Were you lying about your philosophy degree? You can’t call a country a concept inside that context. Your point about Kripke also betrays hilariously poor reading comprehension. Do you even know what semantic content means? It’s provided in the quoted sentence! You’re lucky that your audience consists of underage gamers who haven’t been to a philosophy lecture in their lives. Otherwise they would be laughing their asses off at your hot shit attitude like me right now.

Alright, it’s been a week at this point, we can discuss this with a bit more level headedness, right? Plus it gave me time to go back and reread Kripke, and I’d been needing a good reason to go do that. As a recap of what started all of this mess last week, I made a side comment that jobs are constructs of capitalism, something which, at least from a Marxist historical perspective, is a pretty banal claim. Anon took issue with it, and so here we are, again. 

When I made that side comment, I was implicitly distinguishing a “job” from other similar terms, like “labor” and “work”, because I was taking job to mean something rather specific, that is, a particular kind of relationship between a worker and an employer, where the worker provides their time/labor to that employer in exchange for wages. Anon argued that jobs aren’t a construct of capitalism, and that they existed in other times/economic systems. 

I argued that, linguistically, the case is pretty open and shut. The word for “job” didn’t even exist until the 1600′s, well after the beginning of capitalism, which is generally accepted to have begun with  the onset of merchant capital in the 1500′s. The term didn’t take on the meaning I outlined above until the mid 19th century, when Capitalism was firmly established. This, at the very least, shows that the concept of a “job” is tied to the capitalist era, and not any earlier time or economic system as Anon claimed, unless you take the word job to mean something I would consider to be overly broad–that is, like the more general (and much older) words like “work” or “labor”. But that’s not how I was using it, and I’d rather avoid a trite argument over definitions in any case, but I can haul out my copy of the OED if you’d like.

Of course, one can anticipate an objection to this etymological argument using descriptive theories of reference–that is, you can claim that while the term job might not have existed until the Capitalist era, the term job still picks out a socially determined concept uniquely determined by a cluster of descriptions. For example, one might claim that something which we can refer to as a “job” would satisfy a number of descriptions like 1) it trades wages for labor, and 2) a situation where a worker to be subservient to an owner or employer, and so on and so forth, for as many descriptions as it might take to satisfy. You can then claim, that even though the linguistic term “job” didn’t exist until the Capitalist era, that doesn’t mean that other economic relations prior to the term didn’t exist such that they satisfied the cluster of descriptions for the term “job”. That is, in more layman’s terms, to claim that there could have been economic relations in earlier times that weren’t referred to as “jobs”, but which satisfied the cluster of descriptions that we assign to the term. Thus, metaphysically, if not linguistically, the term job would successfully refer to those earlier relations prior to the existence of Capitalism, and therefore not dependent on Capitalism for their existence.

This brings us to Kripke. Beyond the fact that his argument against the cluster of descriptions theory of reference in the second lecture would very much counter the above objection (in particular, I doubt you could offer a collection of descriptions for the term “job” which weren’t, on some level, circularly defined) it’s his argument regarding natural kinds which I found to be more relevant to the discussion. The conclusion he comes to is that natural kind terms are rigid designators–that is, natural kind terms necessarily apply to the class of the object to which they are initially assigned. In his argument, this is why we can, for example, potentially discover that tigers, as a class, do not have four legs (perhaps, as he mentions, this is because of an optical illusion, or it is discovered that all tigers have a second tail which behaves like and resembles a fourth leg), but that if we discovered a new animal in the wilderness which possess many of the descriptive properties of tigers, but which are, in fact, reptiles, that these new animals are by necessity *not* tigers, despite the initial resemblance. That is, he’s attempting to draw a distinction between two different cases of discovery 1) the discovery that a designated natural kind X has new or different properties, and 2) the discovery of a second natural kind Y with many properties similar to X. (This is what I was referring too, poorly, when I mentioned the US last week, but I’ll do my best to explain my thinking better here.)

I believe a similar argument can be made about the term “job”. Of course, one initial objection is that the term can’t be a natural kind like the ones above, because the term is socially constructed, but I would reply that this actually makes the task simpler, and less complicated than natural kinds. The main reason for this is that the properties of a socially constructed kind, like the term “job”, has all of it’s properties stipulated–as opposed to being discovered empirically. Thus, we could never, for example, discover that “jobs” don’t actually involve wages, or that they don’t involve an employer–these facts about the term are necessary because of the term’s social origin and definition. However, just because the first case of discovery above can’t occur with socially constructed terms, doesn’t mean the second isn’t a potential issue. 

What if we discovered that, prior to the rigid designation of the term job, a social relation in another, earlier economic system which satisfied many of the same descriptions as the term? That is, what if, in some ancient lost civilization a social system was found that contained economic relationships with many of the same qualities as what we call jobs? Would these newly discovered historical relations also be jobs?

As a side note, I’m willing to grant that relations with a similar appearance to jobs may have existed in prior economic systems. I don’t know for certain whether or not this is the case, but certainly history is large enough for this to be likely. What I’m trying to argue, is that this similarity isn’t enough to negate my initial claim–that is, just because there may have been social relations similar to “jobs” in the past, doesn’t mean that “jobs” as we *currently* designate them aren’t a construct of Capitalism.

Here’s the crux of my argument. The term job was rigidly designated within the Capitalist system–that much is indisputable etymologically. It’s used to designate a particular kind of social relation between a worker and an employee. Thus, the descriptions we use to pick out relations that satisfy the term job out in the world require other concepts and terms which are rooted in capitalist ideology–that is, the term job is fundamentally impossible to comprehend unless the system of capitalism is established and understood as a prior concept. Thus, the socially constructed kind term, “jobs”, is necessarily a construct of capitalistic terms and systems.

It doesn’t matter, in the end, whether or not we discover economic relations in the past that appear to be jobs–I would argue that there is no way they could satisfy a rigorous definition of the term. In the same way that the discovery of a second kind of animal that appears to be a tiger, but which is in fact a reptile, is necessarily *not* a tiger, a economic relation that looks like a job, which exists in an economic system other than capitalism, is necessarily *not* a job in the sense that we use the term. That said, if you can define the terms of “job” such that you avoid relying on the assumption of capitalism, then you would have a solid argument against my claim here, but I doubt such a definition is possible.

How about that to get us started today? This should result in lots of reasonable asks in my box I’m sure.

Roundup (8/15/2017)

I promised one last week, but time got away from me, so here we go! 

Tumblr Blogs

  • @andyspen – He doesn’t write all that often, but if you like filthy workers and skinheads, he’s your guy. Check the archive for his stuff!
  • @str8conversion​ – Just short captions really, but a fun blog all the same.
  • @words-only-make-it-worse – comic style photo captions with a variety of content.
  • Archives

    On occasion, I run across older archives of stories from by-gone eras that are worth revisiting, because they usually have some very nice gems. 

    Stories

    Interactives & wikis

    There’s a new wiki up on Gay Spiral Stories called “All Hail the Emperor!” up if that interests you. It’s got a lot of uniform and rubber themes, and there’s a lot of interesting directions it could go.

    Also on CYOC:

  • World shift setting, women to bears 
  • Body swap, weight gain, humiliation
  • Anthro-bear / Anthro-Skunk TFs
  • Partial Body Swaps
  • Manning Up (Part 4)

    Still, Brock came over a lot, after I bailed him out. I certainly didn’t mind the company, but it was also awkward. I’d try to bring up the sex but he’d end up shutting down the conversation or simply leaving, and so I left it. I also tried to discuss these…changes, or whatever was happening to him, but he clammed up even more whenever that subject came up. I didn’t know what to do about any of it, but I also got the sense that Brock had no clue either–but it was quickly becoming obvious that someone needed to do something, or else Brock was going to end up in jail again, and I didn’t think my uncle was going to be very lenient the next time. But Brock was growing bigger–not simply taller, but every time I saw him he looked to have packed on another two or three pounds of muscle as well. He was constantly horny as well–and whenever he was over at my place he’d start jacking off, staring at me the entire time. I’d tell him to stop, and he would–but I could see how frustrated he was getting, and he’d run off again–but the only place he could go for sex now that he was banned from Hobo’s, the bar, was probably one of the rest areas on the highway. I tried to convince myself it wasn’t my problem, but I was worried about him all the same, and when he showed up on my steps and told me he’d gotten kicked out of his parent’s house…I told him he’d be staying with me. He looked relieved in some ways, but terrified in others, but I needed to keep an eye on him–someone had to, after all.

    Still, those first few days living with me–it was a bit of a nightmare. I came home from work and discovered the place was a filthy mess, with Brock at the center of it. He’d lost all sense of hygiene and decorum, so badly that he hadn’t even bothered using the toilet to piss–he’d just done it in a corner of the kitchen. I was fucking furious, of course, and so I’d forced him to clean it all up, and while he was resistant…he obeyed everything I told him to do without question or pushback, and telling him what to do…it felt fucking amazing. Seeing him on his knees cleaning the floor–I spent that whole evening ordering him around. I expected him to hate it, or to yell at me, but he just seemed…resigned, and when I told him to massage my feet, and then to suck my cock…

    I tried to tell myself I was just trying to help him get back on his feet. Something was wrong in his life, obviously–probably something with his parents–and I just needed to give him some order and structure to help him get his life back on track. I would give him long lists of tasks to finish while I was at work–usually enough to keep him busy all day, but sometimes I’d still come home to a mess, and make him clean that up too. He…seemed to enjoy those moments, when he’d failed, knowing I’d be pissed at him. I started to wonder if I needed to bring him with me to work somehow, just to keep a better eye on him.

    After a week of this, I got a phone call I hadn’t been expecting–it was from my uncle. Apparently, Brock’s parents had called the day before, and reported Brock missing–he’d gone out one day, and simply hadn’t returned home. Because of his erratic behavior, they’d assumed he’d come back, but he hadn’t–my uncle asked if I’d seen him. I told him that Brock was with me, and had been living with me since leaving his parents, but had told me he’d been kicked out. My uncle hadn’t cared for the details–since Brock was an adult, he could live wherever he wanted, and he said he’d talk to Brock’s folks about the issue. I, however, was going to have to have a talk with Brock. I ordered him to sit down, and started yelling at him.

    “Why the fuck did you lie to me about your fucking parents?”

    He didn’t answer right away, but his face got really red. “Because…My dad. He figured it out, a bit. What he could make me do. But he’s…I couldn’t stay with him. You’re…I want to be with you, sir. I trust you’ll do the right things for me. That you’ll help me figure this out. Help me be…me again.”

    “Figure out what? You won’t tell me what the fuck is wrong with you! I’m stuck wondering if I need to put you in diapers, since you seem intent on pissing all over the place. I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what’s wrong and how I can help you fix this, because I’m not a miracle worker, Brock.”

    He tried to speak, but the sounds he made…they didn’t sound human, somehow, like his mouth was fighting him. “I can’t sir! I can’t talk about it, but please. You’ll help me. I know you will sir, please. You’re…a good person, not like him. I just have to get through the summer, and get back, please don’t make me go back home, he’ll never let me back out of his sight.”

    He got down and started rubbing his beard against my crotch, just the way I liked it. I…had enjoyed this, in some fucked up fashion. I fed him my cock, which he was obviously asking for, and told him I’d do my best–but I wasn’t prepared for Brock’s dad to come roaring up that night, and demand his son come home with him. I settled things quick, with a right hook I’ve always been known for, and sent him home with his tail between his legs, telling him that Brock was mine–and I fucked his hot ass that night, to prove it to both him…and to myself. It was the first time I’d fucked him, and while Brock had seemed hesitant to let me, he also didn’t say no when I told him to bend over the side of the bed–and from his deep moans and clutching of sheets, he certainly enjoyed himself plenty too.

    Manning Up (Part 3)

    Brock started crying again, and it took me a couple of minutes to get him composed again, before I went and talked to my uncle. The biker didn’t want to press charges, and the bar was happy with a ban and restraining order. He was being extra lenient, since Brock was usually a good kid, but another episode like this, and there’d be trouble. I went back to the cell and told Brock that he’d be getting out, and he didn’t quite seem like he believed me, until my uncle came and unlocked the door.

    “Thanks, Hunter,” he said.

    “You need to apologize to my uncle too, for the mess you made last night,” I said.

    Brock went a bit red in the face, but muttered a curt, apology.

    “I don’t think he heard you, and that’s not how you address him, is it?”

    Brock looked at me, and I expected him to be a bit angry, but that’s not what I saw–his face was a bit…well, I know what that look means now, but then it just struck me as odd. Then he looked back at my uncle, made eye contact, licked his lips, and said, “Sorry sir, I’m just…a stupid brute is all. I didn’t mean to make a mess. If…or I could…” he obviously wanted to say something else, but his lips went tight and he stopped talking.

    “Brock, the whole town knows you aren’t stupid. You just…look, don’t do this again, alright? I’d hate to see you mess your life up kid.”

    My uncle gave him a pat on the shoulder, then there was a bit of paperwork after that–and Brock seemed to be a bit flustered and distracted, so I had to help him out with some of it, but within half an hour we were out of the jailhouse, and as soon as we’d gotten into the car, Brock lunged at me in the driver’s seat, and tried to kiss me, but I shoved him back with all my strength. Not that the advances weren’t…wanted, but not there in the jailhouse parking lot.

    “Please, sir…I…”

    He didn’t know what to say, and with a growl he hauled his own cock out and started jacking off right in my passenger seat, and I could barely believe my fucking eyes. Something was wrong with him, but what? I didn’t know, but at the same time, I admit that I was enjoying the show.

    “Just a dumb fuckin’ brute, fuck…stupid fucker…” he muttered to himself as he stroked, “dumb fuckin’ pig, too stupid to do anythin’ right…”

    “Brock! Stop for a second, why the–what the fuck is going on with you?”

    He wasn’t listening–he just looked at me, and then down at the obvious erection in my jeans, and with one hand reached out and started groping me…and while I told him not to, he could sense what I really wanted. And so there, in the noon sun right in front of anyone walking past my truck, Brock sucked me off for the first time while he jacked off, grunting and moaning and…yeah, it was confusing as all hell, but I didn’t let that stop me from finishing. I came pretty quick, and when he got a taste of my cum, he shot as well, a massive load all over the dashboard, and he pulled off, a big grin on his face–but I’m just…well, I didn’t know what to say, so I muttered a thank you, but I don’t think he heard me.

    He was looking at the cum he’d shot all over the dash, licking his lips. “Fuck, sorry sir, I can clean that up,” he said, and started wiping up the cum with his hands and eating it down.

    “It’s alright, the truck has seen worse shit,” I said, but he kept on going, obviously enjoying himself. But like a switch, he stopped in the middle of sucking cum from his hand, wiped it off on his shirt, and just…froze, his eyes looking a bit…weepy.

    “Brock…are–look, I know something’s wrong, but you gotta talk about it.”

    “Sir–I mean, Hunter, I…” he turned away towards the window, and he got…small again, somehow. I felt that same…urge from before, to protect him and take care of him, but it was stronger. “I can’t…it’s part of it.”

    “Look, you’ve had a rough day. Do you want to go home?”

    Brock shook his head.

    “Well, why don’t you come over to my place for a bit then? We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

    He was torn–hell, I was too, a bit, but I was also…enjoying this in a way I couldn’t quite explain. Nothing else happened that day, or that night when he stayed over, but the sex lingered between us. I could smell it on him, and he kept looking at me, and every time he called me sir…by accident or not–my cock got hard again. I was still having a difficult time believing that this was the same Brock I had known my entire life–he just seemed…so different, in so many ways. I wanted to have sex again, but I knew it wasn’t right. He wanted to have sex again, but was terrified of what that might mean. He left early the next morning to head back to his parent’s place with some sorry excuse in tow–not like his parents, like the rest of the town, hadn’t already heard about his escapade by that point. The town isn’t exactly known for being tight lipped.

    Manning Up (Part 2)

    I assured him he could, of course, but he wouldn’t add anything else. That was also the first night he stayed over in my trailer–he fell asleep on my couch, and I got him settled with a blanket, and just let him doze. I didn’t do anything of course, but…ok, I did jack off, watching him, but I felt kind of weird doing it. Not…because I was jacking off to a good friend, or not just that. It was because…looking at him there, he seemed so…small, somehow, even though he took up the entire fucking couch. Maybe I’d just always thought of him as that little kid, even though he was quickly manning up in ways I’d never thought he would. Still, he seemed small, like I needed to protect him, and the thought of being there for him, it was…turning me on, somehow.

    I don’t know, why am I trying to explain this? I don’t know how to explain any of it, but that, if there was a beginning, was the beginning for me, of all of this.

    He was incredibly embarrassed when he awoke the next morning, and he left right away–I thought he’d come back that night, but he didn’t. In fact, I didn’t see him again for a couple of weeks, until he called me from the county jail. It was still early on a Sunday morning. I’d had a fuckbuddy over the night before, but honestly…since that night with Brock, I wasn’t really interested in other guys. I kept telling myself that it was stupid–I knew he was straight, and he definitely wasn’t interested in me, right? Still, once he was back at school, I was sure I’d be able to put my ridiculous pining for him behind me, and we could both get on with our lives. The phone rang in my trailer–the landline, which really only rings when bill collectors call, but I was on time with everything. Usually I…just let it ring, but I picked it up that morning anyway–and accepted the collect call. The fact that it was someone in prison didn’t surprise me–I’d bailed out buddies more than a few times, and had been bailed out by them in turn. What did surprise me was the voice on the other end of the line–it was Brock.

    “Hey…uh, Hunter?”

    “Brock? What the…what happened? Did you get arrested?”

    “I…I got in a mess man, please, I need some help. I can’t…call my parents. But it’s bad man, I really fucked up. I’m so…so fucking sorry, I’m such a fucking idiot! I don’t know what to do, I can’t fucking think…”

    He started sobbing then, and I consoled him a bit, and told him I’d be over as soon as I could. The fuckbuddy was still there, so I kicked him out, which pissed him off a bit, got dressed, and headed for the county jail by city hall. There’s a reason I’m used to getting calls when friends of mine end up in the clink, and that’s because my uncle is the sheriff. I don’t have a ton of pull with him, but it at least helps me smooth things over a bit, when I’m at least on first name basis with all the deputies.

    I pulled up and headed in, chatting for a hot second with Marcy at the desk about how her new relationship is going, and then ask about Brock. Her face…went a bit hard, and her face only does that when something serious happened.

    “What happened last night, anyway? Brock didn’t tell me anything over the phone.”

    “Hunter, you…should go talk to your uncle about that, I think.”

    Uncle Jeff was in his office, flipping through some paperwork when I got there, and when I told him why, he got a bit flustered, and told me what had allegedly happened. Brock had become a bit of a staple at a local biker bar named “Hobos” outside of town, over the last couple of weeks. I knew the place pretty well, because it was known as the closest thing to a gay bar we had around here, but I never went because the place was pretty fucking depressing. Still, it could get a bit rowdy, especially when a biker gang rolled up, and that’s what had happened last night. Brock had tried to get into a biker’s pants–a straight biker’s pants, and when the guy had tried to get Brock off him, the idiot had kept at it. To hear my uncle tell it, he’d flown into a bit of a rage by the time his deputies had gotten there and gotten him calmed down and in a squad car. Property damage, assault, drunk and disorderly–these were not good things. Still, my uncle knew Brock, and he was mostly just bewildered.

    “I thought that kid was gonna go places–what the fuck is he doing back here, causing scenes like this?”

    I agreed with him, and asked if I could talk to him. Jeff said I could, so we went over to the jail next door, and there Brock was, alone in a cell, and he looked…even bigger than when I’d seen him last. It was hard to believe, but I’d always been taller than Brock–when he stood up now, though, I found my neck craning back a bit, because suddenly he had an inch or two on me.

    “You…you came. I was worried…you wouldn’t come.”

    “Sure I came. Unc, could I have a few minutes alone with him?”

    My uncle shrugged, but backed off down the hall.

    “Brock, what the fuck happened last night.”

    “I…I can’t really remember. I got really drunk, and he didn’t want to fuck me, and I got really angry, so…”

    “Wait, what?”

    “Hunter, you…have to help me. It’s getting worse. I…gotta find someone, and I…I’m sorry, I didn’t want to do this to you, I’m a fucking burden, but I’m so fucking scared, and my dad…”

    Manning Up (Part 1)

    Friends come and go, but I’d always expected Brock to just keep on going, and to be honest, I didn’t blame him for it. No one in this town really wants to stay here I suppose–well, perhaps other than me, but whether that’s because I’m too lazy to work my way free or too stupid to know any better is anyone’s guess. I’m a couple of years older than Brock, but we’d been neighborhood friends for years–he always thought of me as an older brother I think, since he didn’t have any brothers of his own, just a little sister. Still, I knew that he was going places–he always had all these questions! I never knew the answers, and never really wanted to know them, but he wasn’t going to be satisfied here–you could just tell.

    So I graduated high school and did what some guys did–got trained in heavy equipment for construction work, and I’ve been making decent money doing that now–enough to afford a little trailer of my own. Fuck, Brock was always so envious of me, that I had a place where I could be all by myself! He’d want to come over and drink with me, but I never let him get too out of control. He was top of the class, naturally. The full ride scholarship to the big state university in the city was hardly a surprise either. He said he’d miss me, when he left–but I knew he wouldn’t and I was alright, with that, I really was. He was going to do big things–bigger than I was capable of, and I…I didn’t want to hold him back.

    Sure enough, next summer he came back and he was…different. He’d gotten a taste of another life, and he wanted it. Nice shirts and shoes, looking fucking handsome, I have to say it was the first time I’d actually want to fuck him. Yeah, I’m a gay roughneck–it’s not that strange, trust me. Don’t need a boyfriend, but I got plenty of trucker fuckbuddies, and even a few guys on the crews who get a hankering for cock like me. anyway, Brock was pleasant with me, but there were miles between us now. I never begrudged him any of it–he’d earned it and I was happy for him. The next summer, he only came back for a couple of weeks, and then he was back in the city for the rest of the summer, working. I think I saw him once, mostly in passing. Honestly? I figured we’d never see him again after that, but after his Junior year…well, I never did find out what happened before all of this. This is about what happened when he came home.

    I was surprised when he rang me up and wanted to come over and hang out. He hadn’t shown much interest in me, my trailer, or my life since he’d gone to college, but I was more than happy for the company–and when he showed up on my stoop…fuck, my cock nearly popped the fly of my jeans open, seeing him standing there…looking like that. He’d been handsome before, but he’d gone from handsome to fucking hot. Brock had always been a wiry kid, all bone and tendon–but he’d made up for it with wit and bravery. Standing there now though, it looked like he’d packed on close to fifty pounds of beef, both muscle and fat, and hell if he didn’t even look taller, too. He gave me a big hug, and I nearly creamed myself–then he pushed in and made himself at home, hauling out a beer and chatting away like we’d never been apart.

    I asked him how school was going, and he…dodged the question entirely, which was odd. He said he didn’t want to talk about that shit–”shit”, not “stuff” like he would have said before–he wanted to come home for a while, where everything felt a bit easier, less stressful–and he’d been thinking about me a lot he said, which was flattering. I asked him why, and he shrugged. He’d always felt close to me, he said, like a brother, and he felt…well, he couldn’t really describe it well, but he’d been feeling out of sorts for a few months, and he’d always felt better around me, so here he was.

    We both drank a bit more than we should have, and after a few hours, he hauled a cigar out of his pocket and started smoking it. I was surprised, and asked him when he’d started doing that. He blushed, and wouldn’t–or couldn’t–answer specifically. In fact, he was dodging around a lot of what I was asking, and far more interested in what I’d been up to back at home, so I told him. He wanted to know if I’d found a boyfriend, and I said I didn’t have time for boys, which made him laugh this deep, sexy guffaw, and I started to wonder if he was coming onto me, but before I could explore that possibility, he’d stumbled up from my couch and took off out my front door, telling me he needed to get home.

    I offered him the couch, since he was a bit too drunk to drive, but he didn’t seem to care–if anything, he suddenly seemed like he really wanted to be away from me, like something had spooked him. Still, it wasn’t too far to drive to his parents, so I figured he’d make it. He peeled out in the gravel and took off down the road, and I just watched him go, confused as all hell at the entire evening, and wondering if I was just getting signals crossed.

    He came over every day after that–he couldn’t seem to stay away. I was working of course, but often I’d come home and find him sitting on the stoop of my trailer, waiting for me to arrive, beaming at me when I’d gotten out of the truck, eager to chat and shoot the shit and have a beer or six. I…appreciated the company, I suppose, but I couldn’t shake the fact that something about Brock just seemed…off. He was scared, but every time I tried to pry, he’d get evasive, or just flat out leave. But one night, once he’d gotten more drunk than usual, I did work something out of him, finally.

    “I just…I’m gonna need a friend here soon. A good friend. I can…I can trust you, right Hunter?”

    I find tonight’s Q&A hilarious. Perhaps, not what a good portion of the crowd signed up for, but entertaining nonetheless. Please do defend your opinions and views and feel free to express them in your writing at a deeper conceptual level. For most people it will fly right over, but one can see your stances in your works, if you either squint or gaze deep enough. Part of why I enjoy your stories is that they are unscrupulous, blatant and decadent but also rooted in twisted reality. Keep it up!

    See? This guy gets it. Why can’t you Anon? Have you figured out that we’re all laughing at you behind your sunglasses yet? Have you figured out that all my stories are jokes, and you’re the butt of every single one of them, and that that’s why you read them?