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La Guera

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Because I Don't Have Enough on my Plate [Dec. 31st, 2010|11:56 pm]
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I claimed Table #2 for [info]spn13, and here it is:

01 Risk. 02 Fear. 03 Agony. 04 Temptation. 05 Evil.
06 Desperation. 07 Broken. 08 Pain. 09 Tears. 10 Ruin.
11 Never. 12 Death. 13 Forbidden.


A fic responding to a prompt will be posted once every four weeks until all 13 are completed.
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I Wonder What Qualifies as a Brain Laxative [Nov. 30th, 2009|06:32 pm]
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[music |Three Doors Down]

I've been trying to write for hours, and it's not going well. The plotbunny that just yesterday had verbal diarrhea is now the Great Wall of Constipation. After several hours of straining, I've managed a sorry seventy words. It's not for lack of interest. I've got all the interest in the world, and I know how the story should end, but I'm cold and cranky and worried about the impending invasion of my safe space by good-hearted people who don't understand that I need a place where I can be quiet and live inside my own head and not have to worry about being a goodwill ambassador to the rest of the world. Where I can feel like ass without feeling guilty for "inconveniencing" others, or be happy without having to apologize for what makes me happy. So it's just not working, and I'm frustrated, because this story is awesome, and I can't wait to tell it and get it out there, even if no one reads it or cares enough to comment if they do. Writing this story is plain old flat-rate fun, and I want to see if the prism inside my head matches the pattern on the paper.

If it doesn't happen by the time House starts, I'm just going to dry my hair and try again tomorrow, as Bill Engvall says.
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Easy Like Sunday Morning [Nov. 29th, 2009|04:36 pm]
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It's a lazy Sunday afternoon, perhaps the last quiet day of the week if the tinkerers really do descend upon my home like so many carpenter ants, and I've spent it poking aimlessly about on Amazon. I considered a Caitlin R. Kiernan novel, but my inner skinflint wept at the thought of paying $10.88 for a damn paperback of average length. Does anyone remember when reading used to be a poor man's pleasure?

Every year, I have these grandiose plans to finish the fannish year with a flurry of scheduled fic. Inevitably, it fails miserably because I freeze under the self-imposed deadline and wind up baking my brains in front of the TV and stuffing my face with chocolate and caramel popcorn. One year, I planned to do an Advent calendar of CSI:NY fic, twenty-six fics in twenty-six days. I made it three before I was lured away by the shininess of the TV and its siren call of marathons on Discovery or TruTv, or by the silent pleas of my DVD collection as they waited for me on the shelves or in teetering stacks on chairs.

So, rather than set myself up for failure by setting impossible goals I can't hope to meet, I've decided to try for one or two solid pieces of fic in my preferred fandoms before January 1, 2010. That way, I can finish the year on a high note and feel accomplished instead of burnt out, miserable, and overwhelmed.

And I'd be lying if I said that this picture wasn't conjuring all sorts of ideas in my cracked brain. The possibilities are endless in both canon and crackverse.

And yes, the crackverse involves Flack wearing that outfit home and playing "Santa's little helper" with Rebecca. Sue me.

And if linking this through your LJ makes you uncomfortable, [info]faylinn_drake, I'll swap it out for an alternate link if I can dig it out of the NY SPOILER thread.
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Bah Humbug, Thank God, Dammit, and Awwww [Nov. 28th, 2009|03:28 pm]
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I survived my first Thanksgiving with my mother in thirteen years, thanks in no small part to the presence of one of the red-necked angels, whom my mother had invited. Angel the Elder is a font of stories, and his constant stream of gossip kept my mother from criticizing everything from my hair to my clothes to the fact that Mother Nature had made me smell like an anchovy's cunt and me from sniping and loudly declaring her an overbearing, insufferable control freak bitch. PC kept her from ruining the food with her penchant for overcooking. It wasn't a happy time, but no one left in tears, so I'm willing to call it a win.

Predictably, she's already making noises about Christmas. She wants me to come to Florida with her for eight days of family togetherness. I'd rather have my anus torn out with a rusty pair of pliers. My family means well, but they treat me like a child, and the constant benevolent condescension and infantilization is an affront to my negligible sense of personal dignity. After hours of being patted on the head and lectured about everything from the importance of bowel regularity to making sure my pipes don't freeze in the cold, and being interrogated about my finances, my sex life, and my menstrual cycle, I transform into that hateful, bitchy, bitter cripple bogey that everyone envisions when they imagine life with a disability. I don't want to undergo such a terrible metamorphosis, but polite attempts to protect my privacy, that secret place to which every "healthy" human being is naturally and absolutely entitled by dint of grunting intelligently, are met with dewy-eyed butthurt and wounded accusations of ingratitude. How dare I not be fawningly grateful for their interest in my sad, uninteresting life? The only effective defense against such encroachment and emotional blackmail is to be as venomous as possible to discourage any meaningful interaction. Unfortunately, this tactic also perpetuates the bitter cripple stereotype that so often undermines my social discourse with the rest of the world. It's an ugly, no-win situation that fills me with guilt, but if I don't roundly rebuff these psychological predations, then I'm left sans dignity and filled with a helpless sense of shame.

So, I'm staying here with Roomie this Christmas. We've already ordered a handful of gifts from Amazon, and as soon as I pay the doctor's bill next week, we might order a few more. We decided that Amazon would be a safer proposition than battling the viciously single-minded and territorial crowds at Wal-mart and Best Buy. Why should I endanger myself for the meager and fleeting chance to save twenty bucks on Fringe DVDs when I can--and did, oh, yes, I did--order Fringe S1 for eighteen dollars and have it shipped to my door, where no one will be waiting to shove me aside or trample me underfoot because I'm blocking their path to the eighty-seven-inch LCD TV with handy pocket rocket attachment and free HDMI component cable? We'll buy some cheap wrapping paper at the dollar store and have a quiet holiday at home, free of the stress inherent in dealing with family.

Besides, the next week is going to be ridiculously busy. My mother decided I needed a new roof, after all, and so, the red-necked angels will be coming to replace the roof. In addition, PC will be coming to remodel and re-plumb the upstairs bathroom and fit it will an accessible shower. I'm not looking forward to such concommittant upheaval, but both projects need to be done, and since PC is donating his skills for free, I can't piss and moan about when he chooses to donate that time. I just hope he wasn't being optimistic when he said it would only take a few days.

I finally saw an episode of Friends with Eddie Cahill as Tag Jones. He was so cute and looked frighteningly young. I just wanted to hug him and floof his seventies hair and pinch his baby-smooth cheeks. He's matured so much since then, physically and as an actor. It'll be interesting to see how he changes over the next ten years.
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CSI:NY 609: 'Manhattanhenge'--SPOILERS [Nov. 27th, 2009|04:31 pm]
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CSI:NY 609: Manhattanhenge--SPOILERS )

D-, and that's as a reward for Flack in that sexy, sexy shirt.
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Muppets Make Everything Better [Nov. 25th, 2009|03:05 pm]
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It is That Time of the Month, and so I was crabby and crampy and reveling in my hatred of the world and the pestilential holiday season, and then I saw this, a video of the Muppets singing Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody, and lo, verily, I stopped hating the world for five minutes. I don't know why The Jim Henson Company did this, but God bless them, every one. As someone on the Youtube comments thread noted, this video justifies the existence of the Internet.
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Movie Review: The Narrows [Nov. 22nd, 2009|03:28 pm]
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The Narrows--Major SPOILERS )

B-
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Supernatural 510: 'Abandon All Hope...'--SPOILERS [Nov. 21st, 2009|06:13 pm]
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Supernatural 510: Abandon All Hope...--SPOILERS )


The Mentalist 510--SPOILERS )

I finally got around to watching The Narrows, but I think I'll talk about that tomorrow. Poor Eddie. It's always the face. ~pets him~
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CSI:NY 608: 'Cuckoo's Nest"--SPOILERS [Nov. 19th, 2009|02:42 pm]
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I have never been so glad to be wrong about an episode in my life.

CSI:NY 608: Cuckoo's Nest--SPOILERS )

Crow has never tasted so good. Mmmm. A+
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Random TV Rumblings [Nov. 18th, 2009|06:47 pm]
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Avast proved its worth and mettle the day before yesterday by stopping two trojans dead in their slimy tracks. They came from ads on an MMA/wrestling news site that Roomie frequents because he just can't stop himself. I'm convinced and sending off for the registration key next week.

CSI:Miami 808: Point of Impact--SPOILERS )


Prediction for Thursday's Episode of The Mentalist--Possible SPOILERS )


SPOILERS for Monday's House--SPOILERS )
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Yet Another Rpund of Maternal Bait-and-Switch [Nov. 16th, 2009|03:30 pm]
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Remember that swanky, new tin roof I was getting? Well, maybe not. My mother came over yesterday to drop off Roomie's belated birthday cake, and while here, she surveyed the water damage in the bathroom. I thought the sight of the ominous brown stain on the ceiling would spur her into faster action. Ha. Instead, it prompted her to revisit her treasured campaign to have me buy a house. I can't spend $7,000 to re-roof a house that's been rendered serviceable for me, but I should drop $84,000 on a newer trailer home.

Bear in mind that, as my mother has pointed out ad infinitum, this money would come from the trust that's supposed to serve me in my dotage, when rampant government overspending has throttled a teetering Social Security to death in its bed. I'm supposed to blithely use a large portion of that safety net to buy a house that likely won't retain its initial value so that I don't spend $7,000 on a new roof.

What hurts the most about this is that it was they who offered to replace the new roof at their expense. They didn't say, "We'll look into it and see if we can afford it." No. According to the neighbor, they'd already spoken to the red-necked angels about starting the project as soon as the neighbor's roof was finished. The angels had already measured the roof. They had planned to start this week. As soon as my mother heard the quoted price, she backed out.

If she had said they were only exploring possibilities and then backed out, I would have understood. Sometimes, you can't afford things, even if you need them. But the start date was set. I was getting a tin roof. By backing out after the project was set, it feels like my mother is saying I'm not worth $7,000, that it's not worth $7,000 to her to ensure that I'm safe and dry and not in danger of breathing in toxic mold or waking up to a water drip on the forehead in the middle of the night, that I'm unworthy of comfort or security. She's spent the thirteen years of my absence hectoring me about my need to "live better" and take better care of myself and lecturing me about my "right" to be "comfortable" and my need to be closer to family so that I can be "taken care of", but now that she's realized that those needs can't be achieved by platitudes alone, she's no longer so keen to be my great champion.

The worst part? As she was leaving, she leaned over and said, "You can just throw an old, blue tarp over it. No one'll care. It's just a trailer." Then she laughed and went home to her 4,000 square-foot home with two kitchens and granite countertops and hardwood floors and wall-mounted flatscreens. She wastes so much breath preaching the gospel of having nice things and "living nice" and "being comfortable", but she thinks I'm worth nothing but a thin, blue tarp to keep the raindrops from falling on my head.

Bitch.
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Sunday Afternoon Hodgepodge for November 15, 2009(A Rant about CSI:NY 608) [Nov. 15th, 2009|01:40 pm]
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Rant and SPOILERS for CSI:NY 608: Cuckoo's Nest--SPOILERS )
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Well, Thank God That's Over [Nov. 14th, 2009|03:27 pm]
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Does anyone know how to register Avast? I know you send off for a license code, but I don't know what to do with it once I get it. Do I have to use my real name, or can I use an alias? I want the program to keep working, but I don't want a bunch of l33t computer hackers in the Czech Republic to know my name.

I'm getting a new tin roof next week. When got wind that the roof was leaking, he decided to bite the bullet and replace the roof. The previous owner had roofed the house with rubber because it was all the rage in Florida at the time, but he failed to take into account the fact that North Carolina weather is not like Florida weather. Florida, especially South Florida, has two seasons--fifty-one weeks of summer and one week of winter; if you're in north Florida, you get three weeks of butt-ass cold and forty-nine weeks of frying on a giant asphalt griddle. North Carolina, on the other hand, has an actual winter, with freezing temperatures and snow. The rubber roofing eschews the constant expansion and contraction, and it's developed cracks and gaps over the years.

The red-necked angels are coming next week to install the new roof. They're currently occupied with re-roofing the neighbor's house, which is leaking in five places. I hope they can finish before the next spate of rain, which is scheduled for next weekend. It'll be nice to be able to lounge about the house without fear of an unexpected shower.

CSI Trilogy, Vegas, The Lost Girls--SPOILERS )

F
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A Wee Spot of Troll in the LJ, and a Visit from the Amazon Fairy [Nov. 13th, 2009|04:41 pm]
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Wee! I have my first anonytroll. I'm not sure where they came from, but I'm assuming they're either new to the Internet or woefully oblivious to the secondary purpose of the spoiler cut. Apparently, the existence of countries outside the U.S. viewing area hasn't entered hir consciousness. I would've respected it more if they'd signed it.

Amazon delivered Uncle Stevie today, but I'm not going to start him until I've finished my current book.

Supernatural 509: The Real Ghostbusters--Mild SPOILERS )
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CSI:NY 607: 'Hammer Down'--SPOILERS [Nov. 12th, 2009|06:39 pm]
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CSI Trilogy, New York, CSI:NY 607: Hammer Down--SPOILERS )

For all the hype poured into this trilogy, it's proven vastly disappointing thusfar. C
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I Should Call This Place the Burrow [Nov. 11th, 2009|11:56 am]
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Yesterday, Roomie noticed that the computer was running several mysterious processes, so this morning, we gave it the figurative finger with Avast. Sure enough, it had acquired three trojans within forty-eight hours. They're all relatively new; WOW64main.exe emerged just six days ago. Anyhow, Avast! kindly torpedoed them into oblivion, and the computer is purring happily along.

The lesson? Norton is useless. I'd uninstalled Avast a few months ago because it and Norton were having a massive technological cockfight that was gobbling system and network resources. Since Avast finds threats Norton doesn't, it wins the proverbial shooting match.

The heavy rains resurrected the previously-patched leak in the roof in the upstairs bathroom. Ideally, I'd replace the shingled roof with a new tin one, but I know that if I even broach the subject, my mother will immediately renew her campaign for me to buy another house in the area and move again. I could negotiate with the red-necked angels and pay for it from my trust, but the house is still in her name, and I couldn't keep her out of the loop in good conscience. If the bathroom were the only problem, I might keep mum and learn to live with a wet ass, but there are other water spots in the master bedroom, and I don't relish the thought of waking up to a spot of impromptu water torture. I just know that this is going to invite the bull drama llama to the yard faster than the enticing scent of llama pussy on the breeze.

I fully expect the CSI:NY portion of the much-bally-hooed CSI trilogy to be a Mactimonious snorefest, but I'm hopeful that Criminal Minds will continue its trend of coaxing superlative performances from guest stars of dubious talent.

Dear entitled NY fantits,

I'm not sure if Eddie Cahill will get "paternity leave" when his wife gives birth, but fuck you and your self-centered whining. If the man takes a week off to be with his new family, he has that right, and good on him for using it. He's not your personal masturbation fantasy doll. It might come as a shock to you, but Eddie isn't Don Flack. He's Eddie, whoever that really is, and he doesn't need your permission to live his life. I'm sure he won't lose a wink of sleep if you stop watching because he misses a few episodes. Unlike you, he has his priorities in order.

Fuck off, you selfish little fucktits,

La Guera
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A Rainy Night In [Nov. 10th, 2009|03:39 pm]
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The remnants of Ida are moving slowly through the area, and the rain has been falling in steady sheets. It's strange for me to see rain as a soothing force after a lifetime of cowering in fear of storms. The rain is different here, less threatening despite its nearer proximity. It doesn't roar or bellow, but whispers, soft and insistent, through the denuded trees and against the chilled glass. Snug in my house, I find its voice a comfort rather than a threat.

There is a flood watch in effect until tomorrow, and so Roomie and I are going to hunker down and snarf tacos and ice cream, and I'm going to watch NCIS and The Forgotten and read House of Chains. I would be reading Under the Dome, Uncle Stevie's latest magnum opus, but Amazon hasn't delivered it yet. I've salved the sting of this hurt by reminding myself that I got the book for a mere $11.28, including shipping.

Amazon has proven a boon. I might not have ready access to Best Buy anymore, but who cares when the largest retailer of awesome stuff in the universe is at my fingertips? No more rude assholes elbowing me aside with their carts and strollers and gargantuan senses of entitlement. No more waiting for elevators because some bedraggled, yuppie mother with a cellphone clapped to her ear and a Starbucks latte in one hand thought it would be fun to let little Braelen or Suzie play with it. No more muttering, impatient bus passengers who begrudge me the five-minute embarkation and securement time. Now I can shop naked if I damn well please, and when I've chosen my latest Precious, the soft-spoken mail carrier delivers it to my door. It's a cripple's nirvana.

It even has loose leaf tea in bulk. Bliss.

CSI Trilogy, Miami, Bone Voyage--SPOILERS )
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Things That Belong on Fear Factor, and Pretty, Pretty Boys [Nov. 9th, 2009|12:13 pm]
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Homeopathic medicine adherents' tongues must be desensitized by copious granola-chewing, because a combination of apple cider vinegar and molasses does not taste "pretty good". It tastes like soy sauce got drunk and threw up. It was so vile that I wound up pouring it down the sink rather than my heaving gullet. Luckily, molasses is the essential ingredient in the concoction, so this morning, I mixed some with oatmeal. It was actually quite tasty. We'll have to see if it does any good.

Supernatural 508 SPOILERS and Speculation )
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Rolling the Dice on Aisle Five [Nov. 7th, 2009|08:34 pm]
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Kitteh has gone to live with my mother. I loved her to bits, but I couldn't stand the constant scratching and mewing and clawing, and it was unkind and unfair to confine her to a garage. She'll be an outside cat with my mother, but have a cozy place to sun and sleep on her porch. Hopefully, she'll be a happier kitty. I should feel guiltier than I do, but I'm relieved and looking forward to the peace and quiet. This experience has shown me that I'm not a pet person, and I'm glad I found out before I bought an animal and earned myself a great deal of heartache.

For years, I've suffered from low back pain, pelvic discomfort, painful gas, bloating, severe cramps during and after my period, nausea, rectal pressure, increased urinary urges, sudden bowel urges, and thinning, brittle hair. In 2005, I went to the doctor. They told me it was acid reflux and stress. When the symptoms failed to improve, I went to a gynecologist in 2006. She was dismissive of my symptoms and attributed them to stress. Bull and shit. A few weeks later, after pestering a grumpy internist at the university clinic, I convinced him to refer me for an MRI/PET on my abdomen and pelvis.

I underwent the scan in late January of 2006. The scan revealed dermoid cervical cysts, luteal cysts on each ovary, and a possible uterine fibroid. Aha! I knew it. I returned to the gynecologist in February, expecting help at last.

Ha.

"You can't have fibroids," she said. "You're not having irregular bleeding or heavy periods." She waved me off with a, "Get another $2100 scan to be sure, but I've seen people far sicker than you. Ta. Quit wasting my time, you uninsured troglodyte."

Well, Medicare refused to cough up more money for the same scan, and so, I learned to cope with the pain and cramps and surprise poo fests. Now it's 2009, and the cramps have increased in frequency and severity, and my gut is constantly bloated and hard. My hair is thinner than ever. I'm tired for the first two days of my cycle. My ass hurts. I still can't afford the doctor. My physical and blood test from August was several hundred dollars, and Medicare covered less than half. Asking for specialized gynecological care? The government would sooner spit on me.

So, tomorrow, I'm buying apple cider vinegar and unsulphured blackstrap molasses because people on the Internet claim it'll shrink the fibroid I don't have. It might be hoodoo woo woo, but I don't care. I'll try anything if there's a small chance that I won't have to suffer debilitating ass and vaginal cramps two weeks of every four or vomit because my stomach is spasming hard enough to cramp my back and diaphragm or watch my hair fall out. I want to remember what it was like when I wasn't waiting for the pain to twist my guts.

Please don't tell me what other horrible disease it might be, or that I need to go to the doctor anyway. I've tried. Over and over again. But because I have Medicare, which is next to useless, no one cares. I am disposable because I am uninsured. The end. If I'm going to find a miracle, it has to come from a supermarket shelf, because I can't afford anything else.
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Rammstein Sings About Naughty Sex? The Hell You Say! [Nov. 6th, 2009|07:30 pm]
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Dear Queenie,

You are a frothing imbecile.

/does not end sarcasm because there wasn't any

La Guera

Apparently, Rammstein's Liebe Ist Fur Alle Da has been indexed in Germany. I'm not sure what this means, as I'm unfamiliar was German law, but based on the context of the news, it seems that "Pussy," "Liebe Ist Fur Alle Da," and "Ich Tu Dir Weh" have been labeled obscene by the authorities. Therefore, Rammstein is prohibited from performing those songs live, and the album has been removed from stores in Germany and can only be ordered by an adult with ID from an employee of the store. Rumor has it they might be banned from performing any of the songs live.

Forgive me, but where does the surprise part come in? Rammstein has been singing about kinky, deviant sex, necrophilia, cannibalism, and incest since the beginning. "Heirate Mich." "Rein Raus". Mein Teil." "Mein Teil." "Bueck Dich." "Spiel Mit Mir." "Weisses Fleisch." So, why are these songs so much more egregious? Because they actually mentioned snatches and tackle sans artistic varnish and admitted they enjoyed sex? Who knew that singing in English about the carnal boing boing festival made it extra strength dirtybadwrong? Why is "Ich Tu Dir Weh" more scandalous than "Bestrafe Mich? Why is "Liebe" more sordid than "Laichzeit"?

And why has it taken this long for the panties of the authorities to reach critical mass in the moral outrage waddage? The video for "Pussy" was released in September, and the album has been readily available for three weeks. Why now? Are there elections in Germany at present that might give this a political cast? I find the timing of this declaration convenient since the tour is set to kick off in less than twenty-four hours.

If the entire album is indexed, this clearly present a huge problem for the tour. How can you support an album if you're barred from showcasing it?
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