It’s about time I provide an update here. Interesting things are afoot.
New book release soon
I’m nearing completion on Space Vixen Trek Episode 17: Tomorrow The Stars. The first draft is done, now I’m beginning to give it the final comb-over. This one should have lots of appeal to both UFO buffs and the more deplorable of the “deplorables”. Anyway, I’m pretty excited!
I got a little burnt out by renovating apartments by day. I’d rather chill out and relax by night than fix up my own pad. Even so, I’m inching slowly forward on some projects. I got a faucet changed out – not just a washer, the full meal deal. I’d like to find whoever invented the cone washer and demand an explanation. If none is forthcoming, I’ll waterboard that miscreant until I get a confession. O-rings are nothing but trouble; ask NASA about that one.
I’m changing out the flooring in the bedroom. I already got the closet redone with some fancy expensive stuff. It was a pain to pound together, but the results look great. (Now that I’m out of the closet, will I get a pride parade?) Flooring for the rest of the passion pit will be about a thousand bucks. Fortunately, it’s durable enough to survive the Apocalypse – according to the manufacturer, anyway.
The living room flooring is getting redone too. I have further deviltry in mind there as well – repainting the walls, paneling along the bottom, and recessed bookshelves. We’ll see how far I take it. For now, I got the funky old carpet up. I deep cleaned the bare slab; it needed it. Unfortunately, I gassed myself when the bleach reacted to the crud on the concrete. (Never again the Shoah!) More seriously, I cleaned it as good as it’s going to get. Then I splatted down some oil based primer over most of it. I wasn’t quite walking on sunshine from the fumes, but open windows only get you so far. It already looks much better, and I’m looking forward to finishing up,
Unfortunately, the open windows (as well as some yard work) gave me a pollen exposure reaching LD50. Saw the doc today. Still, I’m getting an early jump on spring cleaning, and progress shall go on. I might either put the fancy flooring on that (for another couple thousand bucks) or maybe do a colorful Jackson Pollock splatter on it for giggles.
Minor triggering spotted
Finally, I ran across some hostile commentary about my article, “Would you bang a famous feminist?” I LOLed over that one! The relevant part is the second half of “The Week In Garbage Men: MGTOWS Do Depression-Era Fan Fiction, PUA Declares Susan B. Anthony Unbangable”.
For the record, I’ve never said I was a pickup artist. I’ll probably touch up the paint job on the pickup one of these days. However, I’m no good with an airbrush. Therefore, the pickup won’t feature any cool designs inspired by Greco-Roman art. That’s beyond my technical ability, unlike channeling Jackson Pollock.
There are many subtexts in my original article, but I’ll spare you a fully detailed analysis. One important item is that big-name feminists claim to speak for all women, but they’re certainly not a cross-section of average women. I could write a book about all that, but the major particulars I mentioned were being unattractive, having Daddy issues, being neurotic (or even outright crazy), and having a grudge against society. Part of the latter includes heavy Communist influence, which is why the movement founded by suffragettes got converged into a front of cultural Marxism.
Actually, I don’t really care about what the big-name feminists look like, because I observe the “don’t stick your dick in crazy” rule. The major takeaway is that babes like that aren’t people we need dictating terms to society about relations between the sexes. Was it mean of me to pick on their appearance? Okay, it was. Still, after what feminism has done to our society over several decades, I’m not feeling too guilty about it. Stirring up discord between the sexes was a very foul deed. For that, they can go to hell, and I’ll even buy them the handbasket.
The most LOLworthy item was this:
Now, I cannot find a picture of Beau Albrecht anywhere on the internet, but I do not feel as though I need one — because even if he looked like Cry-Baby era Johnny Depp, I can firmly say that I would rather make sweet, tender love to a rusty chainsaw.
Yeah, okay, it’s not gonna work between us; mutually irreconcilable differences and all that. Peace out.
Anyway, I don’t have a lot of pictures out there; social media seems a waste of time to me. For those who are curious, I’m four feet tall, I have gray skin, a little nose, big eyes, and my forehead is getting a bit wrinkly in middle age (I’m 80 billion years old). A little known fact about me is that I gave L. Ron Hubbard the anal probe and chucked him overboard from his yacht, as revenge for blowing my cover.