I often try to remember, that what I do here is therapy for me. I am a sick and twisted up little girl. I am a sexual deviant of the highest order and the things that I write about would land me in prison if I ever acted upon them. If I simply type them and post them on the internet.... WTF - I feel better!
But then, the next aspiring critic for the Blah-Blah Times comes along and wants to Shepard and guide me into being a more prolific writer with a wave of his or her maleficent hand.
I compose smut, people. I do not place myself in the likes of Thompson or Hemingway or Faulkner. Those were writers. I am not trying to write the next GREAT AMERICAN NOVEL. I know that I am safe to speak for my friends here, BulettProof & SlutMan when I say we are amateurs.
SO BACK THE FUCK UP THERE PAL! Don’t fuck with my friends or you will have me to deal with! I am a pre-menstrual Italian woman with a short fuse!
But then I read over what I have just written, and I remember the words of HST:
"All energy flows according to the whim of the Great Magnet. What a fool I was to defy Him."
*sigh*
Vitriolic rant has now ended transmission....
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