D and I drifted over to Omaha on Sunday. Sparse crowds at big-ass outdoor mall, though things were hoppin' at the . . . Apple Store. Can I call the 30 inch display cinemascope? Because I want to. All the Macs had the little Apple mouses attached to them. OK. Leave wherever you are and head to one of these stores. When you get back, I have a question for you.
I'll wait.
OK, good. Now, those little . . . bits on top of the mice. Nipple? Clitoris? It's soft, delightful, and responds to rubbing. Is it only me?
On to other topics. Buried in an otherwise lovely PhD Comix, Cham makes the comment that he's a "fake doctor" because he's not in medicine (I think he's an engineering PhD). How many times must we go over this? The humanities started the doctorate. Medicine, in trying to shake off the stigma of the traditional "barber/surgeon," adopted the "doctor" title to give themselves some modicum of respect. If you've gotten a doctorate, you're a fucking doctor. Own the degree, damnit. They don't just hand these things out like puppies at a shelter.
Well, except for those online gits. But we'll get to that later.
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