Gas Bill
The bill for gassing, that is. The last one for the year.
Because, yes, ‘tis time to remind patrons that this rickety barge, on whose seating your arses rest, is kept afloat by the kindness of strangers. If you’d like to help it remain buoyant a while longer, and remain ad-free, there are buttons in the sidebar with which to monetise any love. Debit and credit cards are accepted. For those wishing to express their love regularly, there’s a monthly subscription option top left. And if one-click haste is called for, my PalPay.Me page can be found here. Additionally, any Amazon UK shopping done via this link or the search widget top right, or for Amazon US via this link, results in a small fee for your host at no extra cost to you.
So shop ye. Shop ye like the wind.
For newcomers wishing to know more about what’s been going on here for the last decade and a half, in over 3,000 posts and over 130,000 comments, the reheated series is a pretty good place to start – in particular, the end-of-year-summaries, which convey the fullest flavour of what it is we do. A sort of blog concentrate. If you like what you find there… well, there’s lots more of that.
If you can, do take a moment to poke through the discussion threads too. The posts are intended as starting points, not full stops, and the comments are where much of the good stuff is waiting to be found. And do please join in.
As always, thanks for the support, the comments, and the company.
Now share ye links and bicker.
Trauma is not hereditary.
Not according to the precious ones who must be accomodated.
I do not understand the English and the names they give foods and restaurants.
And hideous décor too.
A leftist is appalled.
I do not understand the English and the names they give foods and restaurants.
Like perhaps the Frog & Peach? Of course in this day and age every absurdity, no matter how benign, must be manifest…in New Jersey if necessary…or preferably?
…minuscule compared to high risk groups.
Yes, however, miniscule does not mean zero, which is how many people think about it. Perhaps, not an important point when discussing the virus and the condition statistically, but very important when discussing the impact on peoples lives.
There is still a considerable stigma associated with HIV and Aids and there are still a number of people who think that if you contract HIV that you deserve it because of your actions. A neighbour of mine died about five years ago of lung cancer. In general conversation with people, some said “well, you shouldn’t smoke. I have no sympathy for smokers who get lung cancer.” My neighbour hadn’t smoked a day in her life. She lived and worked in a smoke-free environment.
I’m not disagreeing with the predominant ways people contract HIV or the shameful misinformation campaigns that were designed to scare people about AIDs. I’m commenting on the sanctimony that often surrounds such discussions.
I’m commenting on the sanctimony that often surrounds such discussions.
Understand. But the nature of the acts involved, completely devoid of any moral judgement, are the acts involved. They happen. And other things happen after that. And this goes well, well beyond the subject at hand…but I digress…Whether we rightly or wrongly (mostly the latter) call those things “consequences” or not, no one “deserves” a disease and I by no means would imply such. Though I highly suspect this is what brings the crickets when I dare discuss these things…especially when someone else brings them up. Personally, I am well aware in those moments that people are about to get upset, will infer, no matter how I state some of these things. I do go to significant effort to speak clearly and precisely without imparting judgement. I will not, however, go through the pre-apology BS about how I am not anti-gay, and I certainly am not going to mention that “my best friend growing up was gay” (or black or whatever…not that the latter specifically apply), nor any coworkers whom I well respect, etc. etc. etc. I don’t think I need to state the routine here, YKWIM…and yet here I am doing it…for multiple obvious reasons…not just because of AIDS/gay or anything specific but I’m just might damn tired of the damned kafka-trap kind of BS about race, sex, gender, or whether someone hails from the good or bad side of West Virginia (this determined of course by proximity to Pittsburgh).
Yes, however, miniscule does not mean zero…
The difficulty lies in obtaining an accurate sexual history. More than once I have encountered, “but we have only been with each other how could this happen”, to find the, “well, there was that trip to Amsterdam in college before we met”, or something similar. The fact remains, though, that a strictly monogamous heterosexual couple, or a strictly monogamous homosexual couple, who are HIV negative at the time they become monogamous have about the same chance of becoming infected absent some exogenous factor as tainted transfusion, as being hit by a piece of a falling Russian satellite.
I’m commenting on the sanctimony that often surrounds such discussions.
Indeed, and which makes it hard to get an accurate history.
“Naval Recruit Training Command Great Lakes.”
Ah – where I was borned. Or hatched, depending on who’s yelling at me at the time. Said Hospital was demolished a few years back, tho…
“The difficulty lies in obtaining an accurate sexual history.”
Any behavioral personal history. People* are piss poor at recalling and transmitting personal histories.
*not, of course, referring to the fine folk who reside here.
Ker-ching!
Ker-ching!
Bless you, sir. May you always have gas refills for your new drinks carbonator.
Trauma is not hereditary.
My great-grandfather came over to the New World courtesy of the Irish potato famine.
Somehow, I have managed to avoid blaming David for this.
I’m still holding him to account for the pickled eggs, though.
I’ll just leave this here.
That’s an XBox Series X, which due to Microsoft deciding that supply chains were magical things that just happened if you had a heart full of goodness and light and clapped hard enough, goes for around $1000 if you can find a scalper with one to sell. Arguably worth more than the bag it was packed in.
Any behavioral personal history. People* are piss poor at recalling and transmitting personal histories.
That was the premise of that doctor show with Hugh Laurie – House? People lie. Bet on it.
Understand. But the nature of the acts involved, completely devoid of any moral judgement, are the acts involved. They happen. And other things happen after that.
I remember the white-hot rage in “the gay community” in the 1980’s when public health experts pointed out that simple behavioral changes would stop the epidemic, and that contract tracing was an essential component of fighting the spread. Telling people to stop being promiscuous, and tracking down infected people? “Homophobia” and “blame the victim”. Identifying infected promiscuous men and telling them to stop having sex at bathhouses was even likened to the Nazi extermination program. And it wasn’t just gay activists who spouted this garbage: Seemingly all liberals joined in. all those “believe in science” liberals instantly threw away the science of public health the moment it became politically inconvenient. This evil fiasco was an important milestone on my journey away from “liberalism”.
Any behavioral personal history. People* are piss poor at recalling and transmitting personal histories.
That was the premise of that doctor show with Hugh Laurie – House? People lie. Bet on it.
I have only the vaguest recollection, but Health Department contact tracers had a difficult job back in the day, interviewing people infected with contagious diseases to find out where they might have been infected and who they might then have infected. It was difficult even with diseases that were not sexually transmitted.
Ah – where I was borned. Or hatched…
I saw Mork from Ork come out of an egg, so why not you? Na-Nu Na-Nu!
That a POC would get trauma from passing a cotton field is…precious.
The mind boggles at the potential inherited traumas. What about railways and Chinese ? Others can come up with their own examples.
BTW, I’m not going to “ping”. I’m throwing my money down on the bar. Makes a more satisfying sound.
More than once I have encountered, “but we have only been with each other how could this happen”, to find the, “well, there was that trip to Amsterdam in college before we met”, or something similar.
For men, divide the number of women they claim to have had sex with by half.
For women, multiply the number of men they claim to have had sex with by two.
On the AIDS epidemic: at the beginning when it was not clear how transmissible it was, I was concerned about gay men working in restaurants–because that is how hepatitis is transmitted. One was not allowed to ask that question, as if the only employment available to gay men was in restaurants and checking for infection was genocide. Better dead than rude.
at the beginning when it was not clear how transmissible it was, I was concerned about gay men working in restaurants–because that is how hepatitis is transmitted. One was not allowed to ask that question, as if the only employment available to gay men was in restaurants and checking for infection was genocide. Better dead than rude.
That brings back memories of friends with just that attitude. As best I know, none of them ever changed their minds.
Just think what might have happened if it turned out that AIDS could be transmitted that way. Considering all the gay activists and leftists who tried to bully us into ignoring the dysfunctional behavior that caused the epidemic, I can imagine a very extreme public backlash.
Thanks for the head-scratching and laughs. Your tip jar has been hit.
I’m throwing my money down on the bar. Makes a more satisfying sound.
Your tip jar has been hit.
Bless you, sirs. May you never be tempted to revisit old grievances.
Ping! Buy yourself something nice.:-)
Ping! Buy yourself something nice.:-)
Bless you, madam. May your hairdresser always, but always, have a last-minute slot.
[ Flicks through catalogue of diadems, broches, and elbow-length gloves. ]
[ Flicks through catalogue of diadems, broches, and elbow-length gloves. ]
[ Contemplates grubby tables, sticky bar, and David’s stained apron. ]
What about railways and Chinese ? Others can come up with their own examples.
I still shudder inside when I see a french fry.
[ Contemplates grubby tables, sticky bar, and David’s stained apron. ]
[ David contemplates grubby clientele. ]
Heh.
*puts a few pounds in tip jar*
*washes hands*
*puts a few pounds in tip jar*
*washes hands*
Bless you, sir. After the holidays, may your festoonery return to its year-long storage place mysteriously, overnight, and without the usual tangles, tutting and colourful language.
After the holidays, may your festoonery return to its year-long storage place mysteriously, overnight…
Don’t make the mistake of leaving out milk and cookies for the holiday decoration brownies: They will kick over the glass of milk and grind the cookies into the carpet. (“Crivens!”) Instead, leave out a bottle of whiskey.
More of a pinglet than a ping.
Pinged.
More of a pinglet
Pinged.
Bless you, sir, and bless you, madam. May your electric razor always be sufficiently charged and not gasp its last at the worst possible time.
Again, thanks to all who’ve chipped in so far, including all those much too shy to say hello, or who’ve subscribed, or done shopping via the Amazon links. It’s what keeps this place here and is much appreciated.
One of my favourite bloggers. Tip jar has been hit. 🙂
Tip jar has been hit. 🙂
Bless you, sir. Should houseguests poke through your bathroom drawers, may your towels be fragrant and perfectly orientated.
Bar bill sorted. Have one for yourself, barkeep.
Have one for yourself, barkeep.
Bless you, sir. When arriving at a friend’s party, armed with a bottle of gin as a gift, may you never discover that someone else has already brought the same item, also as a gift, but in the larger bottle.
Some quids have been bunged in your tip jar. For a great blog and being a gracious host.
Some quids have been bunged in your tip jar.
Bless you, sir. May the Christmas cards you send be effortlessly stylish and look much more expensive than they actually were.
For a great blog and being a gracious host.
One tries.
[ Checks self in mirror, approves wholeheartedly. ]
Well, it’s still here, after…
[ Looks at watch. ]
Almost fifteen years.
I’ve lurked here for most of them. Here’s to 15 more.
Consider yourself tipped.
Here’s to 15 more.
No pressure, then.
And bless you, sir. May you have the power to charm apprehensive dogs.
I might sneak in my own booze but I am not ungrateful for the company.
Ping!
Merry Christmas!
https://imgur.com/gallery/6n4Kn6I
I might sneak in my own booze but I am not ungrateful for the company.
I assumed the bulge was either a hipflask or a revolver. Bless you, madam. In times of crisis, may you nevertheless look stunning.
I assumed the bulge was either a hipflask or a revolver.
We’re always happy to see you. But in a “rated PG” way.
[ Reviews comment thread. ]
Um, maybe that was not completely accurate.
*PING*
*PING*
Bless you, sir. May you always have stamps.
One more time: Thanks to all who’ve chipped in, including all those much too shy to say hello, or who’ve subscribed, or done shopping via the Amazon links. It’s what keeps this place here and is much appreciated.
Thank you, David. *hits tip jar*
Thank you, David. *hits tip jar*
Bless you, sir. When needed, may your SIM extraction tool, or some similar small pokey thing, always be easy to find. As opposed to what usually happens.
Tip jar hit.
Also a little extra on top for a bit of tinsel. That pickled egg jar could look right festive with a bit of sparkle round the lid.
That pickled egg jar could look right festive with a bit of sparkle round the lid.
Bless you, sir. May your white kitchen work surfaces remain unblemished even by those takeaways from the local curry house.
Some early Christmas cheer in your stocking, O Great Host.
Some early Christmas cheer in your stocking, O Great Host.
Bless you, sir. May your ego be stroked by multiple invitations to Christmas dinner and/or parties, even if you’d be quite content with a quiet one at home.
Ping!
Ping!
Bless you, sir. May your colours never fade.
Christmas shopping done courtesy of your Amazon US linky up top.
I hope it results in something for y’all – I log in, then click the button on the blog, but then I do a lot of searching to find the right item, so I never know if the final purchase gets credited to this creaky barge or not.
Happy Christmas to you and yours.
Christmas shopping done courtesy of your Amazon US linky up top.
Bless you. May the local Chinese takeaway never have trouble finding a new driver for their delivery service, resulting in you having to fetch your own dinner, in the rain, like a peasant.
Here’s to 15 more.
That.
Also a belated ping.
Also a belated ping.
Bless you, madam. May your enemies know the shame of waking to find that their high-tech kettle has died during the night, resulting in them using a saucepan to heat water for coffee, like a savage.