Another Holy Shit Moment

I think I just found out what breed of cat Veronika is.

Not that she's a *purebreed without papers* or anything, cuz she does happen to be the product of a wilderness sexual liaison, but the pix of the Maine Coon sure as dippity-does look like her, & the description of her demeanour & abilities match.

Frex:

• They also have bushy-plumed tails and broad, angular heads, squared-off muzzles and wide-set ears topped with tufts of fur (known as 'Lynx-tips'). Their tails can be so bushy that the Maine Coon has earned the nickname the 'tail with a cat attached to it'.


• They have a tendency to use their front paws extensively (often curling the paw round to pick objects up)...


• Maine Coons are noted for their ability to trill their meows, which sounds like a combination of a purr and a meow, and they tend to make this sound when happy or startled. (When I answer her in kind, I am often told my emulation sounds like a pigeon.)


• Maine Coons can be very dog-like in their behaviour. Playing fetch is a favourite game. As with dogs, they will bring their ball, drop it at the feet of their intended playmate and wait for the ball to be thrown. They will often accompany their owner on chores like getting the mail, walking the dog, and may also come when beckoned...

Now I know she's not only not a *mutt*, but if the time ever comes when I'm in need of another feline companion I'll know there's a breed to look for.

Outside & Writing

There I was, sitting at the community picnic table turning a dream of Kyle's into a script in which I waxed rhapsodic about how God sang through a Scottish Terrier as the protagonist handled a cadaver, with my cordless phone having just rung, my Israeli neighbour having just said "Hi" out her window & the neighbouring apartment building playing Johnny Cash on full blast (still) as they do something worthy of applause...

...when I just had to laugh, out loud, to myself, over the ridiculousness of that moment of my life.

Question (my overthunked, fubar'd brainspace)

I'm not a pig. Really. But I just read an article about prostitution & am now compelled to ask:

(& this isn't rhetorical, because prostitution isn't illegal everywhere, & isn't illegal in Canada)

If a person can charge for the service of sex, why can't a person ask for sex as payment? It isn't as offensive as it seems.

Sure, there's income tax, PST, GST, RST, HST, etc to think about, cuz the biggest mob in your country needs to get their cut & all, but that's just details.

Hmmm. Maybe it IS as offensive as it seems. I'm thinking about having my car stuck in a ditch. I'm thinking about two tow trucks sitting there, waiting to see who gets my business. One has asked for $200 to extricate my car & tow it to town. The other has asked for a blowjob.

$200 is too much to charge for this service. On the other hand, if you believe the movies, a hummer goes for something like $50, & in those terms is a pretty good deal. It would then be up to me, the consumer (oh shit - I just made an unintentional punny), to decide who gets my business. Which would I rather part with - my hard earned cash or my cocksuckerless memory, assuming my memory is indeed cocksuckerless?

But, what if both drivers were looking for some kind of sexual reimbursement? You could end up living in a region where a particular service is a monopoly run by someone who doesn't need money, or by two competitors who agree that preparing an individual's tax return is worth a 10min handjob, but writing off expenses to your home-operated business is worth a 30min bout of anal. Would there be some kind of mandate (what an unfortunate compound word) ensuring the personal hygiene of anyone charging sex for goods & services? Standards regarding the disinclusion of any BDSM? Could a tip for services rendered be, when performing cunnilingus (masterfully, of course) to pay for your meal, you do a couple of passes down around the rim?

Of course, this is where someone puts up their hand & suggests that, in addition to cash, cheque, money order, credit card, wire transfer, etc, you have the choice to offer *services*.

And that's where the Big Mob would step in & say "No". Bartering, unlike prostitution, is illegal.

Very loosely relatedly, can you imagine a world where every service must be charged for, or, if not charged for, then charged tax on? Little Billy, you just went to the store for the old lady upstairs. That service would net a delivery professional $7. I know you're only 10yo, but you owe the G-Men 6%. Cough it up.

Don't have the cash? There's a service you can provide...

I Made $100 on Saturday Night

I had more hair on my face than many people have on their entire body. The guys have been relentlessly teasing me, telling me how I'll never get laid with *the mitt*. Then I say I have a new gf & she loves it & they ask me if she's a bag lady. Heh.

So John, in his patented faux-serious look & tone, says SHAVE that FUCKING thing OFF! Then he offers me $50. I say if it's matched I'll do it.

Can we do it? Sure! Can we take out time over the entire night & fuck with it? As long as I look normal by the time I leave, sure!

Len ponies up $25, thinking he & John are gonna split 50/50. I decline - $100 on the table & it's a deal. You'll keep it off? What're the terms? The life of the band. Uh - noOOoo - I plan to be playing with you guys into my senior years, & it's gonna get cold in the winter. First snowfall. First snowfall WHERE? Here in Barrie (semantic motherfuckers). I dunno, man, says John.

Peter next door, the old Rush roadie, says Hey, I don't even CARE & I'll put up the other $25 & first snowfall's fine with me. John relents.

We mix more drinks & the fun begins.





Johnny Wadd's $50 bought him first-swipe.












Those're some bigassed chops.




I told Tamara I was trying to not look at her boobs. She said she didn't care, the flirty girl.




Her man, Lenny, had to get in on the action...


...& pulled this unfallen nest off my face.


I look MAH-vellous.


Dessert.






Peter next door has lived, but I think this was a new experience even for him.












Lop-sided brutha.


John, back into the action, lamented he hadn't left me the hair for a Hitler. Next spring, he promised.












Fuck all y'all...


...but I loves ya.








Mein poor biert. I haff lost my best friend.


C'mere, bitch.








...must...drink...more...


I'm dead sex-ay.




Pretend it's your birthday...






... & make a wish.






YAR!




I fucking rawk.


Apologies for the black - we were partying by candlelight.