a) Snuggling with tinyjo.
b) Wistfully watching the pretty lady strangling a baddy with her thighs while dressed as a french maid, and wondering if there were jobs in terrorism which were naughty enough for that sort of thing to be an occupational benefit/hazard but that didn't involve hurting people or politics.
c) Using the internet to read governmental regulations on the water pressure that an abattoir should use to wash a cow's brain out though its stun hole.
If you guessed c, I feel somewhat offended. Though you are, of course, correct.
Also, if you'd not previously come across the phrase 'stun hole' before and are wishing that your state of happy ignorance had not been irrevocably ended, sorry. I can empathise, having felt much the same very recently. I guess we both have the internet to blame.
And why was I subjecting myself (and now, at one step removed, you) to this (dry, yet queasily moist) reading matter when I had either or both of the above-mentioned alternatives available?
a) I succumbed to a sudden ill-considered urge to type obliquely distressing phrases into Google.
b) I am a pervert.
c) I was researching an article I was writing for a Classics magazine, at the request of the all-too-aptly-named-under-the-circumstan
Hah! Double-bluff (just like in Alias)! It was c again!
If you had hitherto believed that there was no intersection between mechanically recovered meat slurry and Ovid's Metamorphoses, you'll have to buy the magazine (once it's out) or look like a fool in front of all your cool classicist friends. (Speaking of cool classicist friends, if you are one such (or even if you aren't) and you fancy writing something for Iris, I'm sure iruineverything would love to hear from you...)