Monday, November 20, 2006


This is the sound of my brain exploding.

I wish a had a sound effect for grinding my teeth.

There are few things that drive me as insane as wild accusations tossed like a stun grenade into a group and then, later, the tosser (an apt British term that works both ways) finally asks for the facts. Arrrrrgh! If something appears inequitable, why not ask why rather than making an accusation? But no. Tossers do not ask. Facts are of no concern to them. Besides, facts are quiet things that can rarely be heard over the tosser's chest beating.

I'll admit that I do not suffer fools. My patience for foolishness (and foolishness it was, Amanda. You had the right word.) can be measured in nanoseconds.

Now this tosser has definitively stated that men's cum has no scent. *mumph* That 's the sound of me biting my tongue. Or is it sitting on my hands? Either way, I am fighting the urge unleash the sharper edge of my temper. I came here to vent instead. I guess all these people asking for the real name of "cumflower trees" just like the way they look. (I liked the description of the chamiza tree - "smells like a porn arcade floor.") Nevermind that all of these people seem to believe that the blossoms smell like cum, so therefore cum must have a scent. The tosser says it ain't so.

I wait anxiously for the next pronouncement. Maybe "tis the moon that shines so bright."

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