For now... a few more years down the road, though, when *all* the fresh water tastes of DDT, we’re going to have some problems.

Precisely what do these morons have against potable water???

Hey— I’m quite fond of Chiclets. They’re so nice and minty... oh, you meant the formulaic crap books they sell in train stations? Never mind.

I thought the terrible clothes were deliberately designed that way, and were supposed to be part of my punishment for not looking the way society says I ought to. You know, like Hawthorne’s Scarlet Letter.

I am aware that Mapplethorpe was silenced. I don’t condone such tactics; censorship strikes me as a crime against humanity, as well as a tacit admission of fear on the part of the censor. (And shortsighted as hell, to boot. Especially in this day and age, where people can and do talk to the other side of the planet,…

I’ll preface this by saying that I’m another one of those ‘don’t know much about art but I know what I like’ PITAs who has the audacity to have opinions; feel free to dismiss me on that account. :)

Oh, for heaven’s sake. The same thing happened in *my* yearbook— there was a shot of a guy, sitting down, with somewhat loose shorts and no skivvies. Inevitably, his better half, whether by accident or not, poked into view. You know what we did? We snickered, pointed it out to anyone who had missed it the first time,…