My confession: even as I was chuckling to myself about the name Rich had thrown out at the early inception of the non-event of the year... (second only to the epic non-event of him and Ryan making all the left turns in Greensboro with me for a night)... I had no idea what it actually meant.
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| Like the letters of Joyce... one day our texts betwixt one another will be posthumously published .... ....and we'll be all kinds of rich and famous. (Wait... what?) |
I just... live in my own bubble. And "fapping" just isn't a word often bandied about in what I read. Dawkins never mentions it. Hitchens calls it something else. Dickens, while he may have used the word, gave fapping very different meaning. Fowles might alluded to the act, but again... never termed it thus. Henry James, however, probably knew more than a thing or two about it when he named a prominent character (and oddly enough, one of my favorite fictional characters ever) "Caspar Goodwood."
It is a little surprising that it's never come up before, considering my love for any and all ribald humor and commentary... and considering how generally pervasive it is as a way of life for most people. (Pffft. Not me though.)
Take, for example, this snippet from my soon-to-never-be-published, world changing novel:
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"Abby felt bad about lying to the board. I mean... surely they could tell, right? Their very existence would seem to indicate some sort of omniscence. Something. Nonetheless, not one of them batted so much as an eye at her stammered answer to the bland, but very loaded question:
"What, young lady, have you thus far found to be the most surprising thing about being a ghost?"
Because she knew, instantly, what the most surprising thing was. And it wasn't "umm... how many... um... other... umm... ghosts?... there are? You know... like....around?"
No. The most surprising thing thus far...without a doubt... was how much the living masturbated."
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(Yeah.... So I'm pretty much about to take the world by storm.)
I had to google "fapping".
And then I chuckled even more.
At my own expense.
Again.
(because if there is one thing I firmly believe in this life, it's that if you're not laughing at your own expense... you're doing it wrong)
The plan was to head down early Saturday morning to ride the mountain bikes before heading out on our nine mile adventure... Akin to World's End's Golden Mile.
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| I was going to photoshop our faces on here, but I'm just too lazy. Rich? Get cracking. |
As if there was any question, the role of the emotionally stunted, suicidal train-wreck at the center of the entire debacle will be played by yours truly. Which is only a wee bit odd, considering that it was actually Rich's idea to begin with.... and that I'm actually the straight-man in this "duo."
(If, by "straight," we mean "all fucking kinds of bent")
Two slight snags to the plan.
One... it's going to be cold as shit Saturday morning.
And two: illness didn't appear to give a fuck about my plans.
I woke up with a sore throat and general malaise. Two days of systems shut-down has improved the situation considerably, but not enough that I'm 100%. I'm a solid 50% right now. Which I guess is solid enough. As this is already a really bad, good bad-idea... I might need all of my weakened constitution to recover from Saturday night. Throw in a sub-freezing ride and I might not recover in time before I fly out to Minnesota for Frostbukake.... from which I will need even more recovery.
(Look for that post sometime in April.)
Yeah... so anyway.....while most of you are cuddled close with your Valentines.. totally NOT getting yourselves into deep trouble with the people who love you... a whole lot of us (surprisingly many, in fact) will be digging giant, inescapable holes for ourselves...
....and wildly and manically and unashamedly "fappening."
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