Friend: Hey Jay, a friend found a replica of the USMC officer's sword she wants to use for belly dancing purposes, but doesn't want to offend any Marines. What do you think?
Me: How do you think Karamanli had it presented to Lt. O'Bannon in the first place?
Friend: No shit?
Me: No idea. But I wouldn't put it past him. Hell, the story would make a nice routine in and of itself.
Friend: So she's good to go?
Me: There's always a whiner somewhere, but everyone I care to drink with would probably get a kick out of it. Rah.

Don't get me wrong, I love writing the books and stories (and yes I'm still working on them). But I miss talking about the world in general. Bits that fascinated or frustrated me. I always liked picking them up and mentally reverse-engineering how they got there.
I lost all enthusiasm for it, really.
Because anything I want to talk about, I can guarantee you that
one, the vast majority reading this have already formed their opinion, and
two, the vast majority of those are ready to throw hands about it.
Or at least throw shade, mount high horses, and generally be a petty asshole in the name of being right and I can.
Or, if I'm going to be charitable, in honest frustration at trying their best when a vast swath of other people in the world are being shits about it.
It's like dropping a gauntlet in an ice cream shop full of drunken, shirtless, hard dicked college boy gym rats.
It doesn't matter if I drop it on accident, on purpose, or out of a sincere desire to bounce ideas off of someone: There's going to be a mess, I'll be going to a lot of honest effort to not permanently cripple people who won't be extending similar courtesies, and I won't get to enjoy my ice cream.
Namoscarte: the grouch in me recognizes the grouch in you. Or some such shit.