Dang, that boobie post I haven't written is nagging at me. The more I see female bloggers decrying boobage in one context and supporting it in another, the more I want to scream out that our ability to determine the context of boobies in our culture is completely out of, um, as it were, our hands. I dunno, maybe I'm a'scared of the revenge of the "lactivists" or something. I just want to be loved, is that so wrong? So it remains unwritten. That frustration, combined with the weather forecast for the next few days (i.e., we can't shut the AC off for the foreseeable future, and I'm probably not going to risk heat stroke by going to the MoCCA Art Festival this weekend or anywhere else that requires me to be outdoors for any length of time), makes me want to scream the way Darth Vader did on Wheel of Fortune. Via the Pig of Death.
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