The Fart at the Party and Happier Thoughts

Beekay showed a bit of ass in the Drool Bucket by insinuating that Flake's wife married him for his money. I don't think Flake is hot, either, and frankly, his public personality makes me want to punch him and rub his bloody face in the dirt, but that's just low. It's snobby and catty and elitist. Ugly people need and deserve love, too, and not every woman who marries a reedy, quasi-anorexic rock star is a heartless gold digger. Way to keep it classy, Beekay.

I shouldn't be surprised, I suppose, given that she's recently paraded around in both her ableist and homophobic Underoos. ~sigh~

In happier bandom and ficcing news, I'm making hay on Sprache X and will soon have to decide on the tone of my upcoming smut. On the one hand, Richard has been waiting for this since October and wants to jump on that, but on the other, he's hanging out to indulge his touch kink. The man is starved for a good long grope and rub and slap and tickle fest, and believe it or not, My!Richard is a big fan of kissing. So, I'm leaning toward a drawn-out tryst, but I don't want it to get all soppy and misty-eyed and love's true passion. Not yet. This one needs to be just really good, cathartic sex.

And one of these days, I will write a post that isn't Rammstein-related. Just not today.