So, go with it, nixar. All around me, the world celebrates this bizarre holiday, a mostly secularized/commercialized version of various pagan traditions all smushed up together and usurped by the Xtians, and I sit in my shadowy little room writing weird sex and paraphilic fantasies of corporeal transcendence. It could be worse.
Good to know some things stay the same. Which is to say that yesterday was spent on letters C-E of "The Crimson Alphabet" (which will be appearing in Sirenia Digest #25 at the very end of this month). I chose Chiroptera for C, Dagon for D, and Elizabeth Báthory for E. The last of the three came off especially well, I think. Today, I neeed to try to take care of F-I, and then wrap up Part One of the alphabet tomorrow.
And someone out there, a spammer and practitioner of broken English, clearly thinks I'm an android, as evidenced by the following:
Your woman doesn't want to jazz it with you because of your device size. Everything will be all right for sure. All you have to do is just make use of our instrument enlargement. You will forget about problem and your girl will be happy.
"Jazz it" with me? Oh, also, it should be noted that this supposedly came from a "Dr. Isabel Bergeron," but I sort of figure that part's a lie. At least the "Dr." part.
Have a look at the eBay auctions, please. It's easy.
Oh, and Hubero asked me to explain that his name is Nebari, not Spanish, and that it is pronounced "HU-bero," not "hu-BER-o" with a rolled "r." See, cat, I do so listen to you. Okay, now I need to go "jazz it" with a platypus and a large cup of coffee. Excuse me.