Fixed it.

In college, I read Ovid’s Metamorphoses, Sophocles’Antigone, Aristophanes’ Lysistrata, the lot. (Greek and Roman studies minor.) Decades before trigger warnings were invented. The professor wrecked me and I have led a regretful and abject life ever since.

Saw this in Trois-Rivières:

I prefer the feminine optimist view.

Touché.

If I could afford one I’d buy it and so would you.

The likely macho response to your critique? Job creators creating wealth creating jobs creating a better world. Oh well.

Why? (No, I would not.)

As the heat seeker thrust quickly and unexpectedly into her orbicular exhaust. The orgasmic explosion was spontaneous and devastating. She shuddered and fell from my arms. Subdued. A broken thing.

Death leads to immortality. Le Mans. 1998.

Is shame still eating at your innards?

Pit stop - 2003 Abu Dhabi Grand Prix.

Oh, they’ll be full for sure. Aliyev will see to that. “You vill attend!”

Because they could give a shit about the race. Probably watching Le Mans on the FIA world feed. I was. And happy for it.

Fact. Fact. Facts. All being spouted left and right and backwards. I guess it is like any business endeavor. The owners of the business (Automobile Club de l’Ouest (ACO) get to run it. Just as my local McDonald’s is run by the franchise holder. That’s the way it goes. So all the arguments and sour grapes spewed out…