So let's just get right to the news, and the more personal stuff is below.

What I do have today is a photo gallery of the more interesting shots from the news feed, all with my own generally-pointless captions. See more of her handsome captor, and other such fun.

On the case, I don't have much to say that the regular media isn't saying already.  When even the wire stories express disbelief at the events and skepticism about things, you know the questions are mounting. They're saying now that she was in the mountains right by her home for like two months, and heard the rescuers calling, but didn't cry out or run to them.

First of all, what sort of mountain search is it if you can't find the girl you are looking for and the Manson-lookalike who took her when they are in voice range for like two months? Secondly, why didn't she try to get away?  She had numerous opportunities later on, in stores, walking down the street, staying at various people's houses.  Two minutes and a payphone and she was gone at any time.

My dad opinioned that she was probably so trained to be submissive and subservient as a good little Mormon girlchild that she would just do whatever anyone told her to do. Maybe so, but maybe she enjoyed the sex?  Enjoyed the rebellion from her super whitebread parents? Enjoyed living on the run?  Enjoyed being treated as an adult?

Rumors abound with thoughts that she planned her getaway in advance, had already been seeing the guy, fell for his crazy "god talks to me" stuff.  And if she was really so indoctrinated into religion by her parents, it's not a big step from a more mainstream one to a more cultish one.  The guy says he talks to god... well so do the preachers on TV.  Maybe this guy had a better rap, and he was out living it, wandering among the poor and downtrodden, just like Jesus.  Not living in a mansion and doing Sunday TV shows like the modern famous preachers.

Anyway, more of her psychology and the time frame of her travels will probably come out, if her parents allow it.  Which I don't much expect that they will.

¤ A reader mailed me the link to this ridiculous story, about a 1st grader who removed a plastic knife from the cafeteria to take it home, got caught with it, and is now facing a suspension over the school's "zero tolerance" policy.  There have been a lot of idiotic school suspensions for weapons, but this would probably take the cake.  So to speak.

The parents have a clever angle though.  If the school suspends him, they are going to sue the school for providing the kids with weapons.  Since after all, how can they give out knives for lunch, and then bust a kid for having a knife they gave him?

This all just demonstrates the idiocy of zero tolerance anything, since there are no black and white issues in reality, just in political posturing.

 

"I had a little lesbian thing...," she said, adding the encounter with an unnamed woman had been "part of experimenting."

She refused to pinpoint the date, but said, "It was somewhere between the ages of 16 and 30. It was just a drunken moment."

Being as Geri is now 30 years old, she doesn't exactly narrow down the time frame for her discovery of the amazing two-headed Lickalotapus very precisely. And if she only did it once... well there goes the whole Spice Girls dressing room fantasy down the drain.

No man wants to see hot chicks sticking out their tongues and mugging for the camera and being goofy.  You're hot, FFS.  Show some goddamned dignity and pose for a lot of sexy pictures.  It's not a difficult career path.  You don't need to be able to tell jokes or carry on a conversation or act or juggle.  Just diet, smoke and shoot some H if you need to, but keep your looks up, your weight down, and smile and/or pout for the camera.  And going topless in various bad movies wouldn't hurt.  Publicity galore.

Anyway, the irony with Geri is that she used to be a bit pudgy.  Well, not "pudgy" really, but plumper than a supermodel, that's for sure. She had oversized boobies and womanly curves and the cutest little apple cheeked-face.

So where's the irony?

I have no interest in her whatsoever.

She couldn't light my fire with a blow torch and a bottle of Vaseline. I mean kerosene.  Well either, really. I can't tell you why, she just does nothing for me anymore, when by all rights she should have been mildly-interesting in her brunette days, and should drive me wild now.  Little Flux is unpredictable and tricksey. 

¤ Here's a scary article about how utterly whipped the Washington Press Corps is, when it comes to anything even approaching a tough question to Bush.

The Bush press conference to me was like a mini-Alamo for American journalism, a final announcement that the press no longer performs anything akin to a real function. Particularly revolting was the spectacle of the cream of the national press corps submitting politely to the indignity of obviously pre-approved questions, with Bush not even bothering to conceal that the affair was scripted.

Abandoning the time-honored pretense of spontaneity, Bush chose the order of questioners not by scanning the room and picking out raised hands, but by looking down and reading from a predetermined list. Reporters, nonetheless, raised their hands in between questions–as though hoping to suddenly catch the president’s attention.

Even Bush couldn’t ignore the absurdity of it all. In a remarkable exchange that somehow managed to avoid being commented upon in news accounts the next day, Bush chided CNN political correspondent John King when the latter overacted his part, too enthusiastically waving his hand when it apparently was, according to the script, his turn anyway.

KING: "Mr. President."

BUSH: "We’ll be there in a minute. King, John King. This is a scripted..."

A ripple of nervous laughter shot through the East Room.

I love that Bush is too stupid to remember that it not supposed to be scripted, and then even has the guy memorized (sort of) by his last name first, like an elementary school teacher.  I wouldn't be surprised of Bush had a seating chart up front with their names ("last name, first name") and locations for reference.

The incident, and what it meant for the quality of the questions, was ignored by 99% of major US media outlets.  

Newspapers the next day ignored the scripted-question issue completely. (King himself, incidentally, left it out of his CNN.com report.)

I suppose they at least have the grace to be embarrassed by their humiliation, but you'd think that someone would have made points out of it as a way to strike back?  Nope, they are all utterly whipped.

Reporters argue that they have no choice. They’ll say they can’t protest or boycott the staged format, because they risk being stripped of their seat in the press pool. For the same reason, they say they can’t write anything too negative. They can’t write, for instance, "President Bush, looking like a demented retard on the eve of war…" That leaves them with the sole option of "working within the system" and, as they like to say, "trying to take our shots when we can."

But the White House press corps’ idea of "taking a shot" is David Sanger asking Bush what he thinks of British foreign minister Jack Straw saying that regime change was not necessarily a war goal. And then meekly sitting his ass back down when Bush ignores the question.

They can’t write what they think, and can’t ask real questions. What the hell are they doing there? If the answer is "their jobs," it’s about time we started wondering what that means.

Thursday was random sexy photo and reader email comment day.  And it generated a bunch of... reader email.  No, no sexy photos, unfortunately.  I did generate some more sexy photos, ones intended for Malaya, who giggled and drooled, just as I had hoped she would, and said my butt was cuter than an ex-boyfriend who used to run track.

I am such a damn slut.

And no, no pictures for you.  No one but Malaya and Starina want to see them anyway.  Well, just on the off chance, I'll link to one, two of them.  I'm in jeans, and topless, as usual.  I also boast two stupid expressions, as usual. Did I mention that I've become a complete goddamned slut? Love, especially when double-deckered by her slutty second cousin Lust, does strange things to a man.

If you've somehow thus far avoided getting a look at me, I don't exactly have the Simpson's Comic Book Shop Guy look you have rightfully come to expect from no-life webmasters.  I do a ton of sit ups, a lot of pull ups, and ride a mountain bike over goat paths on a semi-regular basis.  And my enjoyment at being desired by Malaya has turned me into a complete goddamned slut.

Now that being said, why I feel compelled to post the photos I take for her where everyone can see them is knottier dilemma. And one I shan't attempt to unravel at this time.

I rode the aforementioned mountain bike over some of the aforementioned goat paths today, and as sometimes happens, overshot a corner going very fast up a hill after screaming down one, and crashed right into the chaparral, flying off of the bike sideways and crashing down into the scrub brush on my ass and left side.  Chaparral, if you aren't familiar with the fauna of your typical Southern California canyon, is really woody desert shrubbery.  And by "woody" I mean it's basically living kindling with an extremely tough and fibrous internal structure. In the summer you can clear a path through it just by kicking, since it's all dry and breaks off effortlessly, but this time of year, when there's been rain, it's growing madly and is very tough, yet far from flexible. In terms of a bush-like plant, it's probably got about the lowest greenery to bark ratio of any plant on earth.

In other words, it hurts to fly into at 20 MPH, and you can expect several holes in your pants and the skin beneath if you do so.

I got a line of little poked holes down my left flank, and a big scratch down my right buttock (as they say on TV) that was rather painful for the remainder of my ride, since it pressed right on the edge of the seat.  I had some worries of bleeding enough from the scratch that I'd look like some sort of bicycling male prison escapee, fleeing for the sake of my poor abused manpussy, but when I got home and could look there was just a big scratch with a few little spots of blood on the pants, mostly from my left side, which didn't hurt nearly as much.  This proves that it's better to take a 1cm deep single point than a 5mm deep scratch that's about 8cm long, at least if you're going to be sitting on it and pedaling a bike.

It also proves that I'll seize any opportunity to talk about my ass.

In other encouraging news, there was a $20 site donation yesterday, the donor doesn't even want to be thanked in any way.  I've updated the March tally on the Donate Page anyway, and of course thanks to him/her/it for the coinage.  I shall squander it on only the finest China White, snorted directly from the freshly laved lower intestine of a Peruvian coffee-picking virgin. As my religion commands.

I was going to begin this ramblingness with "Irony" and then get to the irony, but after like ten paragraphs, I figured everyone would forget that it was supposed to be ironic.  In fact I'm pretty sure I forgot it.

Anyway, the irony was going to be that two days ago I posted the mailbag, yesterday I posted a bunch of mails, several about the mailbag, and then today I was going to post... more mails about yesterday, and about the mailbag.  But since that's not really irony, it's probably best that I didn't try to claim that it was.

Yesterday was about the 3rd biggest traffic day ever, and I really don't know why.  There were 300 referrals from a link I put in to the Internet Slang Page from the feedback to my last C2 column, but that's nothing.  I've gotten several thousand referrals in a day to various pages in the past when I've linked to them from the D2 column, and the pages I linked to had multiple images on them, all of which count as file loads each time someone hits the page.  The Slang page has no such images, and it only got 300ish referrals anyway, while there were over 30,000 total page loads.  I don't have an answer as to why there were so many views.  I guess more people saw the link here from my author info and forum signature on the D2 site, since the new column was up, and they came and they saw and they looked around.  Oh, and the main page yesterday had a ton of images, so those all count as a page load each time.

Anyway, more traffic is what I want, for some reason related to being a dirty whore.  And while the bandwidth was well over 300meg yesterday, and I can average about 160meg a day and not go over my monthly 5gig limit, that's no biggie since I'm moving hosts soon, (before the end of the month when I go over the 5g transfer limit) and the reason I asked for donations in the first place was to pay for a greater bandwidth package.

In addition to being about the highest traffic day ever, to date, yesterday was definitely the highest email day ever.  Real emails, not counting spam and Klez and such, of which I get plenty every day.  It's small beans compared to the hundreds of mails I used to get every day at the D2 site, but I got 14 mails here Thursday, and all of them real mails, from real people, with real questions or comments.  I read them all, and I appreciate them all, but I'm probably not going to reply to them all.  Because I'm a dirty whore.

I did, however, take excerpts from two mails and add them to the "Where Did I Come From" page.  Check out their similar stories, and even similar names, oddly enough.  No offense to anyone (well, maybe some offense to your unimaginative parents) but I swear 80% of the mails I get here come from guys named Matt, Mike, Tom, or Brian. It's like a plot from 18-25 years ago, coming back to haunt us all.

Here's one of the emails from Thursday, and it's not from Matt or Mike or Tom or Brian, but Rick.

First, let me add a recommendation of Pratchett and a justification. You have implied that you don't care about sales, so I'll gloss over the fact that he's sold slightly more than a bajillion books in the UK. He is writing humorous fantasy, but he's also managing to weave in some social commentary while writing novels that are amusing to both kids and adults. There may also be something to be learned from his evolution as a writer; his first 2 Discworld novels are fairly bad, but he improves steadily from there, and you can watch the improvement fairly easily.

I'm glad Naill wrote in regarding the use of "theory"; I'm tired of retyping that particular screed.

The pelvic exam thing was just disturbing. I smell blood in the water, and so will the malpractice lawyers.

Re: Malaya. Go to your nearest Kwiki-Mart and look at a women's fashion magazine. Go ahead, I'll wait. :) Note the ridiculous xylophone-grade ribs and similar insane thinness of most of the models. Compared to that, you're dating a whale. You don't think so, *I* certainly don't think so, but she apparently does. Good luck.

Also, "Starina"? Was this a joke I missed, or an error? 

I seem to get more mail about Fantasy author recommendations than anything else, so here's another example of it.

The only thing I'm going to reply directly to here is the last bit, asking about "Starina".

Starina is the flaming alter ego of a gay guy who is a regular reader/mailer to this site, whose real name is being kept separate from Starnia, I think.  I can't ever remember whose name I'm using and who insists upon an alias.

Anyway, Starina's proudest moment to date was sending in the email quoted at the top of the Feb 23rd update, the day after I first posted a picture of myself that could by any stretch of the imagination be considered sexy.  And dedicated it to Starina her/himself.

Just to continue clarifying, Malaya is the alias of my current online girlfriend, and my would-be real life girlfriend.  I suppose that if I continue to refer to people other than myself or celebrities on this site on a regular basis, I should put up some sort of cast page with short bios, just so the non-daily readers could follow along.

Then again, there is a price to pay for not reading these oh-so-brief updates every single day. And having even less idea than usual what I'm talking about might be it (the price).

With that last confusing digression, I shall surrender to my headache and call it a night.

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