unpredictablebijou
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Oh,
God-
DAMN that's hot.
wow. My naughty bits thank you.
bj
God-
DAMN that's hot.
wow. My naughty bits thank you.
bj
Naughty Poetry Challenge
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champagne1982
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She's talking to you, y'know...unpredictablebijou said:
champagne1982
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Tzara said:
combined we get french pastry.
unpredictablebijou
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Taking Poetry to the People, Chapter 1
My Bar is a classic dive. There are two pool tables. Once a month they move one pool table to make room for the owner's favorite band, a trio which covers, in a devoted and energetic way, classics like Free Bird and Smoke on the Water and All my Ex's Live in Texas. (The owner is a 65-ish year old woman whose name is Cletis. ) The rest of the time the pool tables are in constant use. The nights are punctuated with calls of, "Rookie, you're up!" and "Downtown, c'mon, downtown!" and "Aw, you BITCH I can't believe I missed that."
There are a couple dozen small tables that get shoved into various arrangements in corners. There are metal-frame chairs with burgundy vinyl seats, their beige foam padding showing through slices in the upholstery. On a really crowded night, the bar can sit about 16, but you have to steal the chairs from the Trivia Game computer and the jukebox to do it.
There is Bud Lite on tap, and there is an actual jukebox with CD's, not one of those satellite things. Sometimes the 3's and 7's don't work on it and the bartender hangs a sign, and then we have to pick songs that don't have 3's or 7's in them.
We get a lot of college kids on weekends, but the regulars are long past college. Most of them have had some, but most of them aren't working anyplace they expected to work when they were young. It's a varied crowd, in age, in race, in gender, in circumstance.
I could describe this bar and the incredible people in it for pages. Someday I will write this bar. But that's enough of a sketch for now.
I am a regular, and well-known at this bar in my way. I'm like the rural hippie: what you notice out here is that there are weirdos like me everywhere, but the Regular Folk simply own them as part of the village. He may be a Hippie weirdo, but he's OUR hippie weirdo, and nobody better mess with him, cause he's okay.
So I'm allowed to do strange things in this bar. Here's an example. Three or four times a year I and my friends go in and hold a fundraising party in this bar. We pick a charity like the Humane Society and announce a party. We bring food and sometimes a dj and take everyone's money away and give it to the charity. The folks at this bar save up and bring their friends when they know the "Alphabitch Party" or the "Lord of the Pants Party" is happening. We've raised thousands of dollars in this bar, from people who are mostly squeezing just to put enough gas in the tank to get them to work and back.
I didn't know what these folks would do with poetry, and I get a lot of raised eyebrows in this bar even under normal circumstances, but in I went last night with a stack of "poems" and a bunch of pens. I laid everything out on a table and then I went round and talked to people. My opening line was, "Hey, you wanna help judge a sexy poetry contest?"
I got the expected responses. "Naw. I don't know anything about poetry" was the most common. My response was to explain that this was to be judged ONLY by people who didn't know anything about poetry, and that I'd set up this contest and challenged the writers that they just had to write something "hot." So, I'd say, just go over there and read a couple, and if any of them makes you hot, draw a little star, or put your initials on it or something. If you want to choose a winner, you can do that too. Do whatever. Write comments if you want to.
A few of my actual friends were already sitting at the table, and two of them were deeply engaged already, reading every piece, discussing them. I hadn't expected that. But they were making recommendations, too, to the people approaching the table. "You should read this one. It's hot." "I wanna hear him read it aloud - here, read this one." Stuff like that.
Pretty soon there's a consistent crowd, from about 11:00 on, of at least five or six people at this table, reading poetry, standing around, exchanging stacks of paper, borrowing pens to write things. There's a rousing discussion, that continues for about 2 hours with various participants, about Eluard's piece and whether the word "cunt" should be in a poem. It ran about 50/50, and wasn't predicted by gender. Some of the women HATED that, and said it ruined the piece. Others argued that they felt it really made a statement. I was surprised by the number of men who disliked the term; more men than women argued that it should be taken out.
TAKEN OUT. Let me just point at that for a moment. They weren't just putting the pages down, or saying it was no longer a poem. They were EDITING. They were discussing rhythm, and shifting words, crossing out phrases and substituting, circling things they liked and didn't like, making changes and discussing them. They were psychoanalyzing you all, too.
Here's what happened with Tath's haiku. Mind, now, this is the sort of thing that happened with virtually every piece that was out there, which is why I'm rather intimidated by the idea of trying to tell the whole story. Tath's haiku is this:
a tap of my tongue
brings a shuddering heaven
I, your creator.
Now, first of all, there was a lot of discussion about which poets were being Too Serious or Kinda Preachy. This haiku got passed around when there were about six people at the table, and the first set of comments were about how the first two lines were really perfect and hot but that last line totally ruined it. There was a suggestion that Tath might be a Gamer, (and this was suggested BY the Gamers of the crowd. That refers to a certain type of male, generally single and/or divorced, overweight, gleefully and admittedly addicted to video games, generally underemployed at help desk or IT positions, and a friggin HOOT to drink with on a Friday night.)
Tath, the group decided, must be a gamer, because the line "I your creator" was so godlike and "poetic" (that was the term they used) and ego-centered, he must be into D&D and stuff.
But there was this other theme happening that intersected the discussion. One of the criteria they invented (I gave them ONLY the criterion of "Does it make you hot" as a means of judgment) was how "kinky" the poem was. They gave higher scores to the pieces they felt were REALLY kinky. So suddenly, someone suggests that Tath's last line almost sounds parental. This guy had liked the poem because he thought that it was referring to incest, and that certainly won the Kinky score, so even though it didn't make him hot personally, he gave it a high score because it was effective as a poem.
Read that last sentence again. Now let me draw this guy. He is tall and very skinny and wears a very large silver belt buckle. He favors red, white and blue cowboy shirts on a Friday night. He wears a battered white straw cowboy hat that is so overly curled on all the edges that it looks like a Pringle having a spasm. He chews tobacco and plays pool unceasingly. He has one silver earring and a very large blonde moustache. This is the person who is evaluating the piece on a whole different level, who is saying, okay, this doesn't speak to me, but it does what it intended to do very well, so I'll acknowledge the skill here and give it a high score.
It was blowing my fucking mind, my babies. And it went on for HOURS like that. I will endeavor to do it all justice, but that's enough for now. Suffice it to say, the group then agreed that with that interpretation, it was a very effective poem, and since they had read some of tath's other work they realized that he probably wasn't actually talking about his own experience, which meant that he was a Good Poet, talking about incest even though he wasn't actually into it.
You see why my mind is blown?
whew. That's plenty for the moment.
bijou
My Bar is a classic dive. There are two pool tables. Once a month they move one pool table to make room for the owner's favorite band, a trio which covers, in a devoted and energetic way, classics like Free Bird and Smoke on the Water and All my Ex's Live in Texas. (The owner is a 65-ish year old woman whose name is Cletis. ) The rest of the time the pool tables are in constant use. The nights are punctuated with calls of, "Rookie, you're up!" and "Downtown, c'mon, downtown!" and "Aw, you BITCH I can't believe I missed that."
There are a couple dozen small tables that get shoved into various arrangements in corners. There are metal-frame chairs with burgundy vinyl seats, their beige foam padding showing through slices in the upholstery. On a really crowded night, the bar can sit about 16, but you have to steal the chairs from the Trivia Game computer and the jukebox to do it.
There is Bud Lite on tap, and there is an actual jukebox with CD's, not one of those satellite things. Sometimes the 3's and 7's don't work on it and the bartender hangs a sign, and then we have to pick songs that don't have 3's or 7's in them.
We get a lot of college kids on weekends, but the regulars are long past college. Most of them have had some, but most of them aren't working anyplace they expected to work when they were young. It's a varied crowd, in age, in race, in gender, in circumstance.
I could describe this bar and the incredible people in it for pages. Someday I will write this bar. But that's enough of a sketch for now.
I am a regular, and well-known at this bar in my way. I'm like the rural hippie: what you notice out here is that there are weirdos like me everywhere, but the Regular Folk simply own them as part of the village. He may be a Hippie weirdo, but he's OUR hippie weirdo, and nobody better mess with him, cause he's okay.
So I'm allowed to do strange things in this bar. Here's an example. Three or four times a year I and my friends go in and hold a fundraising party in this bar. We pick a charity like the Humane Society and announce a party. We bring food and sometimes a dj and take everyone's money away and give it to the charity. The folks at this bar save up and bring their friends when they know the "Alphabitch Party" or the "Lord of the Pants Party" is happening. We've raised thousands of dollars in this bar, from people who are mostly squeezing just to put enough gas in the tank to get them to work and back.
I didn't know what these folks would do with poetry, and I get a lot of raised eyebrows in this bar even under normal circumstances, but in I went last night with a stack of "poems" and a bunch of pens. I laid everything out on a table and then I went round and talked to people. My opening line was, "Hey, you wanna help judge a sexy poetry contest?"
I got the expected responses. "Naw. I don't know anything about poetry" was the most common. My response was to explain that this was to be judged ONLY by people who didn't know anything about poetry, and that I'd set up this contest and challenged the writers that they just had to write something "hot." So, I'd say, just go over there and read a couple, and if any of them makes you hot, draw a little star, or put your initials on it or something. If you want to choose a winner, you can do that too. Do whatever. Write comments if you want to.
A few of my actual friends were already sitting at the table, and two of them were deeply engaged already, reading every piece, discussing them. I hadn't expected that. But they were making recommendations, too, to the people approaching the table. "You should read this one. It's hot." "I wanna hear him read it aloud - here, read this one." Stuff like that.
Pretty soon there's a consistent crowd, from about 11:00 on, of at least five or six people at this table, reading poetry, standing around, exchanging stacks of paper, borrowing pens to write things. There's a rousing discussion, that continues for about 2 hours with various participants, about Eluard's piece and whether the word "cunt" should be in a poem. It ran about 50/50, and wasn't predicted by gender. Some of the women HATED that, and said it ruined the piece. Others argued that they felt it really made a statement. I was surprised by the number of men who disliked the term; more men than women argued that it should be taken out.
TAKEN OUT. Let me just point at that for a moment. They weren't just putting the pages down, or saying it was no longer a poem. They were EDITING. They were discussing rhythm, and shifting words, crossing out phrases and substituting, circling things they liked and didn't like, making changes and discussing them. They were psychoanalyzing you all, too.
Here's what happened with Tath's haiku. Mind, now, this is the sort of thing that happened with virtually every piece that was out there, which is why I'm rather intimidated by the idea of trying to tell the whole story. Tath's haiku is this:
a tap of my tongue
brings a shuddering heaven
I, your creator.
Now, first of all, there was a lot of discussion about which poets were being Too Serious or Kinda Preachy. This haiku got passed around when there were about six people at the table, and the first set of comments were about how the first two lines were really perfect and hot but that last line totally ruined it. There was a suggestion that Tath might be a Gamer, (and this was suggested BY the Gamers of the crowd. That refers to a certain type of male, generally single and/or divorced, overweight, gleefully and admittedly addicted to video games, generally underemployed at help desk or IT positions, and a friggin HOOT to drink with on a Friday night.)
Tath, the group decided, must be a gamer, because the line "I your creator" was so godlike and "poetic" (that was the term they used) and ego-centered, he must be into D&D and stuff.
But there was this other theme happening that intersected the discussion. One of the criteria they invented (I gave them ONLY the criterion of "Does it make you hot" as a means of judgment) was how "kinky" the poem was. They gave higher scores to the pieces they felt were REALLY kinky. So suddenly, someone suggests that Tath's last line almost sounds parental. This guy had liked the poem because he thought that it was referring to incest, and that certainly won the Kinky score, so even though it didn't make him hot personally, he gave it a high score because it was effective as a poem.
Read that last sentence again. Now let me draw this guy. He is tall and very skinny and wears a very large silver belt buckle. He favors red, white and blue cowboy shirts on a Friday night. He wears a battered white straw cowboy hat that is so overly curled on all the edges that it looks like a Pringle having a spasm. He chews tobacco and plays pool unceasingly. He has one silver earring and a very large blonde moustache. This is the person who is evaluating the piece on a whole different level, who is saying, okay, this doesn't speak to me, but it does what it intended to do very well, so I'll acknowledge the skill here and give it a high score.
It was blowing my fucking mind, my babies. And it went on for HOURS like that. I will endeavor to do it all justice, but that's enough for now. Suffice it to say, the group then agreed that with that interpretation, it was a very effective poem, and since they had read some of tath's other work they realized that he probably wasn't actually talking about his own experience, which meant that he was a Good Poet, talking about incest even though he wasn't actually into it.
You see why my mind is blown?
whew. That's plenty for the moment.
bijou
champagne1982
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I think it is wonderful how they could condense a year of MFA exercises into, okay, this doesn't speak to me, but it does what it intended to do very well, so I'll acknowledge the skill here and give it a high score. It sounds like they could give ratings lessons to the casual literotica reader, too.
I can't wait until bit 2. Ya got me all gawarsh durned excitieded.
I can't wait until bit 2. Ya got me all gawarsh durned excitieded.
unpredictablebijou
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I'm talking to BOTH of you. I had the Vapors and had to take a break before I could finish your piece, champy darling.
and well, TZ... well.... mph. mumble.
bj
and well, TZ... well.... mph. mumble.
bj
champagne1982
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I know!!! I wanna eat his poem.unpredictablebijou said:
unpredictablebijou
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champagne1982 said:
It gets better. Later on they actually held a Revival. There were rousing arguments. Dramatic readings and enactments. Line-by-line editing discussions. You were discussed at length. Pretty much everyone was.
More tomorrow.
bj
unpredictablebijou
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champagne1982 said:
...or something.
I'm off for a bit. My eyeballs are falling out. Gonna go sit in a bar and write for a while.
I walk in complete adoration of this silly village.
bj
champagne1982
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It was the excitieded part that got ya horned up, wasn't it?The_Fool said:
ETA: Goodnight!
Last edited:
champagne1982
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1.
Take this into your mouth
to dance circles with your tongue
and taste the familiar
lust that seems to flood my skin,
every time you move like that.
God! Like that. Ass tight,
hips fore and pelvis tipped
up
to press through the inner
lips that part and tighten,
as you flex and jut ahead,
in an effort to keep you there.
Now, touch the instant
with the end and show me
where eternity meets
the pleasured disappointment
that this would be fatal
if it lasted.
2.
Grasp my hips, zero in
then move to rifle the path
with narrow twists of pelvis
a drill that opens me
spiralled in a thrill ride spun
into sugar melting as candy
floss drops from the heat
into my belly.
Molten syrup drawn
up into strands of sweetness
then exploded into the sunlight
of a carnival tilted dangerously
over centre.
Refuse the shill beckon
of promise and ride
the reality of sex
in the morning.
Take this into your mouth
to dance circles with your tongue
and taste the familiar
lust that seems to flood my skin,
every time you move like that.
God! Like that. Ass tight,
hips fore and pelvis tipped
up
to press through the inner
lips that part and tighten,
as you flex and jut ahead,
in an effort to keep you there.
Now, touch the instant
with the end and show me
where eternity meets
the pleasured disappointment
that this would be fatal
if it lasted.
2.
Grasp my hips, zero in
then move to rifle the path
with narrow twists of pelvis
a drill that opens me
spiralled in a thrill ride spun
into sugar melting as candy
floss drops from the heat
into my belly.
Molten syrup drawn
up into strands of sweetness
then exploded into the sunlight
of a carnival tilted dangerously
over centre.
Refuse the shill beckon
of promise and ride
the reality of sex
in the morning.
unpredictablebijou
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champ, yum!
here is a great badness: i have seriously sprained my index finger. It was a retarded moment. It is apparently called "baseball finger" even when there was no baseball involved. I do know it hurts like a bitch and makes typing quite stupid and slow, so further chapters of Friday night's events and the reviews of everyone's work must wait a couple extra days til this this gets better. wish i cld type fast one-handed... these sentences just took over 5 min with lots of deleting... so im lurking 4 a bit whether i like it or not.
im carrying a sheaf of hot poetry around to restaurants and stuff, showing them to friends and waiters and strangers.
this is a really fun contest. im so glad everyone put stuff in, and i promise youll be glad you did when i get the rest of the reports written.
bijou
here is a great badness: i have seriously sprained my index finger. It was a retarded moment. It is apparently called "baseball finger" even when there was no baseball involved. I do know it hurts like a bitch and makes typing quite stupid and slow, so further chapters of Friday night's events and the reviews of everyone's work must wait a couple extra days til this this gets better. wish i cld type fast one-handed... these sentences just took over 5 min with lots of deleting... so im lurking 4 a bit whether i like it or not.
im carrying a sheaf of hot poetry around to restaurants and stuff, showing them to friends and waiters and strangers.
this is a really fun contest. im so glad everyone put stuff in, and i promise youll be glad you did when i get the rest of the reports written.
bijou
champagne1982
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I hear too much use of the forefinger to reach a hidden ridge, inside and just behind the pubis, can pull the tender tendons of a finger designed to point, not poke.
I wish I lived in your town, clever witch. It would be fun to suck up the cream of erotic poetry flashing where they least expect it. To watch enlightenment sneak up on their faces when they read rhythmic fucking poetry rather than rhyming greeting card verse.
Heal baby and keep 'em reading.
I wish I lived in your town, clever witch. It would be fun to suck up the cream of erotic poetry flashing where they least expect it. To watch enlightenment sneak up on their faces when they read rhythmic fucking poetry rather than rhyming greeting card verse.
Heal baby and keep 'em reading.
unpredictablebijou
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Eluard said:
buddy:
You are talking about My Friends.
Who drink with me in My Bar.
just sayin'.
bj
unpredictablebijou
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Bars are not for fighting. Bars are for drinking. Just one of the many things I have learned in My Bar.
have a drink. I'm buying.
bj
have a drink. I'm buying.
bj
unpredictablebijou
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champagne1982 said:
busted. it's true: i sprained it testing my kegels. been workin' out.
my town is just like any other. You just gotta know where to look. I hope others do this exact same thing with this set of poems and check in with their results. Those people weren't the ones getting enlightened: I was.
hearts and stuff
bj
unpredictablebijou
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Taking Poetry to the People, Chapter 2
I can't take it anymore. despite the finger, i have to try to get another bit of this night described, because I don't want to lose it.
I've talked about the fact that there were easily 5 or 6 people at the “poetry table” all night that friday night. There were so many incredible discussions, and I felt like an anthropologist, sneaking over to make notes in a corner so that i would remember all of the critique. Still, i must have missed a great deal. The conversations overlapped, there were heated debates and readings going on over three or four pieces at once sometimes.
There was a lot of interest in the dialogues between Champagne and the Fool, which I printed out as sets. Champ, while I did not get an opportunity to read “fuck me” as you requested, it did get read, quietly, by one person to another. Your poem did something very concrete that night, i think. The crowd had trouble with the word “aureoli”, not because they didn't know the word, but because they did. There was an agreement that there needed to be a better term to use, and no one knew one offhand, but that word really “screwed up the rhythm.” other than that the piece got no negative comments and four different sets of “this made me hot” initials.
The dialogues in general all got lots of initials, but no real editorial marks, which means they were working nicely for most of the crowd. There was, however, one hilarious exception. Fool, your last response, “she offers something/ to warm the belly” got the note “this isn't kinky” from one respondent, and one woman who read it said, “god, this sounds like a hot flash!” and showed it to her boyfriend, who agreed that that is exactly what his paramour does when she gets a hot flash. It was assumed that you have a kind-hearted woman who allows you to believe that you've done well but is hiding the fact that she's having a hot flash. That same woman, a very harsh critic and easily bored, gave Champagne's piece “i feel the glitter of the glass” her only mark. Fool's two pieces before and after that also got some initials.
Fool, your most popular pieces were your triad, “she finds the tips of her toes.” These didn't have a lot of initials but I noticed the truly focused readers sharing them round, and written comments were in the vein of “love this one,” “this one's GOOD” and “interesting – intense but one is right there” (that comment applied specifically to the first section, which was by far the most positively received.)
Manipulatrix, both “I am air” and “half awake intensity” got nothing but positive reviews and lots of marks and comments. Among them: someone named VS, whose opinions I have learned to respect as I've read through his/her various comments on the pieces, said 'hot damn, this is good' about air, and 'gets good here' at about the line “I pin you” in “half-awake intensity”. underyourspell's “oh hell it's nothing classy” got two “FUNNY!” comments, and in general all the women thought it was great. there were loud choruses of "yeee-haw" occasionally as the chicks passed it around.
ouch. i must stop. the revival and dramatic readings will have to wait.
hope that tides y'all over.
bijou
I can't take it anymore. despite the finger, i have to try to get another bit of this night described, because I don't want to lose it.
I've talked about the fact that there were easily 5 or 6 people at the “poetry table” all night that friday night. There were so many incredible discussions, and I felt like an anthropologist, sneaking over to make notes in a corner so that i would remember all of the critique. Still, i must have missed a great deal. The conversations overlapped, there were heated debates and readings going on over three or four pieces at once sometimes.
There was a lot of interest in the dialogues between Champagne and the Fool, which I printed out as sets. Champ, while I did not get an opportunity to read “fuck me” as you requested, it did get read, quietly, by one person to another. Your poem did something very concrete that night, i think. The crowd had trouble with the word “aureoli”, not because they didn't know the word, but because they did. There was an agreement that there needed to be a better term to use, and no one knew one offhand, but that word really “screwed up the rhythm.” other than that the piece got no negative comments and four different sets of “this made me hot” initials.
The dialogues in general all got lots of initials, but no real editorial marks, which means they were working nicely for most of the crowd. There was, however, one hilarious exception. Fool, your last response, “she offers something/ to warm the belly” got the note “this isn't kinky” from one respondent, and one woman who read it said, “god, this sounds like a hot flash!” and showed it to her boyfriend, who agreed that that is exactly what his paramour does when she gets a hot flash. It was assumed that you have a kind-hearted woman who allows you to believe that you've done well but is hiding the fact that she's having a hot flash. That same woman, a very harsh critic and easily bored, gave Champagne's piece “i feel the glitter of the glass” her only mark. Fool's two pieces before and after that also got some initials.
Fool, your most popular pieces were your triad, “she finds the tips of her toes.” These didn't have a lot of initials but I noticed the truly focused readers sharing them round, and written comments were in the vein of “love this one,” “this one's GOOD” and “interesting – intense but one is right there” (that comment applied specifically to the first section, which was by far the most positively received.)
Manipulatrix, both “I am air” and “half awake intensity” got nothing but positive reviews and lots of marks and comments. Among them: someone named VS, whose opinions I have learned to respect as I've read through his/her various comments on the pieces, said 'hot damn, this is good' about air, and 'gets good here' at about the line “I pin you” in “half-awake intensity”. underyourspell's “oh hell it's nothing classy” got two “FUNNY!” comments, and in general all the women thought it was great. there were loud choruses of "yeee-haw" occasionally as the chicks passed it around.
ouch. i must stop. the revival and dramatic readings will have to wait.
hope that tides y'all over.
bijou
champagne1982
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I wonder what I could have said instead. The alternatives are cliche, but maybe, since my goal should have been to get the audience all fired up, I would have better served if I'd used rouged drops. I like the look of aureoli in that line even though the masses are right and it does fuck up the rhythm.upbj said:
Do you disguise the writer from the audience when you present these? I was just thinking that those of us with multiple entries may rouse bias as people read through all of the poems.
unpredictablebijou
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champagne1982 said:
I didn't really notice a lot of commentary or bias about people writing more than one. In one case, with Tath's haiku, they noticed that he had more than one piece so they were able to conclude from his other work that he's not an actual child molester. I just introduced the stuff from you and Fool with "this is two poets writing back and forth to each other." No one really batted an eyelash about it.
That whole question of the term aureoli was one they struggled with. It was agreed that you couldn't have done anything else, really, since there aren't any good terms available. They empathized with your frustration, and were frustrated themselves that they couldn't suggest an alternative.
There need to be more appealing slang terms for a number of things. I've always thought so. Like the testicles, for example. I'm always stuck for a while in stories when I want to interact with those, cause there's just no good sexy words for those.
so. fun, huh?
bj
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unpredictablebijou said:
Sounded like she was talking about pasties.
Whatever, I just dropped in to clear something up: "aureola" and "areola" mean very different things. An aureola, from the latin for golden, is a nimbus or a corona-type thingy, typically referring to the ball of light around saints and other holier-than-thous (see my AV). An areola, on the other hand, means a small space around something (derived from the diminuative from of the Latin word area). So a "large areola" is something of an oxymoron--kinda like "giant shrimp."
Anyhow, on the same note: if we're making either of these feminine nouns the subject of our sentence, we would use the nominative first declension ending "-ae" to make it plural. And for future reference, the nominative plural of "penis" is "penes"--not "peni" (or "penii"...?). You would, however, strictly speaking, use penis as the plural of penis if it were the direct object of a verb: "She liked penis," for example.
Alternately, you could just throw an "s" or an "es" at the end of any Latin word and not have to worry about it.
Okay, I'm crawling back in my hole now. Have fun with the naughty bits, people.
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