urges to go. And he can’t just not have them. Doesn’t work that way, you can’t wish away the bad parts, if that worked then the Catholic church would have long since rid us of any idea of sex for fun. They wouldn’t have to do female circumsions in Africa and sew people’s crotches shut.

Sure, one out of say every twenty guys won’t try to grope you in the theatre, but half of those guys are gay, the other half have enough self control that they go home and grope themselves like you wouldn’t grope them. Okay, okay, I’m generalizing. But seriously.

I know I am just as guilty of putting what I want into a guy as anyone else, but I try, god do I try, to add in a little realism. I’ll close with a paraphrasation of something Denis Miller said in his millenium special. (A paraphrasation because it’s been a while since I saw it and can’t remember it verbatim) Dad took Mary Anne to the soda shoppe, watched her suck a vanilla shake up a long straight straw between her ruby red lips, took her home, chastely kissed her cheek, then went home and finished off the evening with the underwear section of the Sears catalog.

Think about it.