I sound like a serial killer 99% of the time. The other 1% is reserved for those moments I spend not existing. Yeah, that's a thing I can do.
My roommate, like me, is a writer, so god forbid our computers are ever commandeered by the police. They'd find us guilty of every unsolved crime ever.
Today we've been researching paraphilia (fetishes) and torture methods - FOR SCIENCE! Well, for writing. And laughs. But we'll go with the science thing.
Hence the above comment I made. It's totally gauche to quote yourself, but fuck it. It's really not the worst thing the cops would find if they investigated me. But it's cool. We know our local cops because of our ex-roommate; we make them laugh, blush, and hold kittens. That's pretty awesome.
I blame my extra dose of weirdness today because I discovered The Bloggess and have been reading her posts for the past two days. And dying of laughter. And researching fucked up shit. That last part's been a standard in my life since I found the internet. My parents are awesome. Dinner was never boring.
Some of the fetishes pissed me off, though. Not that they were gross or evil - those go without saying - but that being attracted to TRANSMEN, TRANSWOMEN, TRANSSEXUALS, and/or TRANSVESTITES are fetishes. Seriously?!
And lots of judgmental comments. And lumping sadomasochists in with dangerous, disgusting, and downright illegal paraphilias.
Fuck you, internet.
On that note...my friends really need to stop laughing when I say I'm a man. I know I have breasts that are rather large and delightfully squishy. These two things have nothing to do with one another.
His name is Robert Paulson. I have bitch-tits.