The front fell off.

Ooooh, la, la. Il est magnifique et entièrement sexe.

This will make mincemeat:

Call. And raise you one.

The Chinese already have the blueprints.

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.