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Quix's Random Bullshit Thread (Comments Welcome)

Coming back from vacation to be inundated with the religious paraphernalia and myth-mongering in the leadup to Christmas that had sprung up in abundance while I was in Vietnam (there are some positives to Communist/non-Christian based regimes!!) sent me on a google search to find material to offset it.

In that search, I came across this amusingly enlightening video:



Just goes to prove there could be worse administrations even than Trumps!
 
I just wanted to say I kinda skimmed through your comments and such. You have an awesome looking journal here. It is inspiring for me to get mine to be a little nicer looking and more thoughtful. Lol.

I also like the quote you have up. Its nice. I had never heard of Robert Ingersoll either but it inspires me to look him up.
 
I just wanted to say I kinda skimmed through your comments and such. You have an awesome looking journal here. It is inspiring for me to get mine to be a little nicer looking and more thoughtful. Lol.

I also like the quote you have up. Its nice. I had never heard of Robert Ingersoll either but it inspires me to look him up.

Thanks for the comments, the journal just grew organically from my random ramblings, jumbled head-clearings and sarcasm-fuelled 'rants' without much conscious intent from me to make it any particular way :)

Glad you like the quote; if there's one person I could go back in time to have a conversation with, it'd be Robert Green Ingersoll. I could bang on all day and what a travesty it is such an enlightened and influential man historical figure doesn't hold his place in people's consciousness that he should, mostly because of his outspokenness and religious (non) belief. So, I'll try not to, but anyone I can introduce him to, I'm happy to do so and it does give me an excuse to post this;



A little cheesily made, but it provides an overview of who he was.

What it doesn't mention is his contribution to Literature, and even if you don't agree with his sentiments (although, I can find barely a word in all of his writings that I disagree with), it's well worth taking a look at his works, because the man was a Master of the English Langauge:

"No institution of learning of Ingersoll’s day had courage enough to confer upon him an honorary degree; not only for his own intellectual accomplishments, but also for his influence upon the minds of the learned men and women of his time and generation.

Robert G. Ingersoll never received a prize for literature. The same prejudice and bigotry which prevented his getting an honorary college degree, militated against his being recognized as ‘the greatest writer of the English language on the face of the earth,’ as Henry Ward Beecher characterized him. Aye, in all the history of literature, Robert G. Ingersoll has never been excelled — except by only one man, and that man was — William Shakespeare. And yet there are times when Ingersoll even surpassed the immortal Bard. Yes, there are times when Ingersoll excelled even Shakespeare, in expressing human emotions, and in the use of language to express a thought, or to paint a picture. I say this fully conscious of my own admiration for that ‘intellectual ocean, whose waves touched all the shores of thought.’

Ingersoll was perfection himself. Every word was properly used. Every sentence was perfectly formed. Every noun, every verb and every object was in its proper place. Every punctuation mark, every comma, every semicolon, and every period was expertly placed to separate and balance each sentence.

To read Ingersoll, it seems that every idea came properly clothed from his brain. Something rare indeed in the history of man’s use of language in the expression of his thoughts. Every thought came from his brain with all the beauty and perfection of the full blown rose, with the velvety petals delicately touching each other.

Thoughts of diamonds and pearls, rubies and sapphires rolled off his tongue as if from an inexhaustible mine of precious stones.

Just as the cut of the diamond reveals the splendor of its brilliance, so the words and construction of the sentences gave a charm and beauty and eloquence to Ingersoll’s thoughts.

Ingersoll had everything: The song of the skylark; the tenderness of the dove; the hiss of the snake; the bite of the tiger; the strength of the lion; and perhaps more significant was the fact that he used each of these qualities and attributes, in their proper place, and at their proper time. He knew when to embrace with the tenderness of affection, and to resist and denounce wickedness and tyranny with that power of denunciation which he, and he alone, knew how to express."

― Joseph Lewis
Ingersoll the Magnificent'
 
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I haven't had a good rant in a while, so here goes!

A little tired of the "I'm sick of males who only want/rush to sex in our stories," whining.

Because you know why? If you leave a guy to run the entire story, where the male character is the only with fucking motivations and agency, that's where it's going to lead.

So, how to best avoid it?

Offer up a female character who's more than a one-dimensional object, who has her own motives and purpose, who doesn't have to have the male character validate her existence in the story and progress the plot every step of the way, and guess what happens then?

She'll intrigue him enough with her personality and by actually being interesting in her own right and offering a little unpredictability that his big head will become more engaged than his little head, and he'll be less focused on sex. We just find it the easiest cure for boredom.

You can't have your cake - I want a guy to dominate my character and for his goals, motivations and wants to drive the entire plot while my character possesses exactly none of her own - and then whine about where that plot leads - and eat it too!
 
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Why, sometimes when I log onto BMR do I feel like I've been transported back in time to the immaturity of the abrogation of personal responsibility, lack of self-awareness and attention-seeking sanctimonious self-righteousness of Junior High School Days?

dd36de0b850cb2df1e69409253f59f7f31.png


Or did it turn into Facebook when I wasn't looking?

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On another note, I made a comment on another thread yesterday about Dan Brown being a bad writer and subsequently stumbled across one of the most sarcastically cutting critiques of a published authors work that I've read.

It had me in stitches, so I thought I'd share. It gives me hope for my own writing yet;

Original Found Here:

If Dan Brown’s new novel The Lost Symbol is anything like his previous works, it will not go down well with the critics. Famously, comedian Stewart Lee mocked him for using the sentence “The famous man looked at the red cup” in his bestselling The Da Vinci Code.

In fact, Lee was making that up – the sentence never appears in the book. So are the critics unfair on Brown?

They’re certainly harsh. Edinburgh professor of linguistics Geoffrey Pullum says “Brown's writing is not just bad; it is staggeringly, clumsily, thoughtlessly, almost ingeniously bad.” He picks out some excerpts for special criticism. The female lead in Angels and Demons learns of the death of her scientist father: “Genius, she thought. My father . . . Dad. Dead.” A member of the Vatican Guard in the same book becomes annoyed by something, and we learn that "his eyes went white, like a shark about to attack."

Below we have selected 20 phrases that may grate on the ear. It’s not a definitive list. It couldn’t be: he has published five novels, each around 500 pages long, and the arguments over which are the worst bits will go on for a while. But it’s our list.

20. Angels and Demons, chapter 1 Although not overly handsome in a classical sense, the forty-year-old Langdon had what his female colleagues referred to as an ‘erudite’ appeal — wisp of gray in his thick brown hair, probing blue eyes, an arrestingly deep voice, and the strong, carefree smile of a collegiate athlete.

They say the first rule of fiction is “show, don’t tell”. This breaks that rule.

19. The Da Vinci Code, chapter 83: "The Knights Templar were warriors," Teabing reminded, the sound of his aluminum crutches echoing in this reverberant space.

“Remind” is a transitive verb – you need to remind someone of something. You can’t just remind. And if the crutches echo, we know the space is reverberant.

18. The Da Vinci Code, chapter 4: He could taste the familiar tang of museum air - an arid, deionized essence that carried a faint hint of carbon - the product of industrial, coal-filter dehumidifiers that ran around the clock to counteract the corrosive carbon dioxide exhaled by visitors.

Ah, that familiar tang of deionised essence.

17. Deception Point, chapter 8: Overhanging her precarious body was a jaundiced face whose skin resembled a sheet of parchment paper punctured by two emotionless eyes.

It’s not clear what Brown thinks ‘precarious’ means here.

16. The Da Vinci Code, chapter 4: A voice spoke, chillingly close. "Do not move." On his hands and knees, the curator froze, turning his head slowly. Only fifteen feet away, outside the sealed gate, the mountainous silhouette of his attacker stared through the iron bars. He was broad and tall, with ghost-pale skin and thinning white hair. His irises were pink with dark red pupils.

A silhouette with white hair and pink irises stood chillingly close but 15 feet away.

What’s wrong with this picture?

15. The Da Vinci Code, chapter 4: As a boy, Langdon had fallen down an abandoned well shaft and almost died treading water in the narrow space for hours before being rescued. Since then, he'd suffered a haunting phobia of enclosed spaces - elevators, subways, squash courts.

Other enclosed spaces include toilet cubicles, phone boxes and dog kennels.

14. Angels and Demons, chapter 100: Bernini's Fountain of the Four Rivers glorified the four major rivers of the Old World - The Nile, Ganges, Danube, and Rio Plata.

The Rio de la Plata. Between Argentina and Uruguay. One of the major rivers of the Old World. Apparently.

The Da Vinci Code, chapter 5: Only those with a keen eye would notice his 14-karat gold bishop's ring with purple amethyst, large diamonds, and hand-tooled mitre-crozier appliqué.

A keen eye indeed.

13 and 12. The Lost Symbol, chapter 1: He was sitting all alone in the enormous cabin of a Falcon 2000EX corporate jet as it bounced its way through turbulence. In the background, the dual Pratt & Whitney engines hummed evenly.

The Da Vinci Code, chapter 17: Yanking his Manurhin MR-93 revolver from his shoulder holster, the captain dashed out of the office.

Oh – the Falcon 2000EX with the Pratt & Whitneys? And the Manurhin MR-93? Not the MR-92? You’re sure? Thanks.

11. The Da Vinci Code, chapter 4: Captain Bezu Fache carried himself like an angry ox, with his wide shoulders thrown back and his chin tucked hard into his chest. His dark hair was slicked back with oil, accentuating an arrow-like widow's peak that divided his jutting brow and preceded him like the prow of a battleship. As he advanced, his dark eyes seemed to scorch the earth before him, radiating a fiery clarity that forecast his reputation for unblinking severity in all matters.

Do angry oxen throw their shoulders back and tuck their chins into their chest? What precisely is a fiery clarity and how does it forecast anything? Once again, it is not clear whether Brown knows what ‘forecast’ means.

10. The Da Vinci Code, chapter 4: Five months ago, the kaleidoscope of power had been shaken, and Aringarosa was still reeling from the blow.

Did they hit him with the kaleidoscope?

9. The Da Vinci Code, chapter 32: The vehicle was easily the smallest car Langdon had ever seen. "SmartCar," she said. "A hundred kilometers to the liter."

Pro tip: when fleeing from the police, take a moment to boast about your getaway vehicle’s fuel efficiency. And get it wrong by a factor of five. SmartCars do about 20km (12 miles) to the litre.

8. The Da Vinci Code, chapter 3: My French stinks, Langdon thought, but my zodiac iconography is pretty good.

And they say the schools are dumbing down.

7 and 6. The Da Vinci Code, chapter 33: Pulling back the sleeve of his jacket, he checked his watch - a vintage, collector's-edition Mickey Mouse wristwatch that had been a gift from his parents on his tenth birthday.

The Da Vinci Code, chapter 6: His last correspondence from Vittoria had been in December - a postcard saying she was headed to the Java Sea to continue her research in entanglement physics... something about using satellites to track manta ray migrations.

In the words of Professor Pullum: “It has the ring of utter ineptitude. The details have no relevance to what is being narrated.”

5. Angels and Demons, chapter 4: Her compensation for a sixteen-hour workday was learning the ropes in the trenches with a seasoned politician.

Learning the ropes (of a naval ship) while in the trenches (with the army in the First World War). It’s a military education, certainly.

4, 3, and 2. The Da Vinci Code, opening sentence: Renowned curator Jacques Saunière staggered through the vaulted archway of the museum's Grand Gallery.

Angels and Demons, opening sentence: Physicist Leonardo Vetra smelled burning flesh, and he knew it was his own.

Deception Point, opening sentences: Death, in this forsaken place, could come in countless forms. Geologist Charles Brophy had endured the savage splendor of this terrain for years, and yet nothing could prepare him for a fate as barbarous and unnatural as the one about to befall him.

Professor Pullum: "Renowned author Dan Brown staggered through his formulaic opening sentence".

1. The Da Vinci Code: Title. The Da Vinci Code.

Leonardo’s surname was not Da Vinci. He was from Vinci, or of Vinci. As many critics have pointed out, calling it The Da Vinci Code is like saying Mr Of Arabia or asking What Would Of Nazareth Do?
 
It did! The profile statuses are to blame! You've unlocked the secret of the great oversharing conspiracy!

I know, I know, despite the many advantages, it does sometimes make me pine for the dark, pre-XenForo upgrade days.

Though to be totally honest, at other times I do also find it entertaining in a perverse, 'Hey kids, let's slow down and get a good look at the car accident' kind of way.
 
What can I say; I'm easily amused, and now I can't get this damn tune out of my head! The ending cracks me up.

 
"Has ANYONE in their entire fucking life heard a novelist constantly refer to their book as 'my book' without once referencing its title, genre, content, or providing an iota of information on what it's about; only saying, "Oh, I'm a published author, but I can't I reveal anything about my works because I need to stay anonymous."

What, pen-names don't exist?

I mean seriously, when I asked one of my E partners if she'd like me to give her novels a plug on BMR, she couldn't say, "Fuck yes, I'll take publicity anywhere and anyhow I can get it as any half self-respecting author would," quickly enough.

I call bullshit and I'm not the only one. In fact, in that regard, you'd find less people at the Superbowl than think the same as I!

Not that anyone can't just self-publish unreadable dross these days, anyway. E L James made a career out of it :)
 
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I don't know Quix, I am beginig to think it's a brilliant marketing strategy, and want to try it for my future books.

"You can't buy my book! No one can!"
 
I don't know Quix, I am beginig to think it's a brilliant marketing strategy, and want to try it for my future books.

"You can't buy my book! No one can!"
Thank God you said something. I was getting annoyed with myself for possibly letting my green eyed monster take over. Because you know, it's a bit irritating when people go on and on about their "successes" and how perfect they are. "Good for you! You're so awesome! Shut up now!" I'll own that I'm still a grumpy bastard but now, I feel validated.

And for posting on my journal, Xana and TheGoodman claim first prize of VIP tickets to my new movie being released next week.

Apologies that I can't tell you the title or the genre and what actors appear in it, and it's not showing on any screens, but honestly I don't really give a shit.

The main thing is that Miramax gave me a $10,000,000 advance and I'll be rich and famous even if no-one else knows it.
 
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Whoooaaa, where's my VIP screening of the movie?!

On that note, I find it almost unbearable because at some point it becomes obvious embellishment.

I'm nominated for 3 Grammy Awards, guys. I just can't tell you what kind of music I make or anything else about it. ( :
 
Are you going to sign autographs for random people on the street even though your name and face aren't associated with the movie and no one knows you created it, Quix?
 
Whoooaaa, where's my VIP screening of the movie?!

On that note, I find it almost unbearable because at some point it becomes obvious embellishment.

I'm nominated for 3 Grammy Awards, guys. I just can't tell you what kind of music I make or anything else about it. ( :

You're lucky I have one more ticket.

Enjoy the blank screen, and I look forward to you composing the score for my next production.

Are you going to sign autographs for random people on the street even though your name and face aren't associated with the movie and no one knows you created it, Quix?

Dani, I'm sorry, you were too late for a ticket.

Unfortunately, I won't be able to sign autographs for the general populace. However, as consolation for missing out on the grand prize, I'll send one your way.

Signed in invisible ink, of course. I wouldn't want anyone finding out who I am. My rugged masculine good looks - that would put Chris Hemsworth's to shame -, Adonis-like physique and modest panty-dropping charm would send the world's women crazy. I'd have no respite from bunny-boiling stalkers!
 
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This *vaguely waves arms around to encompass the thread as a whole* I need more if this in my every day life. Whatever this is, it is good for decompressing after a long day. Of course, I could get out and socialize more... but that takes actual effort and I just don't have time for that nonsense.

Make more, Quix!

Entertain me!
 
This *vaguely waves arms around to encompass the thread as a whole* I need more if this in my every day life. Whatever this is, it is good for decompressing after a long day. Of course, I could get out and socialize more... but that takes actual effort and I just don't have time for that nonsense.

Make more, Quix!

Entertain me!
Aww, I'm glad you enjoy it Lea, especially as it saves you from going to any actual effort. We both wouldn't want that!

However, as for this entertaining you on demand; what do you think I am?

5PouCAy.jpg


A clown?

Damn-it, why can I never find anyone to write that evil serial-killing clown story with me! This self-portrait would be perfect as a face-claim!
 
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Scary clown is... funnier than I think it should be.

I don't know why, but that clown keeps making me giggle when I think my reaction should be very different.

- Wait, you have an evil, serial killer clown story? Somehow I missed the fact that this was a thing. No, I am strangely curious just what that is all about. I'm off to sift through your request threads to find this like a proper BM stalker. XD
 
Oh, you won't find it in my RT's it's one of those (many) stories/ideas where I have the premise sitting in my head, and making total sense in there, but can't quite pull all the strands from my brain and tie them together coherently enough in words to offer up as a fleshed out plot!

Same with my hybrid Frankenstein, Jekkyl and Hyde and Jack-the-Ripper concept!

The ideas and overarching premises have been mentioned in various forums but would need that someone willing to spend the time helping me focus my brain, and to consolidate the plot. The few who have shown initial interest haven't wanted to trawl as far down a deliberately provocative dark path - both emotionally and in a graphic sex-and-violence sense - as I do. Or (surprise, surprise!) they've just wanted to write a 'woman as nothing more than helpless victim' character.

-----------------------------------

And talking of evil characters I don't get to write enough of those, but am fortunate to have one going with a great partner on E.

“What are you doing, honey?” The night dead silent as only it can be in the witching hours, Michael Archer murmured as his eyes fluttered open, “It’s not time to get up yet.” In his half-conscious state, he sensed more than saw Lily slip out of the marital bed and glanced at the clock, struggling to make out the digits with bleary eyes. 4:53 am.

Shit!

The realisation that the sound of Lily moaning and crying out in her sleep had awakened him struck, and he bolted upright.

Fumbling to turn on the lamp, he blinked furiously at the glare after he found the switch and the light came on, then threw back the bedcovers and went to check on Lily. Though concerning when they occurred, which seemed at random and devoid of rhyme or reason, her occasional night terrors were but a blip on the radar of his idyllic existence.

Life had blessed the Assistant District Attorney. Born into old money, happily married to a beautiful and intelligent woman, and with his career on an upward trajectory, Michael owned few complaints. Already making a name for himself as an up-and-coming lawyer, his appointment as lead counsel on a special circumstance rape-murder case further increased his profile. He foresaw a judgeship down the track with a successful prosecution. Or at least a move to one of the Big Four firms.

_______

Three States over, another man lay awake.

Released on parole a week earlier after serving two more years than the plea bargain minimum, Josh lay on a rickety bed in a flea-infested halfway house and stared at the ceiling. Incarceration changed any man, and he was no different. An athletic frame had morphed into a ball of fifty pounds heavier prison-gym muscle, a vivid shiv scar ran from his temple to his cheekbone, and he carried other marks of violence on his legs, arms and torso. His eyes were hollow, dark pits, absent of life. Those of a soul who’d encountered the worst of what humanity could offer and held his own against it.

Prison rehabilitation? That was a joke. On re-entry to society, Josh was unspeakably more dangerous than he’d been a decade earlier.

He was also a pariah.

Of those he’d once thought he could trust, his ashamed parents no longer spoke to their son, Cara had turned state’s witness and Adam had testified against Josh in exchange for immunity. Josh wouldn’t piss on any of them if they were on fire.

Only one person stayed loyal.

Jenny

Stoic throughout, she refused to snitch on Josh to protect herself. Charged with accessory to rape, Jenny had received an eighteen-month sentence and served the lot. Now a single mother with three children to different fathers and living on unemployment benefits, she defined trailer trash. They remained in contact.

Gone were any dreams he’d once held for fame, fortune and athletic glory. Josh would forever carry the label of registered sex offender and ex-convict like a millstone around his neck.

All that slut Lily’s fault for refusing to keep her trap shut.

“You dare report this and tonight will be a walk in the park compared to next time.”

Did she think he hadn’t meant it; that he’d forget?

Not a hope in hell.

He’d made a promise, not a threat.
_______


“Nightmare?” Michael opened the shower door and joined Lily under the water. Smitten with the woman from the moment he‘d laid eyes on her, nothing since had changed his opinion that Lily was the most gorgeous creature in the universe.

“Want to talk about it?” Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her head to his chest and ran his hands up and down her back; offering comfort and safety in his embrace. “Or shall I find another way to help chase the bad dreams away? You know what seeing you wet and naked does to my libido.”

Someone asked me the other day, "Does a Devil who steals souls count?" And my answer was, 'no,' because to me human monsters are infinitely more frightening than those derived from the supernatural or non-existent. Those who walk the earth and are human beings just like you and me, who could be living next door or down the street.

If anything, that's what sends chills down my spine; and the fact that people like Josh (and Jenny) exist. It's the challenge of trying to get into their heads and to portray them realistically that spurs me to write them.
 
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Hah, see now, I can't just write a helpless victim. Sure, every humanbeing has a breaking point, a certain amount their mind cab take before breaks, or they fundamentally become someone else, but not everyone does that in two minutes or less of simi-serious conflict, lol.

I prefer applying my own rational and perspective into characters that jump down the rabbit hole because my own outlook is so weird compared to "normal" people.

Now, the monster that looks like everyone else, it is interesting that they are the ones that scare you. While I respect the danger they can be, I can kill another human being. I can see them, touch them, fight them. They scare me less than something I can't see or can't explain. But, this goes back to why I am weird, lmao.

And, it seems, when we are done with Val and Cole, we might need to have a lengthy chat. xD

Congrats on the story on E, though. I will have to give that a read. :)
 
Hah, see now, I can't just write a helpless victim. Sure, every humanbeing has a breaking point, a certain amount their mind cab take before breaks, or they fundamentally become someone else, but not everyone does that in two minutes or less of simi-serious conflict, lol.

I prefer applying my own rational and perspective into characters that jump down the rabbit hole because my own outlook is so weird compared to "normal" people.

Now, the monster that looks like everyone else, it is interesting that they are the ones that scare you. While I respect the danger they can be, I can kill another human being. I can see them, touch them, fight them. They scare me less than something I can't see or can't explain. But, this goes back to why I am weird, lmao.

And, it seems, when we are done with Val and Cole, we might need to have a lengthy chat. xD

Congrats on the story on E, though. I will have to give that a read. :)


Ah, Lea, you're right, I can't imagine you ever writing the helpless victim type. It's just not in your nature, which is what makes Valentina so much fun! And, I don't find your outlook weird, which as we've discussed before, just makes us both weird!

I get where you're coming from, too. With me, I can't be scared or hurt by something I know doesn't exist.

That I can identify with a perpetrator of that evil on a human level is what I find 'scariest. '

The guy with the friendly smile who just held the door open for you?

The one who sits opposite you in class and shares his notes?

Who'd have thunk they had three severed heads in their fridge!

Who really ever knows goes on behind closed doors or in peoples minds.

The concept of that but for a twist of nature, nurture, accident of birth or brain wiring, it could be me!

We do need to have that chat; I'm sure we could come up with something incredibly dark, twisted, fucked-up and fun between us :) If you do read it, I look forward to hearing your thoughts.

Someone has probably shown you this already, but on the off chance that nobody has, how accurate is this video?

Fruit, Fruit, Fruit; what do you mean have I been shown it?

I wrote, produced, directed and starred in it.

That panty-dropping hunk in the white shirt; the more ripped, better-looking version of Chris Hemsworth?

That's me, and the video is the first of a fifty part fly-on-the-wall series documenting my life!

Don't poke fun :(

--------------------------------

While I'm here.

With that non-commercialised day of pure, sincere, unadulterated romance upon us next week, a gift for any BMR singles looking to score a date for Valentine's.

I've used these many a time and they work a treat.



As long as you select the right target!
 
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Just a couple of writing samples from stories on E that I had a lot of fun with.

This top one, my first ever attempt at writing a mob character - or not quite. Also a trope I swore I'd never write, but with some ideas in mind to take it well past the realm of cliche, my partner made the pairing sound too enticing to pass up.

Salvatore Ricci is going to be a blast to portray.

“Accept the twenty gee and tell him if he doesn’t have the rest tomorrow as promised, he’ll need his wife to push his wheelchair for the next six fucking months. Oh and break the little prick’s pinky.” Salvatore Ricci ended the call, certain his collector would adhere to the directive. Sal wasn’t a man known for his benevolence with either those who refused to repay their debts or employees who couldn’t follow orders. That didn’t stop a deluge of customers from coming his way, however, for what he offered were the lowest interest rates and fairest gaming tables in town. Well, the fairest illegal gaming.

“Hey, boss.”

Ricci glanced up from his seat in the back office of Lucky’s Lounge when a bald mountain of a man popped his head through the door. “What is it, Karl?”

“There’s a broad out the front. Asked to see you.”

“Who is she?” A check of the desk calendar showed no appointment, per his usual schedule. Mornings, he devoted to negotiations with new clients and the afternoon, as it was now, to settlements and chasing bad debts. In the evenings, he’d supervise the action downstairs in the casino which kicked off after the club opened to the public, or entrust that to his lieutenant and enjoy some downtime.

While Ricci wasn’t mob affiliated, he operated under their protection. Remaining on the periphery of the wiseguy activity, he laundered a little dirty cash, schmoozed with the lower and mid-tier gangsters and supplied an off the books interest-free loan here and there. On the flip side, his mafia contacts provided help if he ran into a particularly intransigent debtor or a difficult client with high-level connections. Peacefully, or with extreme prejudice, depending on circumstance. Sal was the guy invited to all the weddings and functions, but who never received a personal greeting from the Don.

“Don’t know, but she’s a looker. Curves like you got to see to believe.” The bald man outlined the form of an hourglass with his hands.

“Oh, yeah?” Ricci grinned. To Karl, as long as a woman had tits, she was a stunner.

“I’m not bullshitting you, Sal.”

“Sure you’re not. Give me five minutes, check she’s not packing, and show her in.”

“Whatever you say.”

After Karl left, Ricci picked up a remote control and flicked on the bank of television monitors mounted on the wall. They coalesced into life, providing Sal a split screen view of every room in the establishment and the entrances and exits. The feed from the main bar showed a single woman seated a table. Zooming in on her, Ricci whistled. Young, cute and as far as he could tell, graced with a body to die for, Karl hadn’t been wrong. What struck him most was a sense of déjà vu as if he’d seen her before. He tapped his fingers on the wooden desk, lips pursed and tried to pull the memory from his brain.

“Shit.” Salvatore jumped from his chair, opened a filing cabinet and pulled older a manilla folder labelled William Martin. The man owed a hundred and fifty grand, interest accruing daily, and had failed to make his last three payments. A week ago, Ricci’s goons paid him a visit to clarify that another missed instalment would be unacceptable. Still, as he was a Police Detective, they’d gone easy on him, leaving Martin with nothing worse than a bruised and battered face and two cracked ribs. Ricci chuckled as he imagined how he’d explained those away at work before his gaze moved from the images of William to those of his family. He scanned over the wife and focused on the daughter; Sophia Martin, twenty-five and pretty as hell, she’d been in Sal’s mind as a source of pressure to exert on the debtor.

What was she doing here?

By the time Karl returned with the visitor Sal had smoothed down his white silk shirt and reclined in his chair. With his eight-hundred dollar Italian loafers resting on the desk and his hands linked at the back of his head, the man exuded composure.

“Go on in.” Karl nudged the girl into the room, then shut the door behind her.

“My my.” Salvatore ran his eyes over her from top to tail, not caring if he offended her with the appraisal. The lady was tasty. “Sophia Martin.” After lowering his feet and sitting up, he focused on her face, and tossed the manila folder onto the desk, opened to a photograph taken of her walking out of her family home in the company of her Father. “Take a seat,” Sal motioned to a chair opposite, “and tell me to what do I owe this pleasure. Have you come bearing gifts from Daddy?”

The second from a story that's been going a while now. I'm not sure what it is about this post that made me proud of it when I was done. It's probably nothing to do with the writing or the post itself or anything that would come through to the casual reader.

I think what really speaks to me about is the sizzling chemistry that my partner and I feel has been built between our characters. And the knowledge that it's to lead them both down some pretty dark, dysfunctional and emotionaly fucked-up paths.

Aiden knew Gigi must have caught him checking out her ass when she turned back to speak to him, for by the time he’d lifted his gaze from her delectable butt, she’d already made it halfway through her sentence. However, as nice as it was, if asked, he’d have revealed that his attention had been as much garnered by her boots. Even in the youth of their early courting days, Lauren wouldn’t be seen dead in public in such scandalous attire. Let alone worn a pair of high-thighs in bed while he fucked her. Doing his utmost to push that thought aside, Aiden winked at her comment.

Once they'd arrived at the booth and the waitress had left, Aiden tugged Gigi onto his lap. If her squeal was any sign, she seemed pleased to be there. His comfort level with the stripper had risen since their first meeting and he reflected on his demeanour then with a twinge of embarrassment. Only by befriending her and gaining her trust could he help the girl, and a sexual liaison would further separate her from his daughter.

Relieved of that mental burden, he’d regained his middle-aged confidence. With Gigi on his knee, his arousal rose, but not enough to distract his senses. Instead, possessed of a clear mind, Aiden savoured the girl’s giggles and the little kisses and nips she planted on his neck. Out of the direct line of sight of the customers and floor staff, they acted more like lovers. Their soft caresses and touches interspersed with gasps of pleasure and snippets of conversation, Gigi’s shiver when he nipped her lobe provided the man’s ego a boost before he pulled back to hear her response.

Mirth filled his expression at her words. The girl wasn’t just gorgeous, but also intelligent and witty, and the church tale elicited a chuckle and amused shake of his head. “Hours spent in the confession booth, I’d believe, but not that story,” he grinned. Aiden’s hand glided down her back to issue a playful spank to her butt. When Gigi’s tone changed, he sensed he was about to hear the truth.

“Psychology?” He pursed his lips and appraised Gigi, blue eyes locked on her face. An idea occurred to him, but it remained too early to broach with her now. “You should. You can’t spend your entire life dancing.” Aiden shrugged and changed tack, careful not to dwell on that subject for too long and risk raising her ire. “While you’re whiling away the hours watching reality television and not being sexy,” he teased, leaning in to suckle her earlobe again and gripping it between his teeth. “Though, that latter, I find impossible to believe.”

When he mentioned taking her up on her previous offer, Aiden wasn’t certain how she’d react. Or if he’d meant it. Aiden followed her movements with his gaze as she stood then placed her knees on the sofa and straddled him. The press of her body brought a fluttering of his eyes and her words evoked a groan.

I’m all yours, Aiden. You can have me right here if you want."

His Adam’s apple bobbed and Aiden sat motionless with Gigi’s promise ringing in his ears while she ran her fingers through his hair and trailed her lips over his neck and throat. An erection rose in his pants and he moved with her, pushing up against Gigi as she rolled her hips into his, but with nowhere near the same as urgency or loss of control as the first evening. Engrossed with the blonde, he barely noticed the waitress deposit the bottle of champagne on the table, and set down two glasses, or the knowing smirk she gave the two before she walked away.

As she moaned and ground on top of him, he glided his palms down her body and raked her skin with his nails. When his touch reached her ass, he cupped her perfect, firm butt cheeks in his hands, kneading and squeezing each, and watched her face. She looked an angel, writhing, rocking and stiffening his cock with each subtle movement. Deliberate or not, Gigi knew how to turn Aiden on and the girl played the strings of his arousal like a violin. “You know what I fantasised about the other night?” Aiden asked as he titled his head to kiss the side of her neck and she freed her perky tits from their faux leather confines.

Maintaining eye contact, Aiden kissed lower, nipping at the hollow of her throat before the attention of his mouth and lips moved to the swell of her breasts. “Of having you in my apartment and ravishing every inch of your body from dusk to dawn.” Hips writhing on the lounge, he moaned against a nipple, making it vibrate before he took it into his mouth.

After he released her nipple, Aiden hooked his fingers in Gigi’s hair and rose to kiss her lips. “Or maybe moonlighting outside of working hours is against the Club’s rules, I don’t know,” he whispered. While his tongue urged her mouth to open to his, Aiden gripped one of Gigi’s wrists, dragged her arm between their grinding hips, “Right now, I don’t care," and placed her hand on the tent in his trousers. “Right now, I need you to take me out and take me inside you.” He hadn’t forgotten where they were. In fact, the concept of screwing the young blonde in the midst of a strip club only made his erection twitch and pulse even harder. For the first time in ages, Aiden felt alive. Damn the consequences of discovery.
 
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Australian Archbishop and until recently, the world's third most powerful Catholic, George Pell, gets imprisoned after being found guilty on child sex abuse charges, and two ex Australian Prime Ministers come out in public support of him.

"Not George Pell; he's a good man. And a Catholic. I don't believe it!"

Why not; not like it's a rarity in the church?

What the fuck is it with these blinkered assholes. How about some compassion for the victims?

Thank goodness we have people like Tim Minchin in this world with the balls and ability to speak up in an artistic, clever and entertaining way to get a message across to a broad audience:

This first song was written when Cardinal Pell was accused of covering up abuse by fellow priests and wouldn't return home from the Vatican to face his accusers in a formal inquiry because he was 'too ill'.



The second, if you're a believer, or easily offended, you may be best not listening to.



'It's the 'if that's what you're offended about, then you really need to get your priorities straight' thrust that strikes a strong chord with me and my moral universe.

Both of these songs speak to me more than ever in the light of recent events.
 
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We have Donald Trump and Scott Morrison,

then we have Jacinda Ardern.



I know which one I think provides the best example of leadership and a will to bring the people of their country together.

I love the strength of her resolution and principles here. Not to mention her calling out of the social media companies abrogation of responsibility, support offered to the victim's families and the immediate action on gun laws. Something other countries could learn from.
 
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Final confirmation that my muse is totally frazzled and that writing at the moment is a struggle came last night when I had to ask a promising potential partner over on E if we could put plotting for a new iteration of Internet Killers (which, anyone who knows is aware is my 'White Whale' of a theme to find an on-the-same-page collaborator for) on hold for a bit. Fortunately, having been there herself, she understood and said, "not a worry at all; I'm happy to wait."

Also in the midst of plotting out a second story with the incredibly fun AzureRain after recently completing our first - what was meant to be a quick E one-shot that lasted just on two years! - but there's no rush with that one. At the moment, it works for both to take our time in finalising the details and getting it started.

In the five years I've been roleplaying, I've never stepped away from it for any length of time and the constant mental energy it requires to translate the jumbled thoughts that make total sense in my head into coherent, logically-ordered sentences on the screen that others can follow has finally exacted a toll. I can't recall when I was last fully caught up on stories - have I ever been?

With ten days off work starting the Easter long, long weekend, and having a number of others things planned, I'm going to take a break from writing over that time to recharge and refresh my muse and creative energy.

Thankfully, I have the most awesome and patient (not to mention talented) partners, and I'll be back in full force come the 29th April, ready to go another five years!

And who knows, after granting myself 'permission' to not have to worry or think about writing for two weeks, the muse might kick back in sooner and replies will magically appear, but no promises on that front!

Regardless, I'll still be around to shoot the breeze and swap PM's.

What'll be interesting is seeing for how long I can resist bumping my RT's :)


--------------------------

In the spirit of the upcoming Easter weekend and my complete and utter disbelief in the mythology behind it;

Has anyone ever pondered the question of how lucky for humanity that so many people have fallen for religious bullshit.

For what depths of depravity would civilisation have sunk to If Atheists Ruled The World?



And while I'm here, how about a little Monty Python

 
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What can I say; searching for an appropriate love song to place in a story post sent me for a three hour trip down the 1980's youtube power ballad wormhole. An enjoyable trip it was too!

Eventually chose this as it was released in 1984; the year the significance of it dates back to in our story



It was a hard choice between that and this second, one of my favourites of this genre, but I wanted a song/artist (I think would have been) a little less well-known in small town USA. At least at the time.

Recently re-released in this symphonic version:

 
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