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Subject: {ASSM} RP A Series of Attitudes 1-6/6 (assorted codes, human only, caution) TBD
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Date: Fri, 06 Apr 2012 11:10:03 -0400
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A Series of Attitudes

This work is released to the public domain
---

A disclaimer:  I felt it was time for a cynical yet light-hearted look
at life in the newsgroups.  I'm not like this, I don't see other folks
the way I portray them here and I don't usually write in the style
that follows.

If you are offended by someone poking fun at themselves and cherished
attitudes, you have no business reading what follows.

This is part 1 of a multi-part series.
---

This is a parody, satire and all in all, intended to be enjoyed.
Certainly, it pokes sarcastic fun at some things and attitudes.  Where
did the idea come from?  You don't really want to know.

If you are turned off by something that takes cheap shots at
institutions and attitudes or likely to see yourself here and get
offended, well...

"It sounds like you have a personal problem.  Get over it."

M/F humor/sarcasm/satire/parody sex cons caution
---

"Anal Retentive - A Tale of Two Egos"
---

"Hey!  I just found a use for that story."  I'm laughing as I stick my
head part way up my current lover's cunt.

"What's that?"  She speaks in a bored tone.  "Aren't you doing
anything yet?  I had the  impression from your posts that your head
would be big enough so I'd at least feel *something* when you inserted
it.  I've had more feeling from popping a zit on my cuntlips."

"Yeah, well, your cunt's the only part of you that's bigger than
*your* head.  I can't help it if you always stick your head up your
ass and miss."  Hell, what am I going to do?  I certainly don't have a
penis big enough to do more than feel inadequate about it.   I thought
my swollen head would work but this bitch is beyond anything I've ever
seen.

"Try this."  I grab the printouts of our latest posts, roll them up -
and insert them.  Just as I thought, the whole huge roll is stretching
her a bit.

"Unnggh!"  What the hell did you do?"  She's actually writhing in
ecstasy.

"Simple, bitch.  I stuffed a roll of our posts up that cavern of
yours."

"Feeding off our own egos.  I like it."  She's spasming and the paper
is getting soggy.

"Yeah.  You're a lousy fuck and I ain't got shit for a tool but at
least we have our minds."

"So who we gonna rape next?"  My question is casual but it has the
desired effect.  She arches her back and screams as her orgasm
intensifies.

That's the wonderful part of having egos big enough to think our
opinions are important.  We don't need physical sex to get off.  The
orgasms *we* have are much more intense and longer lasting than any
*mere* physical grunts and groans.

She's gasping for breath.  "Hell, I don't know.  Lots of new folks to
choose from.  The old timers are getting too savvy about things and
not giving us what we want.  How the hell can you deflate egos big
enough to swallow us up and spit us out?"

"Yeah.  The more we hammer them, the better they get.  No fun when
they keep improving instead of ignoring us."  I wander over to the
computer and look at some of the stories posted.  "Hell, I'd love to
nail this guy.  Problem is, I feel like I'd be waking a sleeping giant
if I piss him off."

I hear a thud as her bulk hits the floor.  Hot breath pants in my ear
as she studies the screen.  "Who?  Oh.  Him."  I can hear the
contempt.  "Yeah.  I have the feeling even if we used swords instead
of potato peelers, he'd turn us to thin-sliced sushi without turning a
hair.  I'm egotistical, not stupid."

I'm glum.  "Damnit.  How the hell can you masturbate if the other
person doesn't play by your rules?"

"What about?..."  I point to some of the other people.  All are
regulars and all have average or thinner egos.

"Possibilities I guess."  She's thoughtful.  "Most of them are too
easy."

"Yeah.  Good point."  I start scrolling through the list of authors
we've made.

"How about?"  She points to one group of authors.

"Are you crazy?  We go after those folks and if we even hint they are
doing better or worse than usual, we're going to confirm our lack of
credibility.  We'd have to admit we read stuff in the more obscure
genres and actually enjoyed some of it.  You want to make that
mistake, feel free.  But I'm not going to pull your head out of your
cunt if you do."

"Umm.  Damnit."  She's scratching herself absentmindedly.  "Yeah.  You
know who I hate the most?  The ones who do a decent job no matter what
genre they write in.  We can praise them or pan them but nobody
cares."

I sigh.  "Now there's one I'd *love* to hammer."  I point to a name.
"Except you took a shot and he ignored you.  Not only that, there's no
way I want to give him a shot at me.  He doesn't use a sword.  He uses
a damn rapier and he's so damn skilled you seldom see it coming in
time."

"What about her?  Admits she's sensitive."  I'm getting desperate.  My
ego needs a fix and it's been a long time.

"Sensitive all right.  But, she has a tendency to write folks who
irritate her into stories.  And you know what kind of stories she
writes."

"This is ridiculous!"  I snarl it softly but with feeling.  "What
about some of the proof readers?"

"You've got to be kidding!"  She stares at me in shock.  "Those folks
*routinely* deal with authors.  And you want to give some of them the
chance to turn their skills on us??  Get real!"

"Yeah.  A point.  Not a good one but scary as hell."  I wince as the
screen stops scrolling.  "You know, we may have outsmarted ourselves."

"How?  You see something I don't?"  She's curious.

"Yep.  We've been so egotistical about out reviews and our 'only
providing a service' crap that who'd believe us if we apologized and
tried to be reasonable?  Let's face it.  We've established ourselves
too well in our own genre.  If we try to write some other way, we're
going to get the same treatment we've given everyone else."

She nods slowly.  "Hell.  Well, I guess we keep on at what we do best.
After all, it's not like we're doing anything anyone else isn't.  If
they can post for themselves, so can we."

"Yeah.  True.  But where's the satisfaction in being ignored?"  I
point at some of the threads.

"The hell of it is, they don't need us but we need them.  And, they
know it.  With their fans able to post and send email to them, how
could we ever really convince them we actually make a difference?"

I jerk her into my lap.  As she leans back against the desk, I ram a
fist inside her.  Damn, I feel like I could put a leg in there and it
would get lost.

She reaches down and starts fingering herself.  "We do have an
alternative.  What's the one thing most of them do that we don't?"

"Huh?"  I stare.

"Most of *them* are willing to laugh at themselves.  They have egos
but they still have fun."

I gape.  "You can't mean we actually write something?"

"Worse.  How about we parody ourselves?  Deliberately write some
reviews that are so outlandish nobody can possibly take them
seriously?"

I snort softly and turn her so she can see the screen.  I point at
half-a-dozen names.  "And admit to *those* folks that we've been
idiots all along?  Are you kidding?"

"Nope.  After all, *we'd* have been the ones to set off the bomb." Her
smile is evil.

"Damnit but you're stupid at times.  You saw what happened the last
time somebody used that idea.  Folks are *still* laughing about what
happened to the perp.  I want to feed my ego.  Not have it lanced like
a festering boil."

I sigh.  "There's only one solution I can see.  We never should have
knee-jerked our responses to criticism.  There's no real defense when
your ego gets out of control - except one."

"You admit it."  She says it with distaste.

"Yeah.  Look, anyone can do reviews if their ego is big enough.  It's
not about facts, it's about emotions and personal preferences. But..."
Here I sigh.  "It galls me to admit reviewers have to have writers
around so we can play our little games."

"And you have to have all types of writers to be able to pretend to
being 'fair'."  She sighs deeply.

"We're fucking parasites.  Leeches."  I can't help my bitter laughter.
"The only way past that is to become writers ourselves."

I grin.  "That's too much work.  I'd have to learn to be creative
rather than critical."

"So." She matches my bitterness.  "To get any sort of credibility back
and incidentally be able to stroke our egos...  We have to actually
contribute in a positive manner."

I nod as my fist starts moving again.  "It's either that or admit
we're carrying broken potato peelers."

"I suppose we *could* ignore them and just keep on like nothing has
happened."  She's musing as my arm moves in and out.  "We've had to do
it before."

"Umph.  True."  I'm not happy about that solution.  "It means no ego
boosting until a new group of writers moves in."

"Yeah.  All we can do is feel superior.  Even that wears thin after
awhile."  She's fingering herself in an attempt to get off.  Lord
knows I'm not able to do it for her.  Fucking cunt.  Even a stallion
would feel lost in her.

Me?  Hell, even a *small* bitch would look back in puzzlement and
wonder why I was using what feels like a finger instead of a real
prick.

Oh well.  What fucking choice do we have?  I guess we'll keep writing
reviews and trying to make each other feel superior.

It's a sure bet that nobody else will feed our egos any more.
====

This work is released to the public domain

A disclaimer:  I felt it was time for a cynical yet light-hearted look
at life in the newsgroups.  I'm not like this, I don't see other folks
the way I portray them here and I don't usually write in the style
that follows.

If you are offended by someone poking fun at themselves and cherished
attitudes, you have no business reading what follows.

This is part of a multi-part series.

This is a parody, satire and all in all, intended to be enjoyed.
Certainly, it pokes sarcastic fun at some things and attitudes.  Where
did the idea come from?  You don't really want to know.

If you are turned off by something that takes cheap shots at
institutions and attitudes or likely to see yourself here and get
offended, well...

"It sounds like you have a personal problem.  Get over it."

M/F humor/sarcasm/satire/parody sex cons caution
---

Blow Job - A Reader's View
---

Give you writers a blow job??

Get a life!

99% of you can't even get me hard.  Why the hell should I do anything
in return?

Look, the name of the newsgroup says 'sex'.  Do you hear me?  SEX!

It doesn't say alt.smoochy.coochy.cuddle.stories.

But no, most of you idiots are so wrapped up in yourselves you have
this fixation that what the readers really want is a plot.  Hell, even
the reviewers are deluded.

When I take the time to grab one of your stories, I want one thing.

Relief!

Orgasm!

Get me sweaty, get me hard, get me OFF!

I don't give a damn if some gal rapes some guy with a horsecock dildo.

I don't care if he screws the shit out of her and cuts her throat just
as he's about to orgasm.

Forget all the damn story codes.  There should be only two of them:
"Get your rocks off."  or "Kiss me you fool."

Sex is not about 'I trailed my fingers gently along the crack of her
ass.'

Sex is 'I used my rough fingers to spread her quivering asscheeks so I
could slam my dick home and feel myself empty my swollen balls in her.
Then as I withdrew I watched as my cum oozed out of her now distended
anus.'

And you reviewers.

What the hell do I care if someone has all the commas and periods in
the right place?

The only period I'm concerned about is the type that turns their
crotches bloody as they slam together like rutting animals.

Do you really think anyone cares about all that lovey crap?  Sure, you
might.  But then you folks get off on words.  I have to wonder if any
of you really know what raw, slam-the-bodies-together sex is about.

I want to be able to picture myself sticking my penis up her foaming
cunt.  Or inching my way inside her wonderfully tight ass.  Or having
someone grab me from behind and ram their hot, swollen prick in my
receptive asshole.

I don't give a damn about reading a literary masterpiece.  I'm too
much of a geek to go get my own partner so I have to sublimate my sex
through the stories I read.

Sex stories are my bible, my guide.  My way of feeling like I really
do know what the hell to do if I ever found a woman crazy enough to
have sex with me.

Hell, she'd probably be the type who reads this crap that's posted.
So, neither one of us would have a clue about what real sex is.

Clichés.  That's what I want.  Feed my ego.  Feed my imagination.

Feed my fucking prick.

Is that too much to ask of you damn idiots?

It must be - because none of you seem to care about readers want in a
sex story.

Raunch.  Orgasms.  Dripping cunts and pricks.

People who are so horny they don't care about waking up with bruises
in the morning.

Tell it like it is.  Two drunks so blasted their morals are as
non-existent as their sobriety.

Animals so driven by their lust they don't hesitate to take anything
that passes their way.  Assholes, cunts, mouths...  What the hell do
they care?  All they want is to bury themselves in any warm hole.

Do you think I'm different?  Do you really think you're different?

Who needs it dressed up?  Sex is lust.  Sex is body in a spasming
triumph over mind.

Give me that and I'll consider giving you your damn 'blowjob'.  Give
the readers *sex* and we'll read anything you write.

If you want to please us, be the fucking crack whore on the street
corner.  Get rid of your pious 'dignity'.  Get down on your knees and
wrap your hypocritical mouths around our pulsating pricks and cunts.

Discover what life is really about.

Until you can do that, you're all a bunch of fucking delusional
sex-writer-wannabes.
====

Placed in the public domain because...

Well, you'll know why when the story is over..

Code Blue
---

"Code Blue!  Code Blue!  Code Blue!"  The speakers crackled with the
unusual message.

The doctors and nurses all looked at each other for a long moment.
"What the hell do we do now?" the head trauma nurse asked tentatively.
"I mean...  I studied for this situation of course..."

One of the doctors nodded.  "I'm an old hand at this sort of thing.  I
don't think I should be involved in any decisions about this."

Everyone looked around at each other.  There was a lot of headshaking
and sad smiles.  "Nope.  Not me.  I used to be a paramedic."
Eventually, their eyes all drifted to settle on the new secretary.

"Belle?  You just hired on today.  What's your background?" one
grizzled old doctor asked.

"Me?!"  She blushed.  "I just finished beauty college.  I needed the
money and this was the first place to hire me."  She wailed her
frustration.  "I don't know a thing about needles and trauma and all
that other confusing medical stuff!"

Everyone chorused, "Perfect!  That means we can follow your opinions
about what to do."

"Oh," she squeaked as she realized she was in charge.

"Relax, honey."  The trauma nurse patted Belle's trembling hands.
"Since you've never done this or trained for it, your opinions are
more authoritative than anything we learned.  No matter what happens,
you know more than we do."  She smiled apologetically.  "We all wish
we could help you but, because of the new law that says that in a
decision making process the opinion of the person who knows the least
carries the most weight...  Well, you studied to be a hairdresser for
so many years.  I'm sure you understand."

Belle smiled tentatively.  "Oh, yes.  They passed the new law just
before I graduated.  I didn't think that it..."

Everyone nodded solemnly.

"Well, then.  I guess I better get started."  She settled back in her
chair.

"What do we know about this case?"  She glanced around at everyone
expectantly.

"Oh, that's right.  All they said was that it was a code blue
situation."   She smiled brightly.  "Well, all the TV shows I've
watched show everyone running to the emergency room and then there is
a lot of confusion."

"Emergency! Let's go!"  She jumped up and they all ran out of the
room.

When they stopped running, everyone looked around and acted confused.
This was a natural result of finding themselves in the lobby rather
than the emergency room.

"Oh, damn," she muttered.  "Well, I guess I'll have to ask someone
where the emergency room is and how to get there.  After all, I can't
look at the map.  I might actually learn something."

Finally, she found someone who didn't work at the hospital and she
felt safe in asking for directions from that person.  Once she felt
confident she had their opinion firmly in mind, she ran out of the
lobby and everyone happily followed her.

This time they really did wind up in the emergency room.  "I'm *so*
glad I didn't look at the map."  She smiled happily at her success.

"Where's the patient?" she shouted.

An old woman in a wheelchair motioned her over.  "I think I saw them
take the stretcher into the room over there."  She motioned vaguely.

"Thank you!"  Belle straightened up and announced to the room in
general. "Emergency trauma staff!  Follow me!"

Everyone trooped into the room and there indeed was a stretcher.  On
it was a man covered by a sheet.  He was strapped down.

"Oh my.  He doesn't look too good does he?"  Belle whispered.

One of the doctors coughed in embarrassment.  "I do hope you aren't
asking for a medical opinion, young lady."

A young nurse commented, "Actually, I think he's pretty handsome."
Several of the nurses nodded in agreement and one of the interns
sighed in rapture.

Belle looked around.  Everyone avoided her eyes.  Well, there was no
help for it.  She tried to remember all those TV shows she used to
watch.

"Put him on the operating table," she commanded.

Everyone looked at each other and then moved the man over.

"Isn't someone going to see what's wrong?  Read the report by the
ambulance crew maybe?"

"Do you want one of us to read it?" an intern asked.

"Oh, you're right," she murmured.  "You," she pointed at one of the
doctors. "Bring me the report from the ambulance crew."

The woman selected hurried out and then returned with a clipboard.
There was a single sheet of paper on it.

"I certify I am a casual passerby and when the ambulance crew asked
me, I thought this man was unconscious and might have a broken leg.  I
also told them he should be taken to the nearest hospital with an
emergency room and that they should have someone announce 'Code Blue'
over the public address system."  That was, of course, followed by all
the legal disclaimers from the ambulance crew that they had not
influenced the passerby's evaluation in any way.

When Belle looked at the man now lying on the operating table, she
noticed that indeed, the man's right leg was underneath his body and
his right foot was next to his left ear.  His eyes were closed and he
looked peaceful.  She decided that the passerby had been right.  She
saw his chest move slightly so she also tentatively agreed with the
conclusion that the man was unconscious.

She considered the situation carefully.  She needed help but she
couldn't ask for medical advice.  These *were* medical professionals,
after all.

She sat on one of the stools and thought about things.

She finally looked at the senior doctor.  "Do you think there would be
any legal problems if someone tried to straighten his leg out?"

He sighed.  "There might be.  Someone said it *might* be broken.  How
do we know if this isn't the normal position for his leg?  We can't
ask him and we don't have any other contact info."

"If he were awake, someone could ask him what we should do.  He is,
after all, the patient - I assume.  I do hope he's never been in this
situation before or is not a member of the medical profession.  From a
legal standpoint, our treating him might be considered as having been
done under the direction of a professional if he is a fellow
professional.  I'm not sure how the courts would handle such a case.
From what I know, there isn't a precedent-setting case in a matter
such as this."

Belle nodded thoughtfully.  "There's no help for it, I suppose.  *I*
think his leg is not in its usual position.  I base that decision on
the fact I see part of one of his bones sticking out and the
additional fact he's covered in what appears to be blood."  She placed
her dark brown arm next to one of the man's arms.  "His arm is much
whiter than mine.  Therefore, I conclude there is a chance the blood
we see could be his own."

"However," she sighed.  "I see no other choice in the matter.  We're
going to have to get his attention and ask him for his opinions."

She looked around the room at the expectant faces.  "Do the very
minimum you have to, but get him able to talk."

"Ah...  What do you think we should use to get his attention?" the
anesthesiologist asked.

Belle, now comfortable in her position of authority, nodded at the
astuteness of his question.  "Administer a stimulant.  Those usually
make people more alert."

He nodded and administered a shot of stimulant.

The man jerked and screamed.  "What the hell are you idiots doing??"

"Getting your attention.  Of course."  Belle replied calmly.

"Can't you idiots see my leg is broken and I'm in pain?" he screamed
in his disbelief.

One of the doctors spoke up.  "Well, yes.  It is our professional
opinion that you do indeed have a broken leg, might be in a pain as a
result and have also lost a lot of blood due to your skin being
broken."

The man carefully turned his head to stare at the doctor.  "And you
haven't done a damn thing about it?" he whispered in disbelief.

"Now, now, sir.  You know that since that is their *professional*
opinion, they are legally restrained from acting upon it."

"Who the fuck are you?"

"Does it matter?" she replied.  "All that's important is that I've
never had any medical experience and so I'm fully qualified to direct
the trauma team."

"Now then.  Have you ever studied medicine or had something like this
happen before?" she asked briskly because all the people she'd seen
ask medical history questions asked them in a brisk manner.

"Fuck no, why would I study medicine?  I wash windows for a living.
Worst that's ever happened before now was a cut finger that I treated
myself."

Everyone gasped in shock.  Then the trauma nurse was the first to
speak.  "He's done emergency surgery."  She sighed regretfully.

"Yes but it was only on himself.  It's not like he's a registered
professional," one of the interns offered helpfully.  "That means that
legally, he isn't a doctor or any other health professional.  I
haven't studied the nuances of law but it seems to me that if I
remember some other cases mentioned in the papers in similar
situations, self-treatment, so long as you have no formal medical
training, is perfectly legal."

The woman who had carried the clipboard into the room smiled brightly.
"Why, if that's the case, then to make sure we are doing the right
thing, all we have to do is follow his directions about what to do."

The man screamed in pain again.  When he recovered, gasping, he
wheezed...  "You aren't going to do anything to help me?"

Everyone looked at Belle and waited.  She was, after all, the only
staff member legally able to give a medical opinion in a situation
like this.

"Now, relax.  They will do anything you ask them to do.  I'm certain
that in your experience as a window washer, you've had to follow the
directions of passerby on how to clean a window?"  She smiled
brightly.

"What the hell does that have to do with it?" he screamed again.

One of the duty nurses spoke up confidently.  "Everything.  From a
legal standpoint, as trained medical professionals dealing with a
known emergency situation, we are required to follow the directions of
someone who knows less than we learned in our studies.  After all,
what we studied is sometimes more than a few hours old and we cannot
be expected to be as current on the latest medical treatments as a
casual person  would be.  You," she pointed out, "have far more time
available to read the latest medical news than we do.  Not only that,
if we actually read something in our field..."  She shivered in
terror.  "We might actually learn something and further disqualify
ourselves from acting in other, more obscure or serious situations.
I'm sure you know how that is.  If not for Belle here, well, none of
us would have been unqualified enough to even enter the emergency
room.  As it was, Belle had to order us here and take responsibility.
You should be grateful she was here," she concluded indignantly.

"Anyway, I'm sure you know how difficult it is to stay ignorant of the
facts in your own profession.  Why just a few days ago, I stumbled on
some information about the latest window washing tools and detergents.
Did you know that..."  Belle waved her silent.

"Forgive nurse Marla's enthusiasm.  Washing windows is something of a
hobby of hers and sometimes she gets carried away.  To actually meet a
real window-washer...  Well, it's like meeting an idol admired from a
distance.  It's quite a thrill for her."

"Damn," she muttered.  "His eyes are closed and he looks like he's
possibly unconscious again.  You." She pointed at the
anesthesiologist.  "Inject the same stimulant and dosage you did
before."

He nodded calmly and did so.  He was rewarded with another scream of
pain from the person they now tentatively had decided to call a
patient.

"Are you awake, sir?"

"Yes!  Damn you!  What do you want now?"

Belle shook her head from side to side.  "What we've wanted all along,
sir.  Your instructions."

"My instructions."  He sighed in resignation.  "I think my leg is
broken.  I want it straightened out.  Do something to get rid of my
pain.  I want you folks to do whatever you need to do in order to fix
me up.  That's it for now.  Oh," he added as an afterthought, "When
you get done with that, wake me up again and I'll try and figure out
what else I want done."

"Thank you sir.  We appreciate your telling us what you want done."
Belle patted his head tenderly as his eyes closed and he collapsed.
His whole body seemed to go limp.

"Is his chest still moving?" she asked the room at large.

"I'm not sure...  Yes!  I saw it move slightly," an intern exclaimed.

"OK, you heard him.  Straighten out his leg, then check...  Oh hell,
he didn't say what painkiller he wanted.  Well, since he didn't
express any preferences, just pick one at random and give him some.
Give him oh...  about 1 cc.  When he wakes up again, someone remember
to ask him if it was enough."

She studied his handsome face.  "Such a waste..."  Several of the
nurses and the intern sighed along with her.  "Well, you heard him,
fix him up.  Although why he wants that done is beyond me."

"As for me, this has all been very exhausting.  I'm going to go to the
break room and take a nap while you folks do what he wanted done."
They all smiled and congratulated her on her masterful handling of the
crisis.  "You go relax, honey." The head trauma nurse smiled warmly.
"You did a wonderful job.  Just think, you'll never have to do it
again."

She grinned at Belle's stunned look.  "After all, now that you've done
it once, anything you offer will be based on experience.  Legally,
that means you can never be asked to do it again.  Why, you might make
a decision based on previously learned facts and then what would we
do?"

Everyone laughed as she walked out, her head held high with her pride
at a job well done.  She had certainly done well for someone who had
no knowledge of medicine.

Everybody smiled in relief now that they had something to do.  They
rolled the man over on his side and then pulled his leg so it was
straight.  Then, they rolled him back on his back (making sure his leg
was straight of course) and gave him a shot of painkiller.

Then, somewhat regretfully, they prepared the surgery and castrated
him.

It was, after all - according to his expressed desires and
nonprofessional medical opinion - in his best interests to do so.
====

This work is released to the public domain

To say I have a 'distaste' for the concept of child-raising licenses
is a lot like saying Pred has been known to have an attitude.

Or, in other words, "Don't get me started."  :)

This time, rather than rant, I was able to sublimate the irritation
into the following.

MF rom humor
---

Dick and Jane Meet Reality
---

"Jane?"  Dick has tears in his eyes as he sits down behind the wheel
of his Mercedes Classic.

"Yes, Dick?  Jane, in her elegant evening gown, is a picture of
perfection.  All that exercise on bicycles and wagons plus the sports
she took part in as she was growing up, has made her lithe and supple.

Considering they both come from very conservative backgrounds and have
known each other since kindergarten, it was inevitable that they would
decide to marry.  They've done everything else together.  Now, it is
time for marriage and sex.

"We can't get married and have children."

Jane started to reach over and hug him and then she reconsidered her
actions.  Affectionate contact such as hugging should be between
married people.  You never know where it might lead if you aren't
married.  Why...  Heavens, the next thing you know - you could wind up
kissing out of wedlock!

She's heard horror stories about such things.  Why... one of her best
friends told her of someone she had been told about who got caught
kissing someone before marriage.  So, she knew it wasn't just some
story told to frighten people.  It actually *does* happen.

Jane knew that if she hugged Dick, they would lose respect for each
other.  So, she shivered slightly, put a note of sympathy in her voice
(a more-than-friends-but-not-yet-married note of course) and asked
him, "Did they explain?"

He nodded sadly.  "Neither one of us has a credit card.  Because we
can't prove financial stability, we can't get the license to raise
children if we... You know, should wind up producing a financial and
emotional dependent by conventional means of reproduction."

"You mean that because we only pay cash?..."  She was shocked. All her
life, they had carefully lived by the system's rules. The royalties
from allowing their lives to become public ever since they were born,
(she glanced over and noted that the camera crew was still doing their
job) had made them millionaires many times over.  When they were
teenagers and had been about to receive their inheritance, they had
decided to return to traditional values and never have credit cards.
What need for them did they have?  They both had checking accounts
with millions of dollars available.  Careful investing had left them
in a position to never work unless they wanted to but she had gone to
work in her father's company as a secretary and Dick was a bartender
at a local club.

Why...

"We're so *ordinary*!"  She blurted.

"Not ordinary enough it would seem."  Dick is glum.  "According to the
new rules, people without credit cards are denied licenses to raise
children because they have a 25% chance of failing to have adequate
means of financial resources to provide care if their child should
have a problem that requires non-parental intervention."

"Did you show them our bank account balances?"  She returned to the
practical.

"I did.  Didn't signify.  The rules clearly state that because cash
reserves can be depleted, they are not to be considered in the
determination of financial responsibility. The potential children
*must* come first - of course."

She blinked.  Then her eyes narrowed dangerously.  "Dick.  Look at
me."  Her voice had a note of command in it.

Dick turned and looked at her.  That was permissible because she had
used the 'I-am-about-to make-a-suggestion-that-will-affect-our-lives'
tone and he knew that responding to her command would not in any way
reduce his manhood or damage his manly self-image. After all, he had
had to learn how to use the same tone when making such a suggestion to
Jane.

"We have lived all our lives within the traditional Western Culture
paradigm."  There was a glint in her eyes as she stressed her point.
After twenty years, Dick understood that glint.  It was the special
one they had for themselves.  A glint they never let the cameras see.
It is a private means of communicating that if someone had caught them
using it, they were fully prepared to justify it as 'nothing more than
a private signal that any two people would have created after being
around each other for a long time - and thus permissible'.

He smiled back.  Then, he looked up at the camera crew.  He looked at
the head camerawoman (making direct eye contact of course).  "You're
all fired."

"But..."  She stammered.  "We have a contract."

"I'm invoking the 'having our lives filmed is economically unviable
and due to financial restructuring, we have decided to end the
relationship' clause." He went on relentlessly.  "The income derived
does not contribute significantly to our lives and is therefore deemed
wasted effort.  The accountants have been after us to shut down the
filming but, out of sentimentality, we have kept the film crews
working.  I have chosen to implement the long ago suggested
restructuring for maximum financial stability."

"I'll call the office and have them write your severance checks.
Perhaps you can find work in another division of the company.  We
would hate to lose such skilled workers."  He smiled, not unkindly.
"However, be that as it may, effective immediately, your filming is to
cease."

"Begone."

They watched as the crew returned to their van and left.  When the van
was safely out of sight, Dick suddenly remembered the voice recorders
and cameras in the car.  He pointed at one and smiled.  Together, he
and Jane very carefully made certain every means of monitoring them
was turned off.

He held up his cell phone and studied it thoughtfully.  Then, with a
grin, he removed the battery from it.  Jane had a grin of her own as
she duplicated his action.  He handed her the two pieces. He got out
of the car and went around and opened her door. "Jane.  I believe the
trash can is right over there.  Shall we?"

After she got out, he closed the door and offered his arm.  (To help
her over the bad spots of course).  As they crossed the immaculate
parking lot, he gazed at the sky.  "I've always wanted to see Japan
and the rest of the orient.  I understand it's beautiful this time of
year."

Jane held her hands over the trash can and made sure the phones and
their batteries went inside.  (She didn't want to get in trouble for
littering.)  "Funny you should mention that.  There are some temples
in Cambodia I've wanted to go see.  (She had been brought up to
respect belief systems that differed from her own.)

Dick smiled at her.  He pulled out his wallet to see if he had enough
cash to go book a flight for them.  He tilted it slightly to let Jane
see something.  He chuckled as she gasped.  "I remember my scouting
lessons."  His tone was amused.  "Be prepared."

"Indeed."  She giggled and reached into her purse to pull out a mirror
so she could check her makeup.  As she put it back, she shifted her
purse slightly so he could see into it.  A small package, clearly
labeled, was on top of things.

They looked at each other and grinned.  "Yes, I think it's time we
took a sabbatical and decided what we want to do with our lives." Dick
commented.  "Being filmed all the time has certainly been stressful."

"Jane, I do believe there's a hotel not very far from here.  I think
we should stop and arrange our affairs from there."

"Oh, Dick.  That's a wonderful plan."  She smiled and decided that his
masterful forethought and handling of this crisis was a suitable
occasion for a hug of congratulations - so she hugged him.

As she leaned forward to kiss him tenderly, she whispered.  "I've been
on the pill for years and waiting for a chance to fuck you. Let's get
out of here."

He looked into those beautiful eyes and whispered back. "Why the hell
do you think I've always carried a condom with me?  The hell with the
system.  Let's move somewhere that doesn't require so much conformity
to the rules."

He chuckled evilly.  "It's not like we can't afford to move..."

"Thanks to the system." 
====

This work is released to the public domain

This is meant as a lighthearted look at the interaction of an author
and his proof reader.

It is fiction and in no way resembles what happens when my proof
reader and I interact. His comments are clear and well  worth
listening to if one wants to fine tune their work.

Thanks.  You're far more than 'just a proof reader'.
-----

Proof Positive
---

Dear XXXX,

I've been proof reading your story and while it all looks pretty good,
I feel the following line needs work:

I laughed.  "I fucked her silly."

Within the context of your story, I think the reader will not be sure
how to interpret this.

Possible changes:

I laughed as I fucked her silly.

I fucked her silly as I laughed

"I fucked her silly and laughed"

I'm sure you see the problem.

Sincerely,
Your ever vigilant proof reader
----

Dear PR,

Hmmm...

I didn't realize using such a common idiom would be so vague.

After looking over that section of the story, how about this?

While I was telling my friends about last night, I laughed as I made
the comment - "Our sex was so intense, she passed out.  When she woke
up, she was still disoriented."

Thanks,
XXXX
----

Dear XXXX,

re:  rewrite

While I was telling my friends about last night, I laughed as I made
the comment - "Our sex was so intense, she passed out.  When she woke
up, she was still disoriented."

Not too bad.  I notice however, that by suddenly switching to this
rather long paragraph, you've disrupted the flow.

Please try to be less wordy.  The style you use in this story works
well with shorter sentences.

Sincerely,
Your ever vigilant proof reader
----

Dear PR,

OK.  So now the meaning is clear, you just want me to say the same
thing with fewer words and/or shorter sentences?

Thanks,
XXXX
----

Dear XXXX,

re:  rewrite

Yes.

Sincerely,
Your ever vigilant proof reader
----

Dear PR,

...

I was laughing as I told my friends - "She passed out after I finished
with her."

Thanks,
XXXX
----

Dear XXXX,

re:  rewrite

Much better!

But now, you've changed the tone of your story and it sounds like your
character is using the woman.  Is this what you want to do?

Sincerely,
Your ever vigilant proof reader
----

Dear PR,

No, changing the context is not what I want to do.  Within the context
of the story, any reasonable reader will realize 'using the woman' is
NOT what happened.

Frustrated,
XXXX
---

Dear XXXX,

Wait.  Are you the author of  "Dicks for Jane"?

Sincerely,
Your ever vigilant proof reader
----

Dear PR,

No.  I sent you "Sweet Meets at the Chocolate Factory".

Puzzled,
XXXX ---

Dear XXXX,

My apologies, your story is fine.  I had you confused with XXX.

Sincerely,
Your ever vigilant proof reader
----

Dear XXX,

This is XXXX.  Our proof reader confused our stories.  I imagine he
will be getting in touch about the line:

I laughed.  "I fucked her silly."

If I may, I would like to suggest the following change if it fits
well.

---
She laughed as she tied up the 'Ever Vigilant One'.

I grinned as I told my friends what happened next.

"I screwed the hell out his tight ass and mouth."

Then, while I was still choking the shit out of him with my huge,
throbbing member. She giggled and beat him senseless.

It was a silly thing to do I suppose - but it felt so good we couldn't
stop ourselves.
---

Hope this helps,
XXXX
-----

Dear XXXX,

Perfect!

Thank You!

ROTFL,
XXX
====

MM revenge rape anal flash

Ever have one of those 'oh-so-damn-frustrating-you-could-just...'
days?

It ain't no 'Pred story', but then again--I ain't Pred
---

Lunch Break With the Boss
---

I work for a living and you know what that means.  I have a boss. He's
an asshole, but that's also normal.

So, I did what all assholes really want.  I fucked it.

Ain't no hardhat in the world that can protect someone from a shot to
a kidney, which is what hit him as soon as he walked around the corner
of the container I had staked out.

"Bastard."  I grinned down at him.  "It's your turn.  You mind-fucked
me one too many times."  I held up the tube of KY.  "This ain't for
you, it's for me.  Be damned if I'm gonna hurt myself for the likes of
you."

I had some wire ready and tied him to the container with his hands
above his head and his legs spread.  A razor knife took care of his
belt and then I carefully sliced through his pants and shorts until I
was able to slide the remains down each leg, exposing his ass.  He had
started cussing me out but I fixed that by stuffing a piece of his
pants in his mouth.  Part of his shorts covered his eyes.  No reason
for that, really, but I figured he needed to keep wondering about
things, just like the mind-fuck games he did to me and the crew.

"Ever think about selling this?"  I squeezed his ass and then reached
under and grabbed his balls.  "You ain't no twink, buddy, and that's
what I like.  You're a man and it shows.  Good set of hangers.  I like
the way they dangle."  I jerked them down and he moaned.  "Yeah.  Like
pulling a chain to turn on a light."  I lubed him and jammed a couple
of fingers in to see how tight he was.  I jerked his balls again.  His
asshole clenched and I laughed coarsely.  "Yeah.  Who's in control
now?"

I reached even further and felt for his dick.  It had shriveled up and
was trying to hide but I grabbed the tip and stretched it out.  "Poor
thing.  He's not going to get any satisfaction from me."  I let it go
and stepped back to undo my zipper.

"Hey, Boss.  Thanks for deciding to spend your lunch break with me." I
stepped in close and rubbed the tip of my dick along his asscrack
until I felt the slight depression that was his clenched asshole.  My
other hand snaked around to his crotch and got a good grip on his dick
and balls.  "This, bud, is for you."  I pushed home in one slow
stroke.  I used my hand on his balls to pull him back.  He tried to
stop me but the KY made all his efforts a waste of time.  When I was
all the way in I clenched  the hand holding his balls a few times
before I let go and used both hands to grab his waist.

My first few strokes were quick and brutal.  I wanted his ass to know
I meant business.  Besides, if I took him slow his asshole would
loosen up too much as it got used to me.  I wanted him tight as long
as possible.  I settled into a fast pistoning and concentrated on the
tip of my dick and where it was.  The tingling built and while I used
all my strength to pull him back I ground my hips into his ass.  I
moved my hands so they were on the insides of his thighs.  "You ain't
gonna forget this one, Boss."  My last thrust was driven deep and
upwards as I used all my strength to jerk him backwards as brutally as
I could.  My hate driven cum spurted into him.  I felt his asshole
spasming around the base of my dick.  "Let me show you something,
Boss.  I lightly trailed my fingers along the inside of his thighs a
few times.  "That ain't it.  This is."  I cupped his balls with one
hand and then covered that hand with the other one.  "Here's how I
make sure you milk me dry."  I jerked my hands into his body and drove
his balls as deep as they would go.  His asshole, which had been
slowing its contractions and relaxing, spasmed in reaction.  Each time
his asshole started to get used to my softening dick I jerked back and
crushed his balls into his body.  It was fun until I felt his body go
limp.

My dick was soft but still inside him.  It felt good and I wished I
had time to do some more butt-fucking.  I sighed, pulled my hand out
and looked at my watch.  "Hey, Boss.  That was pretty good for a
quickie.  You've been here only twenty minutes.  You've got another
forty minutes to kill before you have to get back to your office."  I
ground my hips into his ass before I jerked out and watched my cum
slowly ooze down his legs.

"I'll send some of the boys around to take care of you.  I gotta go
eat before lunch is over."

I stuffed my limp dick back in my pants, zipped up and walked away,
leaving him hanging there.  When I rounded the corner of the container
I saw some of my crew, settled and eating their lunches.  As I sat
down to eat mine I looked up at them and grinned.  "Hey, boys. "  I
gestured back where I had come from.  "The boss has something to give
you."  I reached down and grabbed my crotch.  "If you know what I
mean..."
---

End: A Series of Attitudes

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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