(Long) An XXXX-Day Report + Rants from St. Marc The Perpetually Amused

Newsgroups: alt.slack
Date: Mon, Jul 9, 2001 4:33 PM

Well, kids, I thought I'd write down a few memories just for myself, but as
long as I'm writing, I'll pass them on. In no particular order...

Left Wednesday morning at 7:00AM from Chicago (or near enough.) I had packed
the car the night before, including my own personal Escape Rocket (really my
tent container, with a nose cone and labels that said "To Planet X!")
strapped to the roof. I had made some pretty cool signs for the car, if I do
say so, but it rained and a couple of them got a little damp. They still got
some attention, though, as once I had picked up Temujin at the bus stop in
Toledo, we got many, many confused looks and had one shouted conversation
with a latent SubGenius at 60MPH. Something about Temujin messes up my
normally infallible navigational sense: I took more wrong turns with him in
the car to and from Toledo than I have in the previous TEN YEARS. Also, I
had forgotten about the time change and was really ten minutes late when I
thought I was fifty minutes early, but that didn't matter because his bus
broke down and he didn't show up for another hour anyway.

However, eventually we made it to Brushwood about 7:30 (passing through
several towns, including one where the storm sirens were going off.) After a
quick stop at the registration booth, we drove over to the entrance to
alt.slack village, where I dropped him off after nearly ripping the bottom
out of the rental car. Our personal Slack fields sufficed to lift us off the
hangup and into the woods he went. I couldn't camp there, because I had my
solar stuff (more about that later.) So I drove down to the end of the field
and parked next to a nice setup on the assumption that anybody that
organized would know what the hell they were doing (this was my first

I didn't know how right I was, because it turned out to be Rev. Prostata
Cantata and the lovely Joy D'Veeve, although I didn't find that out until
much later. It was still a little damp but the sun was out, so I intrepidly
pitched camp and then wandered off to find the damn bathrooms. On the way, I
met some Pink Pagans, who were pretty nice regardless, and told them about
the Church. Since they were nice to me, and gave me pop (Yes, Lupus, it's
pop, get used to it) I was very gentle and even, if I do say so, a little
apologetic when I explained that in the morning they would be physically
killed and then their souls harvested by alien space gods as cosmic crack

They started babbling about some Mother Goddess. I know all about the Mother
Goddess, and the deal that JHVH-1 has with Her is that She gets the world
until He is ready for the Great Harvest. (It's all in the divorce decree.)
They didn't seem particularly disturbed, nor inclined to run over to Jesus
and give him their money and be saved, so I gave it up as a bad job and
wandered back over to the pavilion area. If I recall, the Badfilms were
playing, but I was too tired to really enjoy sitting there quietly, and also
it was starting to rain. After seeing that not much was going on, I returned
to find two Canadian SubGeniuses, but I didn't hold that against them,
making camp in the dark, in the rain, next to me. So I harassed them for a
while and then turned in.

Meanwhile, a storm had blown up. I mean a BIG STORM. I am from Iowa and we
get some good ones, but that was the worst one I had ever been outside in.
About the time the lightning bolt hit fifty feet or so away from my tent, I
started framing my Contingency Plans: "If the tent blows over, I'll jump in
the car. If the car blows over, I'll crawl up the road and wait for death or
Rupture, maybe in the hot tub." Then it occurred to me what was happening:
X-ist scout ships were looking for Brushwood (even X-ist technology would
have been a little imprecise with that much lightning in the air) and the
winds were probably just turbulence. Much cheered, I eventually went to

I woke to a reasonably sunny, if extremely damp, End of the World. I hurried
to the Gathering of the Faithful to find "Bob" and Stang getting ready for
the Final Final Countdown. Well, as you know, since you're reading this and
not directly EXPERIENCING IT via advanced OverMan or UberFemme powers, once
again the X-ists decided to delay the Rupture. The traditional ritual of the
Laying of the Blame and the Finding of the Scapegoat was duly conducted. I
was temporarily singled out as a potential candidate, since I was wearing a
Discordian shirt (http://www.templeoferis.org/bookstore.html, get 'em while
they're hot!) but deftly escaped by pointing out the Chaos all around us and
that once again, Our Lady Eris HAD delivered, and it was Dobbs that was
deficient. Meanwhile, Stang had made good his escape after the Beating of
"Bob" so he ("Bob," not Stang) was hung by the neck until dead. (This took
several hours, I think. I'm fairly sure he had emergency oxygen reserves in
his penis, which was very impressive.) My own theory is all the godsdamned
fireworks convinced the Xists that this couldn't be the right place. "Nobody
expecting flying saucers to save them from universal catastrophe would be SO
FUCKING STUPID as to be shooting rockets into the air right when they were
scheduled to land," they undoubtedly thought. "Must be the wrong dimension
again. Take us once around the local spacetime continuum and we'll make
another pass."

The rest of the day, to make up for the disappointment, was declared "Slack
Thursday" and no non-events weren't not scheduled. People gradually drifted
in and I put faces to several names that had previously only been electronic
ghosts. Some of them should maybe have stayed that way, but otherwise it was
a very pleasant day. That, however, brings me to my first mini-rant:

Rant 1 - The Make-A-Fucking-Effort Rant

Godsdammit, people, when you *see* a person smiling and saying hello to you,
and you're in a campground FILLED with SubGeniuses, MAYBE HE'S HONESTLY
TRYING TO BE FRIENDLY! Maybe he's HAPPY TO BE THERE, even if he's still
didn't end, and he's GLAD TO FUCKING SEE YOU TOO!

ALL WEEKEND LONG I said hello to everybody I met, and most of the time I got
a strange look followed by a halfassed "Hi" or just an indistinct "Hmm-mmm."
I *realize* that I am not Sister Decadence or somebody that *everybody*
would naturally be glad to see, but most of the time I was fairly clean and
as presentable as I get. Yes, I *was* on the make all weekend (more about
that below) but I don't think I was so *obvious* about it as to warrant no
response to my by-Dobbs hearty GREETINGS! I could *tell* which campsites
were Pagans and which were SubGeniuses, because when I said "Good Morning"
to the Pagans in my sincerest voice, the PAGANS, without fail, said "Good
Morning!" BACK TO ME! In the same
maybe-I-even-mean-I-hope-you-are-having-a-good-morning tone! If you said
hello back, and meant it, and maybe even stopped for a little chat if you
were in the mood, then I am not talking about you, and I am *specifically*
not talking about Sister Sara or Reverend Evangela, but the truth is, I
COULD usually spot the SubGeniuses by their pansy responses.

No, the world DIDN'T end, and we DIDN'T get those OverMan powers again, and
we DIDN'T get the Pleasure Saucers. It hurts me TOO, okay? After a minute or
two, when the hope that the Timekeeper was just still drunk and a little off
his count had faded, and I realized that I WOULD have to come into this
fucking place this morning after all, I *would* gladly have killed you all
but to take the damned EDGE off the pain, if I thought it would help. But I
knew it WOULDN'T. So I tried my best to enjoy life ANYWAY since I knew the
Con's world was waiting gleefully for my return. It wouldn't have killed you
to do the SAME. And even if it would have, wouldn't it have been WORTH it?
Wouldn't you have gladly sacrificed yourself in exchange for ENJOYING your
last few days surrounded by an incredibly large percentage of the population
of Earth who are actually WORTH spending your last few days with?

I didn't think so. To Hell with you, then.

(End of Rant 1)

So anyway, I went back and set up the Solarium at my campsite. I had with me
a solar stove on her maiden voyage and a photovoltaic array for making
electricity from sunlight, as well as a few other thises and thats. I had
decided to mix all this solar technology with my other true love - charity -
and thus was born "St. Marc's Solarium and Home for Wayward Girls." Those of
you who got cards, or BOTHERED to visit the site, and who visit my website,
there's nothing there about it yet. It will be posted - pictures and
everything - as soon as I get a chance. My thanks to those of you who DID
come by and express interest in the setup. I had a lot of fun with it as
well as actually using it to run my stereo and my laptop (so I could dump
pictures from my digicams.)

I did walk around a bit Friday (and most other days) looking for interesting
things to photograph. I saw lots, but as I won't take a person's picture
without their permission (unless they're on a stage or some other place
where they should expect to be photographed, or they're drunk Pink chicks at
Mardi Gras) I didn't take a lot of pictures of people. I know I looked like
a tourist, but I don't care. I had a lot of fun with my cameras. Anybody who
thinks they might be in one of them, or who wants to see them, can email me
and I will send you a CD of the good ones as soon as I've had a chance to go
over them.

I also went to the Belly Dancing demonstration, which only two or three
other of you IDIOTS came to see. I personally can't dance. I have a little
radio distress beacon that sends out the message, "Help, I'm white, and I
can't get down!" But I love belly dancing and actually, for a male
nonparticipant, know quite a bit about it. Mrs. Troutwaxer is an EXPERT, and
a good teacher, as well. It gets even more impressive when you find out
about all the Conspiracy's attempts to prevent her from doing it, including
sending a Cosmic Legbreaker, but that's her story to tell. She gave Sister
Decadence a lesson, who is a NATURAL. She did modestly admit to some prior
dance training, but STILL. There were no actual flames - they were just
practicing - but I'm fairly sure the stage floor started to smoulder. And
you MISSED it, didn't you! Ha ha! *I* have PICTURES and EVERYTHING! Ha ha
ha! And afterwards I got to fit her (Mrs. Troutwaxer) for a sirik! Ha ha ha
ha! Deal with that, you sniveling worms!

Then, of course, it was time for Stang's Bachelor Party. That was fun,
although the strippers mostly didn't (see below Rant 2.) At the last minute,
because I *wasn't* afraid of looking like an idiot, I decided to give one of
my handmade bondage collars to him for a present, but he didn't recognize it
and so both of us made up what, in retrospect, were sort of stupid stories
about what they were. He had the excuse that most of his brain is devoted to
Church Lore or has been damaged by drugs or something. I'm not sure what
mine was, but since I wasn't afraid of looking like an idiot, when I *did,*
it was no big deal.

The concerts were AWESOME. Unfortunately, the sound guy was mostly deaf (and
mostly drunk, I think, but that's just a theory) and the mixing was a little
loud for my taste. (I had no problem making out the words of songs at my
CAMPSITE.) Other than that, they were kick-ass. Sister Hellena Handbasket
and her accompanying Saint in particular kicked SO much ass that ass had to
be imported specifically for the PURPOSE of kicking. And their Dance Backup
Squad was excellent except for the fact that I think I hurt my neck
swivelling between them and the sexy Sister herself so much. Hellpope Huey
proved himself a master of ranting both with the voice and with the
synthesizer. And St. Andrew, in addition to his other OverMan powers, also
has a lovely singing voice. Praise you all!

I also won a sort of impromptu (oh, like the rest of them were so organized)
Bobbie of the Year award for Best Equipment Donation, after Stang found out
I was the St. Marc who was an equipment donor and not some bookseller in
Cleveland who owed the Church money. What I *can't* figure out was why he
was AVOIDING me if he thought I owed the Church money. But after we got that
straightened out it was laughs all around.

The calendar signing was fun to watch, especially when Jesus got in line.
Did you ever notice that he's just a walking ironic photo-op? Pictures of
him waiting in a line, washing dishes, coming out of the Porta-Potty - the
mind boggles. Not that I ever did TAKE any such photos. Just saying. Several
of the signing Sex Goddesses recognized me after asking my name, and Nickie
Deathchick's thanks for one of my equipment donations and Mary Magdalen's
not throwing anything at me were one of the high points of my trip. I won't
bother complimenting the Calendar Girls individually, but offer only the
praise that I was playing the old "If you could have only one..." game while
I waited in line and COULDN'T DECIDE. I *did* pick out two for photo ops,
but that was strictly on the basis that 1) Joy D'Veeve was camped next to me
and 2) That top of Nickie's was SO cool.

I was "Bob"tized this year - as I said, it was my first X-Day, so I didn't
want to miss THAT. There were only about fifteen of us, and only four
Connieites. "Bob-"damn it, when I get naked for the first time in public,
EVER, I expect some compensation! I expect to be distracted at this Holy
Event by something worth looking at! And, in fact, I WAS, but still, the
rest of you are spineless WIMPS! Even most of you who did brave the cold
ducked out before the Sin Vortex was formed. (During that, by the way, I
invented the phrase "working hard as a Preacher" to describle Stang
leisurely floating in the water while the rest of us risked our extremities
pushing.) And with that, and especially since I got the X-Day '98 tape and
was able to compare that unBlessed event with XD4, I give you my second

Rant 2 - The UnCorruption of the Church Rant

(Pastor Pressure did a rant somewhat along these lines which is one reason I
didn't stand up and do it. Also I was afraid I would be killed as I would
have been a lot nastier about it had I done it at the time.)

People, let me first spell out a few things. Yes, I am married to my own
Yeti Sex Goddess. I wasn't particularly shy about mentioning it, although I
didn't bring it up without some reason. But this is a SUBGENIUS marriage. It
was one long before we even found "Bob." (Yes, we. She is also Saved.) We
wrote our own vows and there is SPECIFICALLY NO MENTION of that "forsaking
all others" business. That was on purpose. "Married, Not Dead," in the
immortal wisdom of the Bumper Sticker Gods. If I had had the opportunity to
engage in some SexHurt, I would have been very pleased, and she would have
been pleased for me.

I did the best I could without looking desperate. *I* thought I did a good
job, I could just be FOOLING MYSELF, I don't know. Maybe in my simple
friendly greetings (see above Rant 1) it WAS written on every pore, if not
every SUBATOMIC PARTICLE, of my face, that I was on the make. But SO WHAT? I
am a *SubGenius!* I REJECT the notion that there are times when it's NOT
appropriate to be on the make! There are times when it's not appropriate to
PUT the make on certain SPECIFIC PEOPLE, such as at their mothers' funerals,
at least until the casket is lowered, but that's usually fairly easy to
spot. And I was EXTREMELY egalitarian, in my own sexist way, in my making!
ANY Connieite who had responded with even the SLIGHTEST INKLING of interest
would have gotten an enthusiastic response. (I was on the extreme edge of
the field that activated my Yeti Gene and while I'm fairly weird, I'm also
extremely straight. That's life.)

I am not really ugly, I'm pretty clean, and my PRIMARY ENJOYMENT during sex,
as any of you UberFemmes could have found out, is to see how hard I can blow
HER mind. I have been known, as the song says, to FORGET TO COME. (Although,
in all honesty, that's pretty rare.) Not to MENTION all the pretty toys I
brought both for commercial and recreational purposes. I did sell some, it's
true, and you take what you can get, but you don't have to be HAPPY about
it, and I'm NOT!

But I didn't start this rant just to bitch about MY lack of Yeti Sex during
XXXX-Day. I did want to do that, but I didn't do it JUST for that. There is
more to this story, and a sad, sad story it is.

Children, let me tell you about a little experiment I did.

Every night I was at Brushwood, I took a turn through the campground after
the gathering, if any, at the pavilion had broken up, but not much later.
People were dispersed. I was walking quietly - which I am very good at. I
was listening- which I am also very good at. Listening carefully. You can
ask anybody who talked to me: I have extraordinary hearing. And do you know
what I heard?

BUGS, that's what I heard! Also wind and rain!

What I didn't hear was SEX!

I didn't hear yetisyn celebrating their heritage! I heard exactly TWO
sessions of indulgence during my nocturnal sojourns.


That's IT!

That's ALL!

Now, statistically, I wasn't listening a lot of the time. I do know there
were more than two incidences of sexual intercourse over the course of those
five days. But, statistically, I expected to be at the *far* end of a LOT OF
'Frop, booze, and Slack flowing like raw sewage in a back alley in Calcutta!
And you people were just SITTING AROUND! You should have been RUBBING IN MY
FACE the fact that *I* was walking around like some sort of sinister
Kinseyite while you were WEARING DOWN YOUR BODY PARTS! Actually, there were
a lot of body parts I saw that you SHOULD have been rubbing in my face to
PREVENT me from doing that, but you DIDN'T, and you have only YOURSELVES to

This is a *FLYING SAUCER DOOMSDAY SEX CULT,* children! The Flying Saucers
are up to "Bob" to provide. The Doomsday is up to the Flying Saucers to
provide. But the SEX is up to US! I think I had more sex ALONE IN MY TENT
than most of you did! Including the ones who are much more attractive than
*I* am! That's PATHETIC! *WE* are pathetic! Yes, we need more women. There's
no QUESTION about that. (The Pagans brought some extras, in case none of you
NOTICED!) But even with the imbalance, if just the ones of you who ARRIVED
in pairs (or other higher-order groupings) had been doing your fucking DUTY,
literally, don't forget where SubGeniuses COME FROM, I would have had to
wear HEARING PROTECTORS when I did my little walkabouts!

Now you all need to decide whether you decided to join this cult to walk
around with self-congratulatory grins on your faces and marvel at Stang's
collection of Fifties clip art, or to GET LAID! And I am INCLUDING you
females in this! In for $30, in for your SEX ORGANS!

"Oh, I can't ask her, that would make me a letch! Scum, that's what I'd be!
An insensitive boor!"

"Oh, but I can't just ask him, then I'll be a SLUT(1)!"

"Oh, but I just MET him, and I'm not DRUNK, I need a RELATIONSHIP first! Or
I'll be a SLUT!"

That's PINK talk!

Worse yet, that's CONSPIRACY talk!

That's thousands of years of Patriarchy run by Patriarchs who were SEXUAL
PARANOIDS and/or IMPOTENT! As opposed to OUR kind, who are just THOUGHTLESS!
Women have to REPRESS, men have to talk big and belch but WIMP OUT when it
comes to the actual INITIATION!

***FUCK THAT!!!***

THINK, people, THINK! You reject their ADVERTISING, you reject their DRESS
CODE, you reject their HAIR NAZIS, you reject their DRUG CZAR, but when it
comes to sex, when it comes to something IMPORTANT, most of you are as PINK
INSIDE as Phyllis Schafly is on the OUTSIDE!


Angelina Jolie smooching on her brother on television may SEEM like a good
start, but all it REALLY does is enable the Pinks to titter nervously and
have it CONFIRMED for them that only rich, attractive people are allowed to
be IMMORAL, and even then only for the purposes of reinforcing the fucking
PRUDE CODES on the REST of us! If we weirdos, we losers, we SUBGENIUSES
start ENJOYING life, start using our wabbly bits for the purpose that JHVH-1
and "Ba'ab" INTENDED, their whole house of cards will FALL! People who are
getting laid regularly AND WELL don't fight in WARS! People who are getting
laid regularly AND WELL don't go around being FUN POLICE! People who are
getting laid regularly AND WELL don't take other people telling them how
they can and can't act SERIOUSLY!

People who are getting laid regularly AND WELL and who don't feel GUILTY
about it are fucking BULLETPROOF!

Well, okay, not proof against actual BULLETS. But you see my point. Take
away that guilt, that feeling that you're a Bad Boy, a Naughty Girl, and
that you probably deserve to be punished for SOMETHING, and what do they
HAVE on you? NOTHING! What can they DO to you? THROW YOU IN JAIL, THAT'S
WHAT! But they can't DO that without ADMITTING that keeping you from
ENJOYING yourself was their game all along. And if they do that, then the
Pinks will rise up, because even THEY need that bullshit about it being for
their own GOOD to swallow the Conspiracy's lies. We CAN beat them at their
own game! We CAN pull OUR wool over THEIR eyes! And there's NOTHING they can
do about it!

In the words of Former High Epopt Baron "Bob" Munschausen, "You poor,
deluded FOOLS!"

ARISE, and take it BACK from them! Sex, and I mean SEXHURT, Yeti Sex, not
necessarily even regular ol' "Pole in the Hole," possibly not even something
you have to UNDRESS or even get out of your respective CARS for, is not
something you have to do in the dark, with somebody you have a Serious
Relationship with, after you're sure it's OK, and even then feel GUILTY
about. It CAN be all that stuff, and there's nothing wrong with that. But it
can also be a way to see how well you like somebody in the *first place.* It
can be an *anti-depressant* (instead of now, when all too often it's a
*pro-depressant.*) It can be something to do when you're *bored.* It can be
*anything you want,* but you have to WANT in the first place!

Sure, I may have no right to talk. I didn't actually just lose patience and
start asking UberFemmes straight up if they were up for a little recreation.
(Partially because I *do* get laid fairly regularly and well. I ate
yesterday and I will eat tomorrow: that doesn't mean I'm not hungry TODAY.)
I may not be much better than you. But I'm MAD about it, and that's what
counts. And I am WILLING to admit the error of my ways. I will REPENT! I
can't quit my job because I have people to feed. But I WILL Slack Off! And
next year, by Dobbs, I will wear a big fucking BUTTON that says, "Ask and
you'll probably get laid!" If you ask ME, and I'm not actively DOING
something, you WILL get laid! And even then, if you'll just WAIT a minute,
even THAT will not be a problem. Praise "Bob!" Hail "Connie!" Fuck the
Conspiracy, and BADLY! Fuck the SubGeniuses, and WELL!

(Note 1: Read the book "The Ethical Slut" and you will find out that being a
slut has nothing to do one way OR the other with being a good or bad

(End of Rant 2)

So, anyway, I went to bed Saturday night after the concerts and various
observations, feeling pretty beat. Sunday, I awoke to the dampest I have
ever been without actually being IMMERSED in water. Usually, when you want
to leave camp in the morning, you sort of compromise between getting away as
early as you can, and waiting for the sun to dry out your gear a bit. There
was NO question of that happening, so as yet ANOTHER gesture of generousity,
I packed up my soaking-wet kit. (This caused the sun to start burning off
the clouds in defiance of all meteorological possibility, but did I get ONE
bit of thanks? I didn't hold my breath.) I had told Temujin on WEDNESDAY
that I wanted to leave by 11, so naturally I went to wake him up at 9, which
I figured would give him time to say goodbye to his admirers and pack up. So
I woke him up at 9.

Then Modemac (praise Modemac, by the way, and Jesus and everybody else who
worked so hard and made it look so easy) and I went and woke him up at 10.

Then I went and woke him up at 10:30.

After having his tent beaten on by a stick and being threatened with being
duct-taped to the car roof, the last one took and up he got. While I was
waiting for him to pack, I got drafted into traffic duty by a Pagan lady,
but I got even with her by preaching at her for ten minutes. Then we were
off. If any of you were upset because he didn't say goodbye, you can blame
me. (Even though he DID oversleep. Twice.) The return journey was without
much incident other than several closed travel plazas and one last
Temujin-induced missed turn. After he and his delocalizing field were safely
in the hands of Greyhound, I got home, filled the rental car EXACTLY to the
point on the gas gauge where I picked it up, and began unpacking. Concern
for your mental well-being prohibits my disclosing any details of that
sordid process. Now I'm here wallowing in the Con as usual... and waiting
for next time.

Slack to you all, and I'll see you next year, or on the Saucers, whichever
comes first!

St. Marc


Quantum Mechanics: The Dream that Stuffs are made of.


Subject: Re: (Long) An XXXX-Day Report. (Tired of 'em yet? Also rants.)
From: Server Thirteen <c-bee1@staff.uiuc.edu>
Newsgroups: alt.slack
Date: Mon, Jul 9, 2001 11:53 PM
Message-ID: <3B4A7DB6.F4B3C327@staff.uiuc.edu>

"St. Marc the Perpetually Amused" wrote:
> >
> While in many ways I'm quite cheerfully amoral (for instance, I will eat the
> last piece of pie or drink the last pop without a twinge) I don't like to
> try to break up an attempt. It's a social contract thing. I don't like it
> done to me, so I don't do it. Maybe there's a good way to say, "Hey, if
> you're just being friendly, I'd like to be friendly too, and maybe get real
> friendly, but if you're in the first steps of the mating dance, I'll just
> retreat gracefully."
> Maybe I could even just SAY that. But a lot of the time people might not
> know the answer, and they might feel awkward about that. I'll work on it.

Usually a few minutes watching body language from afar does it - if
not, I just raise shields, move in and say, "so how *you* lovebirds
doin'?". And watch and listen. Instantly identifiable as a query along
your lines, but easily followed up by all parties. Usually it's denials
all around, but of what sort? It's amazing the crap you think up once
you're almost too old to benefit. Comes from being highly motivated I guess...

This blows your cover though, at which time one must pretty much, er,
evacuate or leave the evacuation chamber, as they say. Which brings me
to the corollary, "maybe later = maybe never".

Subject: Re: (Long) An XXXX-Day Report. (Tired of 'em yet? Also rants.)
From: md_archangel@hotmail.com (mykal d'archangel)

On 9 Jul 2001 13:33:29 -0700, disciple@templeoferis.org (St. Marc
The Perpetually Amused) wrote:

>Rant 1 - The Make-A-Fucking-Effort Rant
>Godsdammit, people, when you *see* a person smiling and saying hello to you,
>and you're in a campground FILLED with SubGeniuses, MAYBE HE'S HONESTLY
>TRYING TO BE FRIENDLY! Maybe he's HAPPY TO BE THERE, even if he's still
>didn't end, and he's GLAD TO FUCKING SEE YOU TOO!

If people talk to me and I don't know them, it's usually because
they either want something from me (and I'm selfish) or they're
pagans. Or SubGenii... but I'm not sure which is worse.

>What I didn't hear was SEX!
>I didn't hear yetisyn celebrating their heritage! I heard exactly TWO
>sessions of indulgence during my nocturnal sojourns.

If you are overheard having sex at X-Day, chances are, someone
will ask to join in. I suppose it's cool that they *ask* but some
couples might not be so lucky - with the hormones set on "fuck" -
the yeti can sometimes loose control and blunder into coupled
tents blindly. It's a bad situation.

And even still - to do it in the tents would be how the Pinks do
it. More than likely, much of the sex took place out in the deep
woods or in some Amish barn somewhere. Or even still - it
probably happened in YOUR tent while you were out on your

Our own compound were more of a group of "morning jerkers" if you
get my meaning. As soon as light broke the eastern horizon, you
could hear the frantic rustling of canvas and tearing of paper
towels. Perhaps you just need to adjust your schedule?

st m d'a

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