LongAn XXXX-Day Repo

(Long) An XXXX-Day Report + Rants from St. Marc The Perpetually Amused

Newsgroups: alt.slack
Date: Mon, Jul 9, 2001 4:33 PM

Well, kids, I thought I'd write down a few memories just for myself, but as long as I'm writing, I'll pass them on. In no particular order...

Left Wednesday morning at 7:00AM from Chicago (or near enough.) I had packed the car the night before, including my own personal Escape Rocket (really my tent container, with a nose cone and labels that said "To Planet X!") strapped to the roof. I had made some pretty cool signs for the car, if I do say so, but it rained and a couple of them got a little damp. They still got some attention, though, as once I had picked up Temujin at the bus stop in Toledo, we got many, many confused looks and had one shouted conversation with a latent SubGenius at 60MPH. Something about Temujin messes up my normally infallible navigational sense: I took more wrong turns with him in the car to and from Toledo than I have in the previous TEN YEARS. Also, I had forgotten about the time change and was really ten minutes late when I thought I was fifty minutes early, but that didn't matter because his bus broke down and he didn't show up for another hour anyway.

However, eventually we made it to Brushwood about 7:30 (passing through several towns, including one where the storm sirens were going off.) After a quick stop at the registration booth, we drove over to the entrance to alt.slack village, where I dropped him off after nearly ripping the bottom out of the rental car. Our personal Slack fields sufficed to lift us off the hangup and into the woods he went. I couldn't camp there, because I had my solar stuff (more about that later.) So I drove down to the end of the field and parked next to a nice setup on the assumption that anybody that organized would know what the hell they were doing (this was my first X-Day.)

I didn't know how right I was, because it turned out to be Rev. Prostata Cantata and the lovely Joy D'Veeve, although I didn't find that out until much later. It was still a little damp but the sun was out, so I intrepidly pitched camp and then wandered off to find the damn bathrooms. On the way, I met some Pink Pagans, who were pretty nice regardless, and told them about the Church. Since they were nice to me, and gave me pop (Yes, Lupus, it's pop, get used to it) I was very gentle and even, if I do say so, a little apologetic when I explained that in the morning they would be physically killed and then their souls harvested by alien space gods as cosmic crack cocaine.

They started babbling about some Mother Goddess. I know all about the Mother Goddess, and the deal that JHVH-1 has with Her is that She gets the world until He is ready for the Great Harvest. (It's all in the divorce decree.) They didn't seem particularly disturbed, nor inclined to run over to Jesus and give him their money and be saved, so I gave it up as a bad job and wandered back over to the pavilion area. If I recall, the Badfilms were playing, but I was too tired to really enjoy sitting there quietly, and also it was starting to rain. After seeing that not much was going on, I returned to find two Canadian SubGeniuses, but I didn't hold that against them, making camp in the dark, in the rain, next to me. So I harassed them for a while and then turned in.

Meanwhile, a storm had blown up. I mean a BIG STORM. I am from Iowa and we get some good ones, but that was the worst one I had ever been outside in. About the time the lightning bolt hit fifty feet or so away from my tent, I started framing my Contingency Plans: "If the tent blows over, I'll jump in the car. If the car blows over, I'll crawl up the road and wait for death or Rupture, maybe in the hot tub." Then it occurred to me what was happening: X-ist scout ships were looking for Brushwood (even X-ist technology would have been a little imprecise with that much lightning in the air) and the winds were probably just turbulence. Much cheered, I eventually went to sleep.

I woke to a reasonably sunny, if extremely damp, End of the World. I hurried to the Gathering of the Faithful to find "Bob" and Stang getting ready for the Final Final Countdown. Well, as you know, since you're reading this and not directly EXPERIENCING IT via advanced OverMan or UberFemme powers, once again the X-ists decided to delay the Rupture. The traditional ritual of the Laying of the Blame and the Finding of the Scapegoat was duly conducted. I was temporarily singled out as a potential candidate, since I was wearing a Discordian shirt (http://www.templeoferis.org/bookstore.html, get 'em while they're hot!) but deftly escaped by pointing out the Chaos all around us and that once again, Our Lady Eris HAD delivered, and it was Dobbs that was deficient. Meanwhile, Stang had made good his escape after the Beating of "Bob" so he ("Bob," not Stang) was hung by the neck until dead. (This took several hours, I think. I'm fairly sure he had emergency oxygen reserves in his penis, which was very impressive.) My own theory is all the godsdamned fireworks convinced the Xists that this couldn't be the right place. "Nobody expecting flying saucers to save them from universal catastrophe would be SO FUCKING STUPID as to be shooting rockets into the air right when they were scheduled to land," they undoubtedly thought. "Must be the wrong dimension again. Take us once around the local spacetime continuum and we'll make another pass."

The rest of the day, to make up for the disappointment, was declared "Slack Thursday" and no non-events weren't not scheduled. People gradually drifted in and I put faces to several names that had previously only been electronic ghosts. Some of them should maybe have stayed that way, but otherwise it was a very pleasant day. That, however, brings me to my first mini-rant:

Rant 1 - The Make-A-Fucking-Effort Rant

Godsdammit, people, when you *see* a person smiling and saying hello to you, and you're in a campground FILLED with SubGeniuses, MAYBE HE'S HONESTLY TRYING TO BE FRIENDLY! Maybe he's HAPPY TO BE THERE, even if he's still filled with a RAGING KNIFE-EDGED STORM OF DISAPPOINTMENT that the world didn't end, and he's GLAD TO FUCKING SEE YOU TOO!

ALL WEEKEND LONG I said hello to everybody I met, and most of the time I got a strange look followed by a halfassed "Hi" or just an indistinct "Hmm-mmm." I *realize* that I am not Sister Decadence or somebody that *everybody* would naturally be glad to see, but most of the time I was fairly clean and as presentable as I get. Yes, I *was* on the make all weekend (more about that below) but I don't think I was so *obvious* about it as to warrant no response to my by-Dobbs hearty GREETINGS! I could *tell* which campsites were Pagans and which were SubGeniuses, because when I said "Good Morning" to the Pagans in my sincerest voice, the PAGANS, without fail, said "Good Morning!" BACK TO ME! In the same maybe-I-even-mean-I-hope-you-are-having-a-good-morning tone! If you said hello back, and meant it, and maybe even stopped for a little chat if you were in the mood, then I am not talking about you, and I am *specifically* not talking about Sister Sara or Reverend Evangela, but the truth is, I COULD usually spot the SubGeniuses by their pansy responses.

No, the world DIDN'T end, and we DIDN'T get those OverMan powers again, and we DIDN'T get the Pleasure Saucers. It hurts me TOO, okay? After a minute or two, when the hope that the Timekeeper was just still drunk and a little off his count had faded, and I realized that I WOULD have to come into this fucking place this morning after all, I *would* gladly have killed you all but to take the damned EDGE off the pain, if I thought it would help. But I knew it WOULDN'T. So I tried my best to enjoy life ANYWAY since I knew the Con's world was waiting gleefully for my return. It wouldn't have killed you to do the SAME. And even if it would have, wouldn't it have been WORTH it? Wouldn't you have gladly sacrificed yourself in exchange for ENJOYING your last few days surrounded by an incredibly large percentage of the population of Earth who are actually WORTH spending your last few days with?

I didn't think so. To Hell with you, then.

(End of Rant 1)

So anyway, I went back and set up the Solarium at my campsite. I had with me a solar stove on her maiden voyage and a photovoltaic array for making electricity from sunlight, as well as a few other thises and thats. I had decided to mix all this solar technology with my other true love - charity - and thus was born "St. Marc's Solarium and Home for Wayward Girls." Those of you who got cards, or BOTHERED to visit the site, and who visit my website, there's nothing there about it yet. It will be posted - pictures and everything - as soon as I get a chance. My thanks to those of you who DID come by and express interest in the setup. I had a lot of fun with it as well as actually using it to run my stereo and my laptop (so I could dump pictures from my digicams.)

I did walk around a bit Friday (and most other days) looking for interesting things to photograph. I saw lots, but as I won't take a person's picture without their permission (unless they're on a stage or some other place where they should expect to be photographed, or they're drunk Pink chicks at Mardi Gras) I didn't take a lot of pictures of people. I know I looked like a tourist, but I don't care. I had a lot of fun with my cameras. Anybody who thinks they might be in one of them, or who wants to see them, can email me and I will send you a CD of the good ones as soon as I've had a chance to go over them.

I also went to the Belly Dancing demonstration, which only two or three other of you IDIOTS came to see. I personally can't dance. I have a little radio distress beacon that sends out the message, "Help, I'm white, and I can't get down!" But I love belly dancing and actually, for a male nonparticipant, know quite a bit about it. Mrs. Troutwaxer is an EXPERT, and a good teacher, as well. It gets even more impressive when you find out about all the Conspiracy's attempts to prevent her from doing it, including sending a Cosmic Legbreaker, but that's her story to tell. She gave Sister Decadence a lesson, who is a NATURAL. She did modestly admit to some prior dance training, but STILL. There were no actual flames - they were just practicing - but I'm fairly sure the stage floor started to smoulder. And you MISSED it, didn't you! Ha ha! *I* have PICTURES and EVERYTHING! Ha ha ha! And afterwards I got to fit her (Mrs. Troutwaxer) for a sirik! Ha ha ha ha! Deal with that, you sniveling worms!

Then, of course, it was time for Stang's Bachelor Party. That was fun, although the strippers mostly didn't (see below Rant 2.) At the last minute, because I *wasn't* afraid of looking like an idiot, I decided to give one of my handmade bondage collars to him for a present, but he didn't recognize it and so both of us made up what, in retrospect, were sort of stupid stories about what they were. He had the excuse that most of his brain is devoted to Church Lore or has been damaged by drugs or something. I'm not sure what mine was, but since I wasn't afraid of looking like an idiot, when I *did,* it was no big deal.

The concerts were AWESOME. Unfortunately, the sound guy was mostly deaf (and mostly drunk, I think, but that's just a theory) and the mixing was a little loud for my taste. (I had no problem making out the words of songs at my CAMPSITE.) Other than that, they were kick-ass. Sister Hellena Handbasket and her accompanying Saint in particular kicked SO much ass that ass had to be imported specifically for the PURPOSE of kicking. And their Dance Backup Squad was excellent except for the fact that I think I hurt my neck swivelling between them and the sexy Sister herself so much. Hellpope Huey proved himself a master of ranting both with the voice and with the synthesizer. And St. Andrew, in addition to his other OverMan powers, also has a lovely singing voice. Praise you all!

I also won a sort of impromptu (oh, like the rest of them were so organized) Bobbie of the Year award for Best Equipment Donation, after Stang found out I was the St. Marc who was an equipment donor and not some bookseller in Cleveland who owed the Church money. What I *can't* figure out was why he was AVOIDING me if he thought I owed the Church money. But after we got that straightened out it was laughs all around.

The calendar signing was fun to watch, especially when Jesus got in line. Did you ever notice that he's just a walking ironic photo-op? Pictures of him waiting in a line, washing dishes, coming out of the Porta-Potty - the mind boggles. Not that I ever did TAKE any such photos. Just saying. Several of the signing Sex Goddesses recognized me after asking my name, and Nickie Deathchick's thanks for one of my equipment donations and Mary Magdalen's not throwing anything at me were one of the high points of my trip. I won't bother complimenting the Calendar Girls individually, but offer only the praise that I was playing the old "If you could have only one..." game while I waited in line and COULDN'T DECIDE. I *did* pick out two for photo ops, but that was strictly on the basis that 1) Joy D'Veeve was camped next to me and 2) That top of Nickie's was SO cool.

I was "Bob"tized this year - as I said, it was my first X-Day, so I didn't want to miss THAT. There were only about fifteen of us, and only four Connieites. "Bob-"damn it, when I get naked for the first time in public, EVER, I expect some compensation! I expect to be distracted at this Holy Event by something worth looking at! And, in fact, I WAS, but still, the rest of you are spineless WIMPS! Even most of you who did brave the cold ducked out before the Sin Vortex was formed. (During that, by the way, I invented the phrase "working hard as a Preacher" to describle Stang leisurely floating in the water while the rest of us risked our extremities pushing.) And with that, and especially since I got the X-Day '98 tape and was able to compare that unBlessed event with XD4, I give you my second mini-rant:

Rant 2 - The UnCorruption of the Church Rant

(Pastor Pressure did a rant somewhat along these lines which is one reason I didn't stand up and do it. Also I was afraid I would be killed as I would have been a lot nastier about it had I done it at the time.)

People, let me first spell out a few things. Yes, I am married to my own Yeti Sex Goddess. I wasn't particularly shy about mentioning it, although I didn't bring it up without some reason. But this is a SUBGENIUS marriage. It was one long before we even found "Bob." (Yes, we. She is also Saved.) We wrote our own vows and there is SPECIFICALLY NO MENTION of that "forsaking all others" business. That was on purpose. "Married, Not Dead," in the immortal wisdom of the Bumper Sticker Gods. If I had had the opportunity to engage in some SexHurt, I would have been very pleased, and she would have been pleased for me.

I did the best I could without looking desperate. *I* thought I did a good job, I could just be FOOLING MYSELF, I don't know. Maybe in my simple friendly greetings (see above Rant 1) it WAS written on every pore, if not every SUBATOMIC PARTICLE, of my face, that I was on the make. But SO WHAT? I am a *SubGenius!* I REJECT the notion that there are times when it's NOT appropriate to be on the make! There are times when it's not appropriate to PUT the make on certain SPECIFIC PEOPLE, such as at their mothers' funerals, at least until the casket is lowered, but that's usually fairly easy to spot. And I was EXTREMELY egalitarian, in my own sexist way, in my making! ANY Connieite who had responded with even the SLIGHTEST INKLING of interest would have gotten an enthusiastic response. (I was on the extreme edge of the field that activated my Yeti Gene and while I'm fairly weird, I'm also extremely straight. That's life.)

I am not really ugly, I'm pretty clean, and my PRIMARY ENJOYMENT during sex, as any of you UberFemmes could have found out, is to see how hard I can blow HER mind. I have been known, as the song says, to FORGET TO COME. (Although, in all honesty, that's pretty rare.) Not to MENTION all the pretty toys I brought both for commercial and recreational purposes. I did sell some, it's true, and you take what you can get, but you don't have to be HAPPY about it, and I'm NOT!

But I didn't start this rant just to bitch about MY lack of Yeti Sex during XXXX-Day. I did want to do that, but I didn't do it JUST for that. There is more to this story, and a sad, sad story it is.

Children, let me tell you about a little experiment I did.

Every night I was at Brushwood, I took a turn through the campground after the gathering, if any, at the pavilion had broken up, but not much later. People were dispersed. I was walking quietly - which I am very good at. I was listening- which I am also very good at. Listening carefully. You can ask anybody who talked to me: I have extraordinary hearing. And do you know what I heard?

BUGS, that's what I heard! Also wind and rain!

What I didn't hear was SEX!

I didn't hear yetisyn celebrating their heritage! I heard exactly TWO sessions of indulgence during my nocturnal sojourns.

TWO!

That's IT!

That's ALL!

Now, statistically, I wasn't listening a lot of the time. I do know there were more than two incidences of sexual intercourse over the course of those five days. But, statistically, I expected to be at the *far* end of a LOT OF FUCKING BELL CURVES! A CAMPGROUND FULL OF SUBGENIUSES! "Clothing Optional!" 'Frop, booze, and Slack flowing like raw sewage in a back alley in Calcutta! And you people were just SITTING AROUND! You should have been RUBBING IN MY FACE the fact that *I* was walking around like some sort of sinister Kinseyite while you were WEARING DOWN YOUR BODY PARTS! Actually, there were a lot of body parts I saw that you SHOULD have been rubbing in my face to PREVENT me from doing that, but you DIDN'T, and you have only YOURSELVES to blame!

This is a *FLYING SAUCER DOOMSDAY SEX CULT,* children! The Flying Saucers are up to "Bob" to provide. The Doomsday is up to the Flying Saucers to provide. But the SEX is up to US! I think I had more sex ALONE IN MY TENT than most of you did! Including the ones who are much more attractive than *I* am! That's PATHETIC! *WE* are pathetic! Yes, we need more women. There's no QUESTION about that. (The Pagans brought some extras, in case none of you NOTICED!) But even with the imbalance, if just the ones of you who ARRIVED in pairs (or other higher-order groupings) had been doing your fucking DUTY, literally, don't forget where SubGeniuses COME FROM, I would have had to wear HEARING PROTECTORS when I did my little walkabouts!

Now you all need to decide whether you decided to join this cult to walk around with self-congratulatory grins on your faces and marvel at Stang's collection of Fifties clip art, or to GET LAID! And I am INCLUDING you females in this! In for $30, in for your SEX ORGANS!

"Oh, I can't ask her, that would make me a letch! Scum, that's what I'd be!
An insensitive boor!"

"Oh, but I can't just ask him, then I'll be a SLUT(1)!"

"Oh, but I just MET him, and I'm not DRUNK, I need a RELATIONSHIP first! Or I'll be a SLUT!"

That's PINK talk!

Worse yet, that's CONSPIRACY talk!

That's thousands of years of Patriarchy run by Patriarchs who were SEXUAL PARANOIDS and/or IMPOTENT! As opposed to OUR kind, who are just THOUGHTLESS! Women have to REPRESS, men have to talk big and belch but WIMP OUT when it comes to the actual INITIATION!

***FUCK THAT!!!***

THINK, people, THINK! You reject their ADVERTISING, you reject their DRESS CODE, you reject their HAIR NAZIS, you reject their DRUG CZAR, but when it comes to sex, when it comes to something IMPORTANT, most of you are as PINK INSIDE as Phyllis Schafly is on the OUTSIDE!

IF THEY LOSE CONTROL OF SEX, THEY LOSE IT ***ALL***!

Angelina Jolie smooching on her brother on television may SEEM like a good start, but all it REALLY does is enable the Pinks to titter nervously and have it CONFIRMED for them that only rich, attractive people are allowed to be IMMORAL, and even then only for the purposes of reinforcing the fucking PRUDE CODES on the REST of us! If we weirdos, we losers, we SUBGENIUSES start ENJOYING life, start using our wabbly bits for the purpose that JHVH-1 and "Ba'ab" INTENDED, their whole house of cards will FALL! People who are getting laid regularly AND WELL don't fight in WARS! People who are getting laid regularly AND WELL don't go around being FUN POLICE! People who are getting laid regularly AND WELL don't take other people telling them how they can and can't act SERIOUSLY!

People who are getting laid regularly AND WELL and who don't feel GUILTY about it are fucking BULLETPROOF!

Well, okay, not proof against actual BULLETS. But you see my point. Take away that guilt, that feeling that you're a Bad Boy, a Naughty Girl, and that you probably deserve to be punished for SOMETHING, and what do they HAVE on you? NOTHING! What can they DO to you? THROW YOU IN JAIL, THAT'S WHAT! But they can't DO that without ADMITTING that keeping you from ENJOYING yourself was their game all along. And if they do that, then the Pinks will rise up, because even THEY need that bullshit about it being for their own GOOD to swallow the Conspiracy's lies. We CAN beat them at their own game! We CAN pull OUR wool over THEIR eyes! And there's NOTHING they can do about it!

In the words of Former High Epopt Baron "Bob" Munschausen, "You poor,
deluded FOOLS!"

ARISE, and take it BACK from them! Sex, and I mean SEXHURT, Yeti Sex, not necessarily even regular ol' "Pole in the Hole," possibly not even something you have to UNDRESS or even get out of your respective CARS for, is not something you have to do in the dark, with somebody you have a Serious Relationship with, after you're sure it's OK, and even then feel GUILTY about. It CAN be all that stuff, and there's nothing wrong with that. But it can also be a way to see how well you like somebody in the *first place.* It can be an *anti-depressant* (instead of now, when all too often it's a *pro-depressant.*) It can be something to do when you're *bored.* It can be *anything you want,* but you have to WANT in the first place!

Sure, I may have no right to talk. I didn't actually just lose patience and start asking UberFemmes straight up if they were up for a little recreation. (Partially because I *do* get laid fairly regularly and well. I ate yesterday and I will eat tomorrow: that doesn't mean I'm not hungry TODAY.) I may not be much better than you. But I'm MAD about it, and that's what counts. And I am WILLING to admit the error of my ways. I will REPENT! I can't quit my job because I have people to feed. But I WILL Slack Off! And next year, by Dobbs, I will wear a big fucking BUTTON that says, "Ask and you'll probably get laid!" If you ask ME, and I'm not actively DOING something, you WILL get laid! And even then, if you'll just WAIT a minute, even THAT will not be a problem. Praise "Bob!" Hail "Connie!" Fuck the Conspiracy, and BADLY! Fuck the SubGeniuses, and WELL!

(Note 1: Read the book "The Ethical Slut" and you will find out that being a slut has nothing to do one way OR the other with being a good or bad person.)

(End of Rant 2)

So, anyway, I went to bed Saturday night after the concerts and various observations, feeling pretty beat. Sunday, I awoke to the dampest I have ever been without actually being IMMERSED in water. Usually, when you want to leave camp in the morning, you sort of compromise between getting away as early as you can, and waiting for the sun to dry out your gear a bit. There was NO question of that happening, so as yet ANOTHER gesture of generousity, I packed up my soaking-wet kit. (This caused the sun to start burning off the clouds in defiance of all meteorological possibility, but did I get ONE bit of thanks? I didn't hold my breath.) I had told Temujin on WEDNESDAY that I wanted to leave by 11, so naturally I went to wake him up at 9, which I figured would give him time to say goodbye to his admirers and pack up. So I woke him up at 9.

Then Modemac (praise Modemac, by the way, and Jesus and everybody else who worked so hard and made it look so easy) and I went and woke him up at 10.

Then I went and woke him up at 10:30.

After having his tent beaten on by a stick and being threatened with being duct-taped to the car roof, the last one took and up he got. While I was waiting for him to pack, I got drafted into traffic duty by a Pagan lady, but I got even with her by preaching at her for ten minutes. Then we were off. If any of you were upset because he didn't say goodbye, you can blame me. (Even though he DID oversleep. Twice.) The return journey was without much incident other than several closed travel plazas and one last Temujin-induced missed turn. After he and his delocalizing field were safely in the hands of Greyhound, I got home, filled the rental car EXACTLY to the point on the gas gauge where I picked it up, and began unpacking. Concern for your mental well-being prohibits my disclosing any details of that sordid process. Now I'm here wallowing in the Con as usual... and waiting for next time.

Slack to you all, and I'll see you next year, or on the Saucers, whichever
comes first!

St. Marc

Quantum Mechanics: The Dream that Stuffs are made of.

http://www.templeoferis.org ----------------------------------------------------------------------

Subject: Re: (Long) An XXXX-Day Report. (Tired of 'em yet? Also rants.) From: Server Thirteen <c-bee1@staff.uiuc.edu> Newsgroups: alt.slack Date: Mon, Jul 9, 2001 11:53 PM Message-ID: <3B4A7DB6.F4B3C327@staff.uiuc.edu>

"St. Marc the Perpetually Amused" wrote:

While in many ways I'm quite cheerfully amoral (for instance, I will eat the last piece of pie or drink the last pop without a twinge) I don't like to try to break up an attempt. It's a social contract thing. I don't like it done to me, so I don't do it. Maybe there's a good way to say, "Hey, if you're just being friendly, I'd like to be friendly too, and maybe get real friendly, but if you're in the first steps of the mating dance, I'll just retreat gracefully."

Maybe I could even just SAY that. But a lot of the time people might not know the answer, and they might feel awkward about that. I'll work on it.

Usually a few minutes watching body language from afar does it - if not, I just raise shields, move in and say, "so how *you* lovebirds doin'?". And watch and listen. Instantly identifiable as a query along your lines, but easily followed up by all parties. Usually it's denials all around, but of what sort? It's amazing the crap you think up once you're almost too old to benefit. Comes from being highly motivated I guess...

This blows your cover though, at which time one must pretty much, er, evacuate or leave the evacuation chamber, as they say. Which brings me to the corollary, "maybe later = maybe never". ----------------------------------------------------------------------

Subject: Re: (Long) An XXXX-Day Report. (Tired of 'em yet? Also rants.) From: md_archangel@hotmail.com (mykal d'archangel)

On 9 Jul 2001 13:33:29 -0700, disciple@templeoferis.org (St. Marc The Perpetually Amused) wrote:

Rant 1 - The Make-A-Fucking-Effort Rant

Godsdammit, people, when you *see* a person smiling and saying hello to you, and you're in a campground FILLED with SubGeniuses, MAYBE HE'S HONESTLY TRYING TO BE FRIENDLY! Maybe he's HAPPY TO BE THERE, even if he's still filled with a RAGING KNIFE-EDGED STORM OF DISAPPOINTMENT that the world didn't end, and he's GLAD TO FUCKING SEE YOU TOO!

If people talk to me and I don't know them, it's usually because they either want something from me (and I'm selfish) or they're pagans. Or SubGenii... but I'm not sure which is worse.

What I didn't hear was SEX!

I didn't hear yetisyn celebrating their heritage! I heard exactly TWO sessions of indulgence during my nocturnal sojourns.

If you are overheard having sex at X-Day, chances are, someone will ask to join in. I suppose it's cool that they *ask* but some couples might not be so lucky - with the hormones set on "fuck" - the yeti can sometimes loose control and blunder into coupled tents blindly. It's a bad situation.

And even still - to do it in the tents would be how the Pinks do it. More than likely, much of the sex took place out in the deep woods or in some Amish barn somewhere. Or even still - it probably happened in YOUR tent while you were out on your experiment.

Our own compound were more of a group of "morning jerkers" if you get my meaning. As soon as light broke the eastern horizon, you could hear the frantic rustling of canvas and tearing of paper towels. Perhaps you just need to adjust your schedule?

st m d'a

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