by Damon Martin



[Above: Anthrax – “Fight 'Em 'Til You Can't” from Worship Music]

On September 13, Anthrax will return with a new studio album Worship Music, the band's first release of new material in 8 years. While it may seem like the band has been away for a few years, that couldn't be further from the truth.

Constant touring as well as some mega shows where Anthrax co-headlined along with Metallica, Megadeth and Slayer, means the band has been busy and have never stopped playing music. The new album however welcomes back original vocalist Joey Belladonna, who makes his first appearance on an Anthrax studio album since the 1990 album Persistence of Time.

I caught up with the man most responsible for Anthrax over all these years, Scott Ian, for a phone to preview the new record and to talk about everything that led into its creation.


[Above L-R, back row: Frank Bello, Scott Ian, Joey Belladonna, front row: Rob Caggiano, Charlie Benante. Photo: Matthew Rodgers.]

Damon Martin: Let's start with at the beginning; what a lot of people will be talking about with this new record is that Joey Belladonna is back on vocals. How did that all come about and what's it been like having him back full time?

Scott Ian: I guess it goes back to whenever we found out about The Big 4 shows. When we first started hearing rumors of that happening, I think that was kind of the moment to get Joey back in the band. Because we felt like he was the guy that should represent this band on those shows cause he was the guy back then, and these Big 4 shows certainly were going to be a celebration of all that. It just seemed to make sense and that's what pretty much got the ball rolling…It was literally like 'we want to do this, we want to move forward, we want to make a record with you, let's do it.' That's pretty much what happened.

DM: It's been 8 years since Anthrax had an album release....at this stage of the game for you guys, is it about making sure you're putting together the best possible music so you just do it when the time is right, or had you planned to take a hiatus between records?

SI: It wasn't time off at all. I think that's a misconception People can see where I've been for the last 8 years. We put out a record in 2004, We've Come For You All, we toured that for a year and a half. We jumped right into the reunion tour with Joey and Danny, and that ended at the end of 2006, and the beginning of 2007 is when we actually started writing Worship Music –– so there really was no time off. I don't understand why people think we've just been gone for 8 years.

DM: So you started writing the new music in 2007, what's the construction process been for building this new album?

SI: When it first started it was just Charlie and I actually together, there really wasn't a band at that point. Not that we had broken up, but we had finished the reunion tour in like October ‘06 and we took a break for the rest of the year. We hadn't stopped in 5 years, so we took like 2 months off and then I went to Chicago to meet with Charlie in 2007 with songs with really no plan. We didn't have a record deal staked, we didn't really know anything. We just knew we had some ideas and let's see how this starts to turn out.

We wrote this record from that point and even once the band was back together and even through having Dan Nelson in as the singer for 5 minutes, and him being gone and now Joey being back, the record was written pretty much the same way every Anthrax record in our history was written.

One major difference recording this record was once Joey was back in we basically gave Joey the keys to the kingdom and said, “Look dude, we want you on this record, we want your voice, we want your choices, we want your ideas.” He did all the vocals, just him and the producer Jay Ruston. The two of them in the studio without us hanging over their shoulders telling him what to do, and I think you really hear it in Joey's performance.

DM: In so much past Anthrax work you guys have had themes and references to other stories. Like “Among the Living” with Stephen King's The Stand and “Misery Loves Company” from King's Misery. Is there something that influenced the new album?

SI: I'm sure there's stuff like that all over the record. I mean off the top of my head the song “Fight Until You Can't” the actual title is a nod to Battlestar Gallactica, although the song has nothing to do with Battlestar Gallactica, but there's where the title came from. The song's about zombies, or killing zombies. Anything I'm reading or seeing or doing is going to show up lyrically somehow. Anything I'm that currently obsessed with is going to show up somehow on the record.

DM: The first single “Fight Em' Till You Can't” has an unmistakable zombie theme around it. What zombie movies, comics or whatever have you read or watched over the years that we could see in this song?

SI: I'm a huge fan of the comic The Walking Dead, that's probably my favorite. I love the TV show as well. Obviously a big fan of both Dawn of the Dead movies, the original and the remake, I think those were done great. I'm just a fan of the genre. I'll see the worst, just shittiest B and C level zombie movies, just because I might find 30 seconds of it entertaining. I love Zombie Survival Guide and World War Z from Max Brooks, I think those books are awesome. I'm just a really big fan of the genre.

DM: Anthrax is one of very few bands that have remained relevant and still popular in so many different eras of music. You guys are now celebrating your 30th anniversary as a band, what do you believe has been the biggest factor in fans still following you from your first record to new fans following you today?

SI: Other than the obvious of because we rule, I just think there's an honesty and there's a responsibility to our audience, and there's a loyalty that goes back and forth between us and the people. Not just Anthrax fans, but I just think metal fans in general. I think that's what's been able to maintain us for 30 years now. I think people really know, they have an expectation with us and we not only fill those expectations most of the time, but we end up exceeding the expectations.

Like when you go to the store and you buy this thing you like to eat, when you open that package it's going to taste the way you expect it to taste. You'd be really upset if you opened that package one day and it tasted like shit. That's pretty much where the responsibility comes in. We love what we do, we love playing this kind of music, we're fans of this kind of music and I think we as Anthrax have a responsibility to metal in general.

DM: Anthrax has always been a band that's had a certain chemistry with their fans, and from the early days till now where you really seem to relate with them through the internet, you've grown that relationship over the years. Can you talk to us about that?

SI: It's always been of the utmost importance to have that relationship. One of the good things about the internet, and how a band can use the internet, is to even make that relationship closer by really getting rid of the middle man. Obviously, there's a lot of problems with the internet and music, but being able to interact directly with your fans, for me, has been an amazing thing over the last 10 years. I'm on Twitter all the time, I'm on there answering people's questions all the time.

When I was a kid growing up and being a fan of the bands I was a fan of, there was no way in a million years you could like somehow send a question to Gene Simmons and you were going to get an answer to it immediately. Someone can ask me a question on Twitter and I can respond to that, that must feel amazing as a fan of somebody to go, “Wow, that guy just took the time out of his day to answer my question” and I think that's super important to stay on top of that. To ignore that tool would be a disservice to your fans.

For more information on Anthrax and Worship Music visit Anthrax.com, and follow @Anthrax and @Scott_Ian on Twitter.

Related Posts:
SG Interview: Scott Ian (Anthrax) and Matt Mogk (Zombie Research Society) – Planning for the Apocalypse
Scott Ian’s Got Several Situations Going On
From The Archives: Pearl Aday and Scott Ian of Pearl
Scott Ian's SG Food Coma Columns

by SG's Team Agony feat. Friskey and Tita

Let us answer life's questions - because great advice is even better when it comes from SuicideGirls.


[Friskey in Dragon Lady]

Q: I wrecked my motorcycle almost 6 years ago, and it has left me paralyzed and in a wheelchair. I haven't had a relationship since. I have always been a bit shy, but now I feel self-conscious about my "situation". I feel like people look at me as though I am helpless. And its hard to find a girl who would rather ask me for my phone number than ask me if they can hold open a door for me. Most people see a person in a chair and their first thought usually isn't "Oooh, I want some of that!" I'm pretty likable guy...once you get past the fact that I'm in a chair. How would you suggest that I go about getting women to want to date me? In all honesty, what would it take for you to date a person who was paralyzed?

A: What it would take for me to date a man in a wheelchair, is basically the same thing it would take for me to date any man – able-bodied or not. Sweetness, charm and a bit of flirtation.

Given your predicament you might have to do a bit more approaching then you used to, so be active in your quest. Working on your shyness and self confidence is the first step. Feeling good about yourself and confident about who you are is the best kind of sexiness there is.

Depending on the extent of your injuries, joining a sport could help. And there are lots of choices for wheelchair sports, like basketball and sailing to name a few. Enroll yourself in an art class or an acting class. These are all great ways to self explore, express and gain confidence. And they offer great social aspects as well!

Instead of focusing on dating, how about developing relationships on a deeper level first? Connecting with people online is a really great way to actually do that. This way your "situation" won't be such a distraction and when it comes time for you to meet in person, you’ll both will be long over it.

There's lots of online communities, including our own, where you can converse with people who share similar interests to you. Join the forums and groups. You will find like-minded folks who embrace differences.

SG’s mission is to redefine beauty, that includes you too. We also have a group specifically for people with disabilities. Other sites to check out are: DisabledDesires.com a dating site which connects disabled and able bodied people. Disaboom.com is another excellent site for information and resources. They have an amazing range of info that includes sports, dating and jobs.

I can't even imagine how hard life has been since the accident. But try to have fun with this new approach. Once you make a conscious effort to embrace change within yourself, you will start to notice a change in the way people treat you and the quality of the relationships you form.

Good luck!

Friskey
Xo

***


[Tita in West Coast]

Q: I’ve been with this guy for two years. We are now in a long distance relationship, but I’m at the point where I don’t know if we are still together. I get a call or a text message every couple of weeks. He’s 4 hours away from me. I was supposed to go with him, but he wanted me to leave my job and my family. He now wants to move closer, but has to come here to get stuff I’m keeping for him. Do I hold on to him or go my own way and see what else is out there?

A: First things first. Do you wish you heard from him more? If so, it's perfectly acceptable for you to ask for what you want and deserve. At this point you don't seem to be getting either. Additionally, only hearing from your mate every couple of weeks, sometimes only in text form, is not enough to sustain a relationship. People in long distance relationships have to work twice as hard to nurture their bond, and keep the fire burning.

How often do you contact him? Do you feel able to text or call him as you wish? If you are trying to contact him and your attempts are going unheard, it is a good indication that things are winding down.

Remember those early days of the relationship when you couldn't wait to hear from each other? Remember when you would get butterflies just thinking of him? Remember when you wondered what the other person was doing and when you would get to see each other again? What happened to those days?

No one said long distance is easy. There is want, and need, and day to day things that you can't share with each other. You can't kiss or touch, and it literally hurts to miss someone like that. However, you can still be invested in each other’s lives.

This is 2011. This is the time of tablets and computers, FaceBook and FaceTime, smart phones and smarter users! My grandparents were separated by war for 5 years, but were still as in love and connected via letters and telegrams, as they were during their courtship. Long distance or long term, the spark should never go out. Not on your end and not on his.

If you can remedy the current state of your communication, there may be hope for you. If not, I wouldn't wait for him to move closer. If the draw towards each other is no longer enough to run home each night and race to the phone, it might already be too late.

Best wishes!

*Besos*

Tita

***

Got Problems? Let SuicideGirls’ team of Agony Aunts provide solutions. Email questions to: gotproblems@suicidegirls.com

by SnakePlissken

Every day I’m surrounded by goddamn vegetables. You see, I’m in charge of quality control at a major West Coast vegetable processing plant. Sort of like my own personal hell really. Why, just yesterday I was overseeing the processing of around forty ton an hour of Oregon’s best field-fresh green beans for eight hours plus. That’s a fuck-ton (an arseload in metric for all you Euro folk) surrounding me every moment of the day; dripping their juices on me from weird white whirling belts, stinking up the place with goodness, and generally just being too goddamn healthy. Surrounding me also, is a sea of tiny immigrant laborers like underpaid Oompa-Loompas with no health plan making this bizzaro Willy Wonka- world factory hum and whistle. They are also heavily involved with the weird white whirling belts, but for the most part none have dripped their juices on me.

By the end of an eight-hour shift I need something shitty after being surrounded by a vegan’s wet dream for such an unbearable amount of time. Not only must it be shitty, but it must be greasy and hopefully processed beyond reproach and recognition. Luckily the strange smelling ultra-cheap grocery store was open at midnight and I found these little beauties tucked in between the frozen cow knuckles and the recently expired Banquet Salisbury Steaks.



I love things that taste like other things. Such as, oh, mayo that tastes like bacon. Or when something purple actually tastes like grape. In this case, these evil little nuggets are obviously Totino’s Pizza Rolls that taste like tacos. As a precaution I opted to consume the Imodium A-D before I even opened the bag.



Taco seasoning topping? What the fuck is that exactly? And how is it a topping when clearly it’s inside the roll? I prefer much less ambiguous terms when it comes to what I plan to ingest and poop within the next eight to twelve hours. Well, perhaps three in this case. Let’s see here; contains chicken and beef. Can’t be that bad if I get to eat two animals at once, right?



Oh sweet, mechanically separated meat! And as much as I’d like to imagine some sort of butcher-programmed version of Johnny 5 whipping me up some vittles while he screams “input,” I know it’s pretty much the other side of the equation. Fuck, just Google it. Even more horrifying than Steve Guttenberg’s career, eh?



So here they are splayed out in all their pale glory on my ancient pizza pan carefully seasoned from the fiery sacrifice of many a cheap, frozen pizza and store brand breaded chicken strip. Lightly oiled of course, as sacrifices can stick like a pissah. Ask Mola Ram about his Pam bill.



And here they are fresh from the oven on what is obviously my “company china,” reserved for visiting dignitaries, heads-of-state, the reanimated corpse of Johnny Cash, and you folks. Best served with a hot sauce of your choice; I prefer Secret Aardvark, but Tapatio will do in a pinch. Ranch is also an option if you’d like to make them unhealthier or just cover up the taste of bile in your throat.



These fuckers have a tendency to be boiling hot inside. Really goddamn hot. If we still had castles, guys on the walls in metal hats would be slicing these open and pouring the contents down on the legions below, savoring the pained wails of those sent screaming and screeching into the filthy moats for relief from the hellish torment that is piping hot mozzarella cheese substitute. And making it worse, they sort of ejaculate their meaty/cheesy sauce load onto you in a totally non-consenting manner when you nom them. Assholes, I hate skin grafts. Almost as much as skim milk, Casey Anthony, and that cheap store-brand sliced cheese that just sweats like Louie Anderson instead of melting on your microwave burrito.

So all in all these things have more fake shit in them then Heidi Montag. Yes, I’m counting Spencer Pratt. And they shoot through your system like the goddamn bullet train trying to make up for lost time. But they don’t taste as awful as I expected, just that generic sort of taco flavor that shitty food tastes like. Fake cheesy flavor? Check! Ambiguous meat flavor? Yessir! Weird taco-chili flavor? In spades! As such I recommend them best served with a fine American malt liquor and, if available, a strain of marijuana that has a name with both a letter and a number in it. If the aforementioned is unavailable, a rag soaked in nail polish remover or a can of Endust will also work in a pinch.


4/10 flushes

Related Posts
Plissken's Shit Food Review: The McRib
Plissken’s Shit Booze Review: Chelada
Plissken’s Shit Booze Review: Four Loko Uva

by Flux

Every week we ask the ladies and gentlemen of the social web to show us their finest ink in celebration of Tattoo Tuesday; our favorite submission from Twitter and Tumblr each wins a free 3 month membership to SuicideGirls.com.

Check this week's winners below.

From Twitter:



 

@1nine8three has a killer Tank Girl hula pinup. Tank Girl was an SG before SG existed.

From Tumblr:

 



themusicgetsyouhigh won with her SUPER CUTE baby bulldog!

If you haven't won this week, don't forget that you can enter each week until you do, so good luck next Tuesday, and happy inking!

A few things to remember:

• You have to be 18 to qualify.


• The tattoo has to be yours...that means permanently etched on your body.


• On Twitter we search for your entries by looking up the hashtag #TattooTuesday, so make sure you include it in your tweet!

Check out the Tattoo Tuesday winners of weeks past!

by Steven-Elliot Altman (SG Member: Steven_Altman)

Our Fiction Friday serialized novel, The Killswitch Review, is a futuristic murder mystery with killer sociopolitical commentary (and some of the best sex scenes we’ve ever read!). Written by bestselling sci-fi author Steven-Elliot Altman (with Diane DeKelb-Rittenhouse), it offers a terrifying postmodern vision in the tradition of Blade Runner and Brave New World...

By the year 2156, stem cell therapy has triumphed over aging and disease, extending the human lifespan indefinitely. But only for those who have achieved Conscientious Citizen Status. To combat overpopulation, the U.S. has sealed its borders, instituted compulsory contraception and a strict one child per couple policy for those who are permitted to breed, and made technology-assisted suicide readily available. But in a world where the old can remain vital forever, America’s youth have little hope of prosperity.

Jason Haggerty is an investigator for Black Buttons Inc, the government agency responsible for dispensing personal handheld Kevorkian devices, which afford the only legal form of suicide. An armed “Killswitch” monitors and records a citizen’s final moments — up to the point where they press a button and peacefully die. Post-press review agents — “button collectors” — are dispatched to review and judge these final recordings to rule out foul play.

When three teens stage an illegal public suicide, Haggerty suspects their deaths may have been murders. Now his race is on to uncover proof and prevent a nationwide epidemic of copycat suicides. Trouble is, for the first time in history, an entire generation might just decide they’re better off dead.

(Catch up with the previous installments of Killswitch – see parts ONE and TWO – then continue reading after the jump…)



[THE KILLSWITCH REVIEW – CHAPTER ONE, PART THREE]

[BLACK BUTTONS, INC. ]

[<- Next Chapter / Previous Chapter -> ]

“Haggerty, where ya’ been?” Tanner grumbled as they entered the viewing room, looking up from his breakfast. “Diddling your assistant? We had a double press over an hour ago.”

Elsa took a seat at the main switchboard and began downloading data, ignoring Tanner’s comment. Haggerty envied her ability to remain unmoved. After decades of ignoring it himself, he’d lately found Tanner’s habitual, juvenile crudeness unbearably irritating.

If Jason Haggerty tried to live up to the ideal of what a Conscientious Citizen should be, Mitch Tanner seemed intent on living down to the worst excesses associated with the status. Haggerty didn’t like Tanner, finding in him the extreme example of everything that was wrong with the majority of people who’d been CCs for more than two decades. He dosed too much in his off time, bitched too much when he was on, and had been campaigning to get Elsa into bed almost from the moment she’d become Haggerty’s assistant. He also went in for plastiche to the point of absurdity. Nobody went much past thirty without at least one visit to the best plastiche parlor he or she could afford, but Tanner chose to look like a JC rather than an adult, and acted like he was no older than he looked. He was ninety-two playing at twenty-two, and not very convincingly. But whatever Haggerty thought of Tanner’s perpetual adolescence, he had to work with the man, if only for the rest of the day.

A quick look at what Tanner was eating, greasy cubes of cloniform beef from the cafeteria dispensary, was enough to turn Haggerty’s stomach. Some of the grease had made a bid for freedom on its way to Tanner’s mouth, and got as far as his chest; two small dark spots marked his regulation grays, which the self-cleaning fabric would eliminate within half an hour. At the moment, though, they remained revoltingly visible.

“Do you have a clue how they prepare that stuff?” Haggerty asked, indicating the plate of food.

“Nope,” Tanner said. “As long as they’re doing the preparing and not me, I don’t really care.”

“There hasn’t been a live cow on the planet for half a century,” Haggerty pointed out. “What they call meat in that swill was culled from a one-hundredth generation clone, grown in a nutrient tank, packed in fake gelatin, flavored with synthetics, and then saniwaved” — which was the reason Haggerty, despite his love of rare steaks and thick burgers, reluctantly followed a vegetarian diet.

“Jeez, Haggerty,” Tanner said, forking up another mouthful of cloniform beef, “you sound like that Code Six guy who’s supposed to be holed up in the desert someplace. What’s his name? Cody?” Tanner scrunched up his face in concentration. “Bodey? Brody?”

“Tomas Yosif Svoboda,” Elsa supplied.

“Yeah, him,” Tanner said. “The back-to-nature nut.”

Code Six was one of the “blue codes,” police designations for threats to public health and safety that required the intervention of law enforcement officers, in this case designating that the person causing the disturbance appeared to be mentally defective and should be approached with caution. Haggerty dimly remembered headlines from decades ago regarding this man, Svoboda — a physicist who supposedly found God, denounced society and founded a cult of subversives called — what was it — the “Indivisibles?”

Tanner lifted his fork to his mouth and another scrap of breakfast hit his grays, making a third spot bloom on the cloth. Haggerty’s mouth tightened. Like so many others, Tanner didn’t look deeply into the nature of things, or care about anything unless the telemonitor warned him to. Perhaps Tanner’s failure to see below the surface was the reason he was merely a trace and dispatch operator, while Haggerty was a reviewer.

“Who and what?” Haggerty asked now, giving up speculation and turning to the job at hand.

He stepped into the pulpit and powered it on. Elsa’s fingers blurred in motion on the transparent board. Data streamed before Haggerty: holo-reps of both pushers, one male, one female, their lives in coded bytes listing below them.

“The dearly departed,” Tanner quipped. “His name was Gustavo Nyuga, one hundred and four, and she was Maria-Christina Rosenberg, one hundred and thirty.” Tanner smiled nastily. “Guess he liked older women.”

To the eye, they both seemed nubile, ageless. The remark was another of Tanner’s crudities: with people living well into their second century and no one looking much over thirty, age gaps between couples were commonplace. What did a few decades matter when everyone had so many of them to look forward to?

“He was a retired investment banker; she was his client, then boss, and then lover,” Tanner continued.

“When and where?” Haggerty asked, moving into the scaled continuous-update holo-rep of the cityscape.

“Oh-eight forty-two,” Tanner read aloud. “The Hodkins Building.” An amber pinlight fixed on a Southside compartment. Haggerty knew the building; he’d been assigned there on a number of occasions. “Looks like they pressed together. Very sweet,” Tanner said.

Who, what, when, and where duly answered, it was Haggerty’s job to find out the why and make sure it was clean. The how he knew all too well.

“Elsa, code us last rites and warrants and get me a thermos of coffee, won’t you?” he requested as he returned to the pulpit.

* * *

The Southside was thick with buildings, stalk after stalk of hypersteel, plasticine, and permaglass rising in square columns of sandy beige and yellow and tan, as if the desert had merely redistributed itself vertically rather then been swallowed whole by Man. In this desiccated garden, the Hodkins Building was the one notable bloom, an exclusive residence, a superior example of the Karin Li school of architecture that had flourished in the second half of the previous century. The building curved around itself, spiraling upward in a graceful sweep, its permaglass surface gradations of blue, from deepest navy at the base to light aqua that seemed to fade into the sky at the upper reaches. The inside was as elegant as the outside. They entered the tube and Elsa typed the pass code to allow them entry to the floor they needed. As they approached the compartment, Haggerty raised the flashing yellow police tape and they passed beneath. A uniformed officer halted them.

“Sorry folks, this is a press scene.”

The man had to be new on the job, not to distinguish between the gray suits of ordinary citizens and their regulation grays. Haggerty flashed his BBI identiplate and the officer, with an embarrassed apology, waved them on.

The door was ajar. Inside they found a well-dressed man seated calmly on an esplanade couch drinking a glass of blue liquid, maybe KeepAwake. Dark-haired, tanned, handsome in that bourgeois way that plastiche seemed to have made everyone’s birthright, he placed his drink on a coaster on a delicate antique end table and rose to greet them.

“The name’s Primrose,” he said. “Haggerty, right?”

Haggerty reached to shake hands. “You’re the adjuster? Never seen you before.” He’d also never seen anyone who’d chosen to keep his physical appearance at early middle age, though he knew the trend was gaining popularity with some businessmen. Primrose sported a frost of silver at each temple, stark and handsome against his dark hair, and the barest suggestion of lines around his eyes. His athletic build had a hint more solidity than the usual thirty-year-old look. Primrose’s look was distinguished, striking, sophisticated, intended to convey authority and experience — invaluable in an adjuster’s work, Haggerty thought.

“Just got assigned to NewVada,” Primrose said. “Transferred from New York.”

“You must be excited,” Haggerty said.

Primrose appeared confused.

“The game?” Haggerty added.

“Oh, the Superbowl. I won’t be there. I’m not much of a football fan,” Primrose said with a self-deprecating smile. “Don’t appreciate violent sports.”

Haggerty nodded. He had his own reason for not being there, beside the fact that tickets cost a small fortune and were near impossible to come by. He’d shared a love of football with his father, and had painfully let it go in his absence. Pressing the night before the big game would itself be an act of defiance for Haggerty. The fact that NewVada was finally a contender made it all the more ironic.

“Mind showing us the press site?” he asked Primrose.

“This way.”

Primrose’s swaggering walk suggested confidence, another asset in an adjuster. Who wanted to leave their final affairs in the hands of someone who didn’t have absolute faith in what he was doing? But, Haggerty thought, Primrose overdid it a bit. Like Tanner’s love affair with puberty, Primrose’s idealized middle-aged man rang false. From the clothes he wore and the jewelry he affected, Haggerty read Primrose to be not much older than the appearance he maintained, a youngster of fifty or so. Most likely he was an up-and-comer with great prospects but a minimal track record in his field, for which his appearance was calculated to compensate. He couldn’t blame Primrose for trying to gain advantage. Everyone started someplace.

He really is young, Elsa told Haggerty through their link. I can tell.

So can I, Haggerty sent back.

Primrose led them into the bedroom, a healthy-sized chamber nearly eight-by-eight, half the size of Haggerty’s but still indicative of wealth, as were the room’s furnishings. Before he’d pressed, Nyuga had indulged a taste — his or his lover’s — for antiques. Real wool carpets covered the floor; bureaus, end tables, and armoires of genuine wood stood against the walls. There were lighting fixtures on tall, elegant poles with fluted crystal glass bowls to deflect the illumination — torch lamps, Haggerty vaguely recalled, his mother had owned one, inherited from a great-aunt. The bed was not the standard platform but a carved fantasy designed to look like a Russian sleigh from at least three centuries back. The wood was natural, though Haggerty couldn’t say from what kind of tree, and against the dark frame a set of mauve silk bedclothes had been twisted by passion, not slumber, and heaped together like discarded flower petals. Drool-tinged blood was evident on one pillow, urine and fecal stains on the sheets — typical evidence of a press. One KV unit lay half hidden beneath a coverlet; Primrose pointed out the other one on the floor, under the bed.

Haggerty cleared his throat. “Do you have the DCs?”

“Right here,” Primrose said, holding up his com and hitting the recall codes. He withdrew the two strips of plasticine the com disgorged. “Do you have the warrants for the boxes?”

Haggerty nodded, following suit with his own com. The two men exchanged documents that were neatly encoded on plasticine cards. Haggerty scanned the death certificates, observing that they were affixed with the proper coroner’s seals, then asked, “How long since the bodies were removed?”

“Half an hour,” Primrose said. “They took all the necessary samples. The detective, I believe his name was —”

“Woyzeck, I know him,” Haggerty interrupted. “He called it a love-spawned clean double, pending our review.”

“His exact words,” Primrose said.

“Okay, let’s do it,” Haggerty said. “Record on.”

Elsa leaned against the bedroom door, casually smoothing blonde hair from her face and folding her arms. “Recording,” she said.

“Eulogic proceedings for Gustavo Nyuga and Maria-Christina Rosenberg. Jason P. Haggerty, representative for BBI, presiding.”

“Oliver Wendell Primrose, adjusting agent for the insurance firm of Cromwell and Sons, prepared to review,” Primrose added in a more officious tone.

Haggerty went to the bed, pulling on black duratex gloves. “Elsa,” he said, “please note: By the authority vested in me by legal warrant of the State of Nevada, I am taking possession of, and responsibility for, two KV black button units that are, to the best of my judgment, the property of BBI and assumed to be the devices of record assigned to the deceased.”

“So noted,” Elsa responded.

Haggerty picked the first unit off the bed and read out the serial number engraved on the casing, then got down on his knees, retrieved the second unit, and repeated the process.

“Serial numbers confirmed as those registered to the deceased,” Elsa said a few seconds later.

“Units appear fully intact and previously armed,” Haggerty continued. “Tabs popped clearly indicate that both buttons have been pressed.” He tipped the boxes up for Primrose to inspect.

Keeping a safe distance, Primrose eyed the tabs and called, “In my best judgment, I confirm that both buttons appear to have been pressed.”

Post-press, the units were, at least in theory, toxin-free, but Haggerty was careful as he handled them, anyway. BBI protocol required that he not put the theory to the test. He brought them over to Elsa. “Mind closing the curtains?” he said to Primrose, who located the console and dialed them shut.

Elsa stood motionless against the door, waiting for Haggerty to reach her. She gave him a look; he supposed she’d smelled the celtrex lacing the coffee on his breath. As he handed her the first unit, she unfastened the tab at the collar of her jumpsuit and pulled the zipper down to her waist in one smooth motion. Primrose watched with an avidity bordering on the salacious as she pressed her thumb hard against her sternum, snapping open her breastplate and exposing her ported upload center, then deftly inserted the unit.

“Analysis?” he asked.

Elsa was silent a full minute, then, “Serial numbers as previously confirmed. Residue on unit confirmed as a BBI toxin. Prints on unit confirmed as belonging to the registered owner. It is established that this is the device of record for Maria-Christina Rosenberg.”

“Play recording with full room projection,” Haggerty said. “Adjust for the light.”

Behind Elsa’s irises, twin beacons whirred into motion, projecting onto Haggerty’s face. He stepped aside. A duplicate holo-image overlaid the room, with the notable inclusion of Gustavo Nyuga and Maria-Christina Rosenberg nude in bed, KV units in hand. Hers was armed; tears wet her cheeks as the soft male electronic voice announced, “Recording,” and went on to give the date and time. The unit cast a violet light across the couple’s bare skins.

Primrose stood mesmerized, as if this were his first post-press viewing. Haggerty had encountered that sort of prurience before. Some adjusters never got tired of the show; it was almost indecent. It seemed to Haggerty that the final moments of the deceased should be observed solemnly, with respect. He turned his attention back to the review.

Gustavo Nyuga took Maria-Christina in his arms, peering over her shoulder as he armed his unit. “Recording,” it droned, bathing the curve of her back in pale green light.

“Quickly, Gustavo, before I change my mind,” she wept. “I love you forever.”

“God, I love you too,” he said, and pressed. She moaned when she heard his unit pop. Then hers popped as well.

Her unit continued to record as they crumpled against each other onto the pillows, euphoria in their eyes. Their bodies trembled and gave a final spasm as their hearts seized simultaneously. Looking at them, Haggerty wondered if having someone to press with made it better. Was there comfort in being so close to someone that the decision could be made, and acted upon, jointly?

Primrose stood by the bed, so near he looked comically like a participant in the scene, his hand to his mouth as though holding something back. Nausea? Excitement?

Haggerty didn’t want to know. “Judgment,” he called.

Primrose took a breath. “Cromwell and Sons declares the cases of Gustavo Nyuga and Maria-Christina Rosenberg to be legitimate presses, their actions apparently the result of joint bankruptcy and inability to secure future income. As neither Mr. Nyuga nor Ms. Rosenberg has any living relatives or heirs, the settlement of their affairs will be posted to the State.” After, of course, Cromwell and Sons took their cut, Haggerty thought. Certainly there were enough antiques in the bedroom alone to cover the normal fees, dues, and charges such firms exacted for their services, before the client’s creditors and heirs — in this case, the State — got to wrangle over what was left.

Haggerty had listened to Primrose stoically. Properly speaking, they ought to have waited for the second review before signing off on both cases. “In the case of Maria-Christina Rosenberg, death by press judged clean,” Haggerty pronounced. “Stop projection.”

The couple vanished. Elsa removed the unit, and Haggerty took it from her, handing her Nyuga’s, sliding Rosenberg’s into a minthizine case for transport back to headquarters. Elsa had already run the analysis, confirming the second unit as Nyuga’s device of record, and begun uploading his final recording, when Primrose spoke.

“Don’t see any need to play the other recording,” he said, fetching his drink from the end table.

Elsa looked at Haggerty. I don’t understand why adjusters are always so impatient, Jason, she sent across their link. Shall I proceed?

Elsa was right: adjusters never wanted to hang around a press scene once the unit was reviewed. They preferred to have the formalities handled as expeditiously as possible so they could go about the business of securing assets, finalizing arrangements, and determining their percentages. A year ago, Haggerty would have ignored Primrose’s comment and told Elsa to proceed with the projection. Adjusters might not like the additional delays and attrition of assets that accompanied the exceedingly rare finding of a criminally manipulated press, but Haggerty had always been scrupulous in carrying out his duties. As a result, he found those exceedingly rare criminal manipulations a less conscientious reviewer would have missed.

But he was a different man today than he had been a year — a lifetime — before. Fewer and fewer manips had been found over the past few decades. These two clients certainly had reason to press and — unless Governor Benfield had suddenly acquired a passion for torch lamps — no heirs to benefit from hurrying them along their way. What was the point of looking further?

It’s all right, Elsa, Haggerty sent across their link. I think the first projection told us everything we need to know. Aloud, he said, “It’s clear what happened. Record epitaph: Regarding the case of Mr. Gustavo Nyuga, one-hundred-four, and Ms. Maria-Christina Rosenberg, one-hundred-thirty, consecutive presses observed and both judged clean. Eulogic proceedings convened on March eighth, Twenty-one-fifty-six, by BBI senior agent Jason P. Haggerty. Life insurance settlement to be placed in trust to the State.” Formalities taken care of, he gestured for Elsa to return the second unit. “Go ahead and open the curtains,” he told Primrose, and secured the second discharged unit in another minthizine case.

The other man dialed the curtains back open, rubbing his eyes as sunlight flooded the compartment. “Is that all?” he asked Haggerty, pulling out his com and flipping it open to record the BBI agent’s verdict in the appropriate files.

“Yes,” Haggerty said, concealing his distaste for Primrose’s cavalier attitude. “That will be all as far as BBI is concerned.”

Primrose closed the com again and put it away. “Nice working with you, Mr. Haggerty.” He extended his hand, realized Haggerty was still wearing the duratex gloves, and settled for a nod. “Have a good day.”

Primrose left the room.

Haggerty went into the bathroom and ordered the sink, “On, hot.” Elsa helped him out of the gloves, which she put in a minthizine biohazard bag, before they began sterilizing their hands as BBI protocol required once discharged units had been contained.

“Jason, I have a question,” she said, looking up from her cleaning.

He saw that she was addressing his reflection in the mirror, and found it odd. “What’s on your mind?” he said.

“The decision those two people made to press together. It was premeditated, wouldn’t you agree?”

Haggerty nodded.

“Please explain to me why two healthy people, in no apparent jeopardy, would decide that they have had enough of life at precisely the same time.”

Haggerty stopped scrubbing and looked at her reflection, perplexed. They’d worked together a long time, reviewed hundreds of double presses together. Why this question now? He thought about how to summarize, knowing that inevitably his answer would fall short of acceptable to her logic board. He knew Elsa was perpetually reprogramming herself, to better understand the nature of those she served, but this was a difficult query, perhaps important to her development. He selected his words carefully.

“Two people can grow together, share so much together, have such a commonality, that they begin to make decisions as one,” he explained, or hoped he did.

Elsa gazed into the mirror, unblinking. “So if the drive to press is based primarily in despair, I should assume they shared the exact same level of despair?”

Haggerty toweled his hands, aware he was not doing a very good job of explaining. “Sort of,” he said. “Let’s say they were committed to each other and circumstances led one of them to decide that pressing was the right choice. Even though the other may not have been suffering the same level of despair at that moment, the strength of their commitment, coupled with the fear of being separated from each other, the person who is the main reason and purpose for living, compounds the despair.” Haggerty scratched the back of his neck. “That could bring them to a decision to press together.”

“Despair by osmosis,” Elsa stated flatly.

“Something like that. Does this shed any light on the human condition for you?”

“I’m going to digest it,” she said, using one of the phrases Haggerty employed in rare moments of uncertainty — or, more usually, to mask defiance toward his superiors. “I’ll run it parallel against previous input and observe the variable shift.”

Haggerty smiled, ever astonished at her desire to learn, to understand. The bulk of androids produced these days were suited only for the most menial or dangerous work no human wanted to do. Intelligent, intuitive androids like Elsa were few and far between, too expensive to produce in quantity, the jobs they were suited for too badly needed by the burgeoning human population. Haggerty took the extra time and effort with her because she had, in many ways, been raised by him, a standard perk in his department long before the impact of androids in the workforce had become an issue with the unions. Her personality, distinctly machinelike and artificial when she’d arrived to replace the earlier model he’d been assigned, had evolved over time, largely in response to his influence. While she was, perhaps understandably, a little too protective of him and inclined to nag, he was happy to have had a hand in her development.

“You do that,” he said.

* * *

Excerpt from The Killswitch Review, published by Yard Dog Press. Copyright 2011 Steven-Elliot Altman.

Steven-Elliot Altman is a bestselling author, screenwriter, and videogame developer. He won multiple awards for his online role playing game, 9Dragons. His novels include Captain America is Dead, Zen in the Art of Slaying Vampires, Batman: Fear Itself, Batman: Infinite Mirror, The Killswitch Review, The Irregulars, and Deprivers. His writing has been compared to that of Stephen King, Dean Koontz, Michael Crichton and Philip K. Dick, and he has collaborated with world class writers such as Neil Gaiman, Michael Reaves, Harry Turtledove and Dr. Janet Asimov. He’s also the editor of the critically acclaimed anthology The Touch, and a contributor to Shadows Over Baker Street, a Hugo Award winning anthology of Sherlock Holmes meets H.P. Lovecraft stories.

Steven also bares ink on his body, and is bi, as in bi-coastal, between NYC and LA. He’s currently hard at work writing and directing his latest videogame Cursed Love, an online free to play gothic horror RPG from Dark Hermit Studios, set in Victorian London. Think Sherlock Holmes, Jack The Ripper and Dorian Gray mercilessly exploit the cast of Twilight. Friend Cursed Love (Official Closed Beta) on facebook and you can have fun playing out this tawdry, tragic romance with Steven while the game is being beta tested!

Diane DeKelb-Rittehouse spent several years in Manhattan as an actress before marrying her college sweetheart and returning to the Philadelphia area where she had been born. Diane first worked with Steven-Elliot Altman when they created the acclaimed, Publisher’s Weekly Starred-Review anthology The Touch: Epidemic of the Millennium, in which her story “Gifted” appeared. Diane has published a number of critically acclaimed short stories, most notably in the science fiction, murder, and horror genres. Her young adult fantasy novel, Fareie Rings: The Book of Forests, is now available in stores or online.

Interested in buying a printed copy of The Killswitch Review? Well, Steve’s publisher Yard Dog Press was kind enough to put up a special page where SuicideGirls can get a special discount and watch a sexy trailer. Just follow this link to KillswitchReview.com and click on the SG logo.

* * *

Related Posts:
Fiction Friday: The Killswitch Review – Chapter One
Fiction Friday: The Killswitch Review – Chapter One, Part Two

by Blogbot

SG / Artist Name: yOyO Suicide





Mission Statement: Sugar & Spice DIY kind of describes the person I am. I’ve always been drawn to cute and colorful things, but at the same time dark and creepy as well. So just like the name describes there’s lots of sweet sugary items residing in my shop but also items with a bit of edge and spice as well. And I’m all about the ‘do it yourself’ aspect of things. I hand make all the items and the entire shop is run solely by me!





Medium: Beads, buttons, fabric, ribbon, glitter, charms, paper craft, wood, and more! Pretty much anything I can get my hands on and create with.





Aesthetic: Bright colors, dark themes, and music related style. I grew up going to concerts and raves so I try to incorporate all the things that have influenced me over the years into my pieces. I’ve always been a big Kandi Kid and rave bracelets are the first items I opened my shop with. They’re still a huge feature in the store and the overall theme of my work. I also try to create little works of wearable art, original compositions on different kinds of charms and pendants.





Notable Achievements: I’ve gained a decent sized online following for my jewelry. It’s a great feeling to know that people out there like what you do and support you in your efforts.





Why We Should Care: I try hard to come up with items you can’t find anywhere else! Lots of my creations are unique and one of a kind.





I Want Me Some: Stop by SugarAndSpiceDIY.etsy.com for all your Creepy Cute jewelry needs. Or visit the Sugar & Spice DIY homepage to buy and check out some of the Sugar Junkies (ie. models who rock my jewels!).







***

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by Bob Suicide

Being the old man that I am, I remember gaming back when we used simple controllers with a limited amount of buttons, sat on our butts for days on end –– without a single save point in sight –– and I liked it. When DDR came out, I was suspicious of this "new" interactive format, and wholeheartedly believed it was part of some giant government conspiracy to get me off my couch. Not being particularly "rhythmically coordinated," the government's devious plot failed.

However, little did I know that this set a dangerous precedent, and that something far greater was looming on the horizon of interactive gaming: the Wii. I was actually working at GameStop when the Wii came out. Those were dangerous times on the front lines of the war of retailers vs. consumers. Many a man was lost, either trampled by the hordes of moms trying to bag "the ultimate Christmas gift" or nagged to death with the sonic onslaught of "is it in yet?"

But, after the dust settled and we finished mourning the loss of our beloved brethren, the Wii didn't really live up to the hype. Ok, I know that's not an entirely accurate statement to make considering the sales of the Wii and the ground it has made in expanding the casual gaming market. But, as a hardcore gamer, has the Wii ever really provided a satisfying gaming experience? Not really. Sure, Zelda was fun and the console lends itself well to rails shooters like Resident Evil. However, I have two Wiis and I can say with certainty that mine have been used as doorstops more than they have served as relevant gaming consoles.

Needless to say, when the PS3 Move was released it seemed like Sony had missed the marketing mark yet again, since their sad "EyeToy with a wand" failed to capture the hearts and minds of the consumer the way the Wii did. And I joyously snarked –– as any fanboy does –– at their lame attempts to regain relevancy.

So when the Kinect made its debut I sneered at the projections people were making. And I wasn't alone. Even Penny Arcade gods Mike Krahulik and Jerry Holkins scoffed at the idea of a motion-sensitive gaming experience that could galvanize the hardcore market.



Even upon playing with Kinect at E3 I was not converted. There was no amount of cute animals that I could pet that would keep me from insulting what I saw as a "glorified peripheral" that was sure to fade from gaming relevance as soon as it was released.

Surprisingly robust sales proved us curmudgeons wrong, but it still didn't make us like the motion-sensitive gaming genre. However the potential for the Kinect outside the gaming world was interesting. Wii and Kinect were fun at parties, and great for making fools of casual gamers, but the ability to pet ponies all day long never circumvented the desire to capture the flag or fragg 12-year olds online. It would take a powerful, adult title to replace those joys.

House of the Dead: Overkill almost did it for me. The Grindhouse-esque addition to the franchise that I knew and loved was a welcomed adult addition to the over-abundance of candy-coated titles available for the Wii. But at its core, the rails shooter wasn't enough of a "heavy hitter" to win me over. And, after I beat it, I quickly lost interest in my Wii once again...never to return.

However, Sega and the pre-Overkill team behind House of the Dead seems to be hitting the nail on the head with the upcoming survival horror game, Rise of Nightmares. I was able to preview the game myself at a recent screening event and I was surprised that I went home excited by my gaming experience. The gameplay is contextual and immersive. Taken off the rails, the player is able to freely navigate and interact with the environment, and the environment is filled with a host of horrific denizens. Rise of Nightmares is the first "adult" game for the Kinect, and while people often scoff at the over-abundance of blood, undead, and implements of destruction, I for one love the clear tongue-in-cheek homage to the slasher/torture horror genre.

So how does all of this come together? Well, upon playing the Rise of Nightmares demo, my heart grew an unprecedented three sizes that day.

In the middle of my Kinect-piphany, I was reminded of the joy I had playing Heavy Rain. It's titles like these that I hope and pray will revolutionize the gaming experience. Titles that find the perfect blend of engrossment and interaction (placing the gamer both in and amid the game and reality) to create a new and exciting gaming experience. However there’s all too few of these. After experiencing titles like Rise of Nightmares and Heavy Rain, I can see where other developers can take the hardcore gaming experience –– and the true immersion that could be had –– and I get excited.

Three months post-Heavy Rain, playing through my next interactive fiction purchase, Alan Wake, I was disappointed that my contextual interaction with the environment did not have the same resonance that Heavy Rain did. I was ruined for life. When I pressed "x" to grind some coffee for example, I was disappointed, since I felt that winding my analog joystick in a "grinding" motion would have immensely added to my gaming experience. But, sadly, Heavy Rain failed to influence the gaming market the way I expected/wanted it to.

I therefore hope Rise of Nightmares gets the recognition it deserves, that my excitement for this title is shared by others, and as a result my predictions regarding the game’s rightful place and subsequent effect on the gaming world come true. But given my track record, I may be grudgingly petting more Kinect puppies in my future than zombies. And that's a damn shame.

***

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by A.J. Focht

The thought of any remake is normally enough to make me cringe. When a cult classic like Evil Dead gets set for a reboot, my first reaction is to grab my torch and pitchfork. But with both Sam Raimi and Bruce Campbell involved in the project, it's hard not give it my support. Campbell recently commented on the movie, reassuring horror fans that they aren't just 'farting out a sequel.' He had this to say about the project and the new director:

A handful of new first looks popped up from the world of superheroes this last week. A steady stream of photos and videos of The Dark Knight Rises in production have been released. Most recent shots include more of Catwoman on the bike, and new Batman vehicles, possibly of the flying variety.

On the Marvel front, shots from the set of The Avengers show off the new Captain America costume. It has a slightly more modern feel than its ‘50s counter part, but I'm not sure how I feel about the helmet.



G.I. Joe 2 is moving forward and they have picked up some major names cast-wise. Dwayne Johnson, Adrianne Palicki, and Ray Stevenson are all signed on. To top it off, Bruce Willis is apparently in negotiations to play the original Joe. Given the smart casting choices, this one might turn out to be a quality action movie.

Recent plot descriptions from World War Z have revealed a very significant and sad change from the book to the movie. The book’s format is that of an 'oral history of the zombie war,’ a documentary of research conducted after the war between humans and zombies has already been waged. However, the movie will be told in a time-frame that's during the zombie wars. So instead of an epic tail of life post-zombie apocalypse, it looks like we're getting more of the same old zombie stuff we're already seeing.

Over in Cologne, Germany, video game publishers are prepping for GamesCom. There have already been some notable early press releases leading up to the event. EA kicked things off with several announcements, including one about Wrath of Heroes, a free-to-play PC Warhammer game. PlayStation kept the ball rolling with news of a price cut for the PS3. The price of the console will be reduced by $50, which means the lowest priced unit is now $259. Check back next week for more news from GamesCom.



Orgasmic news for nerds everywhere, it's coming...a Star Trek theme park is set to open 2014. You might have to make a trip to Jordan to visit this $1.5 billion geek's wet dream, but you know your inner Trekkie wants to. It is going to be the main attraction of the Red Sea Astrarium resort in Aqaba.

If the wait for a Star Trek theme park seems to long, maybe this will hold you over. Star Wars XXX: A Porn Parody is coming out next month, and actually looks pretty funny - and stands a good chance of being better than any of the prequels!

by Blogbot

A column which highlights Suicide Girls and their fave groups.


[Eden in Eat My Dust]

This week, Eden Suicide tells us why the Tattoo Group has made its mark on her.

Members: 10,764 / Comments: 118,201

• WHY DO YOU LOVE IT?: I find really interesting to read the different reasons behind this life changing choice. Tattoos can tell you a lot about who wears them. And I love to see pictures of tattooed people!




• DISCUSSION TIP: Learn how to use the SG search button and how to use Google Image search to find reference material.


• BEST RANDOM QUOTE: “I have a camel... on my toe.”






• MOST HEATED DISCUSSION THREAD: "New Tattoos" - and "Tasteless Tattoos" is growing really quickly

.


• WHO'S WELCOME TO JOIN?: Everyone who loves tattoos, people with tattoos, tattoo artists, or are just tattoo curious.




***
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by Blogbot

What Suicide Girls are putting on - and taking off…

Regardless of the season, corsets are a cinch when it comes to sexy and sensual (un)dressing.


[Allura in Tempted]


[Noraly in Ivy and Chains]


[Taye in Pinup Fashion Magazine]


[Emi in Uncinched]


[Q in Gutter Geisha]


[Mimmi in Industrial]


[Avatarina in Beyond Your Mind]


[Irenella in Vintage Dreams]


[Lee in Cruella]


[Nicolai in In The Studio]


[Silvia in Cupcakes 101]


[Sweetie in Mademoiselle]


[Yin in Smoker]


[Mnislahi in Different Shades]


[Bradley in Sugar Kitty]


[Tarion in Swingers Club]

Check back for more Dirty Laundry and let SuicideGirls show you the best way to (un)dress.

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by Blogbot









Voltio
 the Bull Terrier


 (pictured with his mistress Pia Suicide)

• INTO: I love eat, take the sun and play with my toy "eigth," steal avocados from the fridge, and jump into bed. I also like to wear winter clothes.


• NOT INTO: I dont like when I have to get a bath and I don't like lemons. I'm also afraid of the broom, going to the vet, and the other dogs that live in my street.


• MAKES ME HAPPY: My mom, eating, jumping and sleeping. I also love it when I receive lots of love.


• MAKES ME SAD: Being alone at home and not going out for a walk.


• HOBBIES: Taking the sun, stealing avocados and eating them, and playing with the oranges that falls from the tree.


• 5 THINGS I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT: Love, water, food, bones, and my toy.


• VICES: Opening the fridge and stealing food.


• I SPEND MOST OF MY FREE TIME: Sleeping and sunbathing.

Get to know Voltio
's mistress, Pia Suicide, over at SuicideGirls.com.

by SG's Team Agony feat. Atlea and Setsuka

Let us answer life's questions - because great advice is even better when it comes from SuicideGirls.


[Atlea in Temptation Waits]

Q: So I have a little bit of a dilemma and I'm hoping you girls can help. For starters, I’m a 23-year old lesbian from New Jersey. I have never been in a healthy relationship. I was with a woman, we'll call her T, from May ‘09 to Jan ‘10. It wasn't exactly a healthy relationship, but I was in love with her. She treated me like shit. She cheated, lied, and was always out partying. I dealt with it because I didn't think I could do any better. After she left me we didn't talk for a while, but she always seemed to find a way back into my life, and me being me, I let her.

Last July I found myself in a wonderful healthy relationship, but everything was new to me. I was not used to someone treating me the way I treated them. We will can call her H. T decided she wanted to start talking to me again after months of not talking to me. Instead of seeing what I had right in front of me, I let T get in between me and H. When T came back in my life I was beyond confused. I realize now I should have just ignored her. After T started talking to me, my feelings for her came back and I started slowly pushing H away. I finally told H that I still had feelings for my ex T. I left the best thing that ever happened to me, H.

This August will be a year since I hurt H, and I have not given up trying to get her back. I have apologized to her so many times I have lost count. I realized I still love H and I would do anything to get her back. Problem is she barely talks to me. I know I hurt her, I know I was wrong, and there isn't a day that goes by I don't wish I could change that. She texted me about two weeks ago and said she was bartending at a new bar in my hometown and said she would like to see me. I went and the moment I saw her, my heart dropped. That was the true realization that I still love her. Ladies, please give me some advice. I would do anything for her...

A: Well for starters, congratulations on figuring out that T is no good for you. Whether she has changed or not, from the way she had been when you were together, it takes someone with a complete disregard for anyone else’s feelings to try and get between two people when they have a good thing going –– especially if that person is someone you had history with. It only further proves that that person is aware that they have an emotional hold on you.

This kind of toxic behavior, never works itself out in relationships. I mean sure, I have a few friends who are practically in the same situation as you've been, and it can go on like that for an entire lifetime if you let it, but it doesn't make it right. You owe it to yourself, and to everyone you will be with in the future, to be independent or you'll eventually drive yourself insane.

First step is admitting to yourself out loud and repeatedly that your brain knows that person is no good for you, even if the heart takes a while to follow. Until you're capable of fully letting go of someone who is pretty intrusive to your feelings (and your whole being) you won't be able to love someone else fully (read: properly). I find this is especially true if this T person is someone you're likely to see at parties or in your neighborhood or something.

Okay so that being out of the way, let's focus on H. You've been apologizing for a year. You seem to understand fully already that it's not going to be an easy task to get her to trust you. I think T may have played a part in that; it's funny how we tend to learn a lot from people who treat us badly. So now H decides that she wants to resolve the issue, she sends you a note because she'd like to see you. Obviously this doesn't necessarily mean that she has forgiven you, but she definitely wants to communicate, and that's always a step in the right direction.

You're going to have to work on the basic friendship level before you try to get back to the relationship level. At this point she is giving you a chance to be let in, so you have to take it slow and seriously. You have to show you mean it, and that you deeply care for her. If you've had an actual sit down conversation where you apologized for everything, took the time to hear her out, acknowledged how much pain she's felt because of your actions, and let her know you understand what she's been put through, then great. A million sorries don't matter if they're just thrown left and right. They also tend not to make much sense when they are backed up by excuses and reasons, so be sure to have that one conversation where you can apologize and just listen. Again I'm unsure as to whether this has been done already. If not, you need to do it.

Once that's past, then move on. You need to make her understand that you regret your decision, but you don't want a situation where you put yourself at the eternal mercy of H either. The relationship will never thrive if either of you can't put this past you, it would just keep eating at your relationship over time. She needs time to forgive you, that's understandable, but it can't drag forever, and you can't allow her in the future to keep bringing it up, it would be unfair to you both.

I think that once this is dealt with, you'll have a clean slate to start afresh with your relationship. Take time, and savor the funnest part. Get to know each other all over, fall in love with all the little things that made you like her in the first place, go on outings and such. Don't rush anything. If you really care for each other, things will fall into place. And if they don't end up being romantic, I think H would make an amazing addition to a friends list.

I know what you want with her is love and for her to be your girlfriend, but just think, if you've been through such a difficult hurdle together and you've managed to work through it, I think she's a keeper, definitely someone of good influence on you. But I certainly think you girls can make this work, especially if she's ready to make contact with you. It really shows ambition on her part, and a lot of love and care for you. Take your time ladies, and appreciate each other. Things'll work out in the end.

Atlea

***


[Setsuka in Samadhi]

Q: I’ve been with my boyfriend for 6 years and we have a 1-year old baby. The sex is not what a used to be. We used to fuck all over the house and now I have to beg for him to have sex with me –– and he doesn’t even give me a Big O. What should I do? I’m sexually frustrated.

A: In long term relationships it is common to go through "dry" periods and for your sex life to loose a little of the initial passion. And having a baby often changes the nature of a couple’s sex life. It can be hard for men to see the mother of their child the same they did before the baby came along. He may also be worried about your baby hearing or seeing you have sex. It doesn't mean he doesn't find you attractive; having a baby is an amazing and beautiful thing that really changes people and how they see their significant other. I think what you are going through is quite common.

That said, he could also just be tired and stressed out with having a new life to take care of. If he is working as well, he may feel overwhelmed and the last thing on his mind might be sex. I'd suggest seeing if you can get a sitter one night and go out together to reconnect a bit. If the sitter is at home with your baby, you could try having car sex or sex somewhere exciting where you won't see baby stuff sitting out.

As for him not giving you orgasms, is this something your able to do on your own? If it isn’t, it may not be his fault you aren't able to orgasm. Your body has undergone a life changing experience and it may take a little time to adjust and for you to be able to orgasm like you used to.

If you are able to orgasm by stimulating yourself, then you need to take charge of your sexuality when the two of you are together. Don't wait on him to make a move, be empowered. Tell him –– and show him –– what you need. If you do, chances are it’ll turn him on too. If you want great sex and an orgasm, you are going to have to make it happen. Relax, try not to over think it all, and mostly good luck!

Setsuka
xoxo

***

Got Problems? Let SuicideGirls’ team of Agony Aunts provide solutions. Email questions to: gotproblems@suicidegirls.com

by Steven-Elliot Altman (SG Member: Steven_Altman)

Our Fiction Friday serialized novel, The Killswitch Review, is a futuristic murder mystery with killer sociopolitical commentary (and some of the best sex scenes we’ve ever read!). Written by bestselling sci-fi author Steven-Elliot Altman (with Diane DeKelb-Rittenhouse), it offers a terrifying postmodern vision in the tradition of Blade Runner and Brave New World...

By the year 2156, stem cell therapy has triumphed over aging and disease, extending the human lifespan indefinitely. But only for those who have achieved Conscientious Citizen Status. To combat overpopulation, the U.S. has sealed its borders, instituted compulsory contraception and a strict one child per couple policy for those who are permitted to breed, and made technology-assisted suicide readily available. But in a world where the old can remain vital forever, America’s youth have little hope of prosperity.

Jason Haggerty is an investigator for Black Buttons Inc, the government agency responsible for dispensing personal handheld Kevorkian devices, which afford the only legal form of suicide. An armed “Killswitch” monitors and records a citizen’s final moments — up to the point where they press a button and peacefully die. Post-press review agents — “button collectors” — are dispatched to review and judge these final recordings to rule out foul play.

When three teens stage an illegal public suicide, Haggerty suspects their deaths may have been murders. Now his race is on to uncover proof and prevent a nationwide epidemic of copycat suicides. Trouble is, for the first time in history, an entire generation might just decide they’re better off dead.

(Catch up with the first installment of Killswitch here. )



[THE KILLSWITCH REVIEW – CHAPTER ONE, PART TWO]

[BLACK BUTTONS, INC. ]

[<- Next Chapter / Previous Chapter ->]

Elsa waited patiently in the lobby. She was exquisitely beautiful, in a way that had gone out of fashion at least fifty years before. Petite and curvaceous blue-eyed blondes with what had once been called “classic” features were the goddesses of a bygone day. Now the rage was for cream-skinned brunettes standing a minimum of five-feet-ten, with the lean lines of well-bred greyhounds. Still, of the dozen people passing through the lobby, not one failed to look at Elsa just a bit longer than was polite.

Haggerty suggested they use the Ojai beltway. It took a little longer than the superbelts but was more scenic and a lot less jammed at this hour (which, at this time of day in a city the size of NewVada, simply meant that it wasn’t standing-room-only with people packed six deep).

Elsa cocked her head. “Are you sure you wouldn’t be more comfortable driving?” she said. “Air quality and visibility are both very good this morning, but the heat index is above normal for this time of year.”

“I’m not getting behind the wheel of a car,” Haggerty said. “Not today.”

“I suppose I can understand that,” she conceded. “I am aware of the date, Jason. You shouldn’t...”

“Let it go, Elsa,” Haggerty said firmly, knowing she had no choice. Nodding acquiescence, she followed him outside.

Despite the cooling fabric of his regulation grays — a nonthreatening, neutral color meant to reassure adjusters and surviving next of kin present at press sites — the heat of the city slammed into him as soon as the door opened, before he’d crossed the threshold. Used to its impact, Haggerty kept moving. Elsa was enviably unaffected, her smooth skin unmarred by perspiration, her long blonde hair untouched by anything so vulgar as sweat.

The street outside Haggerty’s complex was packed with thousands of lower-status citizens on their daily commute, who had to use public transport. Haggerty and Elsa fell in step among them and were jostled along by the slowly moving crowd. In less than ten minutes they reached the silvery column of hypersteel that would transport them to the beltplatform. They tubed up and quickly made their way to the on-loops, moving forward with the crowd to the entrance turnstiles. Most people used their thumbprints for access, though a few individuals scanned voucher strips or identiplates to charge the cost of transportation to a corporation or government agency, rather than to their individual private accounts as happened with thumbprints. Someone had been pulled aside by security, drawing the attention of passers-by; the lines to the turnstiles nearest the altercation slowed as people turned to gawk. A guard frowned intently at the strip of plasticine that a slightly paunchy, gray-haired man had tried to feed into the system. Outside the immigrant enclaves or the Vegas Black Light district, it was rare to see an adult whose true age was so painfully obvious. The man, clearly not a Conscientious Citizen, spoke slowly, his English awkward and not easily intelligible as he tried to convince the guard that his employer had given him the voucher to run an errand. The guard wasn’t buying his story.

The line at Turnstile Number Three is moving quickly. Elsa’s words projected into Haggerty’s mind via a neural transmitter link implanted at the base of his skull. The link, allowing review agents and their assistants to communicate silently within a hundred yards of each other, to hold private conversations in public situations, had once been a closely guarded industry secret, a crucial factor in BBI’s, and Haggerty’s, success. Now, it mainly helped him avoid traffic jams and social faux pas. Elsa sent another message: There’s a pylon obscuring the view of what’s going on here, so there’s no rubbernecking beyond it.

Let’s go, then, he linked back, moving toward the line Elsa had indicated. He flashed his BBI identiplate at the reader and stepped through the turnstile to the on-loop, Elsa following behind.

The loop fed them quickly onto the Ojai, thousands of feet above ground level, and they were soon being conveyed through the city. The belt was pretty full, but there were a few marginally comfortable bench seats available for those who wanted them. The trip was short enough for Haggerty to prefer standing. Elsa stood quietly beside him as the moving path ushered them along, correctly reading his mood to be that he preferred silence.

Looking over the rail, Haggerty thought he could make out the terminus of the Crutzfield-Jacob Building, but it was too far down to see without lenses. He considered what falling from such a great height might feel like, the rough, hot wind on his face. But a last thrill before termination was not for him, even if he could overcome the programmed safeguards and throw himself over the edge. He was simply admiring the view. Tired as he was of his life, he could still be awed by the cityscape of towers rising from the floor of barren desert to challenge the distant mountains for supremacy.

Until the end of the last century, most of NewVada had been part of California. Politics, and the need to build a city that straddled the old state lines, had redrawn the map. Though Haggerty had a distant memory of when this part of the Nevada/California border had been nothing but miles of scrub, sage, and sand, that memory was hard to reconcile with the current reality. Because that memory was the world of his childhood, when the human body was subject to incurable diseases and the encroaching debilitation of old age. Aggressive funding had fueled stem-cell research, and death from age or illness was relegated to the past, until overpopulation became the most pressing concern facing America and every other industrialized country in the world. The increased demand for living space, coupled with the need to conserve land that could be productively farmed, forced governments to carve cities out of terrain previously deemed uninhabitable.

Now, buildings packed tightly together covered the desert, rising into the clouds, interwoven with massive twelve-lane elevated beltways for those rich enough to afford cars, and, a few stories beneath them, pay-as-you-go pedestrian belts for the masses. The higher up you lived and traveled, the higher your status. All belts circled and offered multiple offramps to Downtown, the heart of the city, which housed most of the city’s government infrastructure: City Hall, Police Headquarters, Central Morgue, and Haggerty’s own agency, BBI. Transfer between belts was possible at any number of junctions, and all of the city’s belts converged at four different locations, North, South, East and West, the beltwheels acting as transfer points so that riders could get anywhere in the city, no matter from which belt they started.

NewVada had been one of the first megapolitan cities built, its twenty-three-million population crammed into a hundred square miles of the hottest land on earth. Temperatures in excess of 130 degrees Fahrenheit were common, at least at ground level. But only those with no other option lived and traveled at ground level: immigrants awaiting Provisional Citizen Status; denizens of the Vegas Black Light District; those on the fringes of society. Most NewVadans rarely had to deal with such extremes, and in theory could go from one climate-controlled environment to another — compartments to transportation to offices, hotels, public buildings or private residences and back again — their entire lives spent without ever experiencing the raw power of the untempered heat suffusing the city around them. Even so, some vital system always broke down or wore out, causing people to swelter uncomfortably for an hour or a day or a month until climate control was restored. Like anything else, if you lived in NewVada long enough, you got used to the heat, or at least enough used to it to take the occasional shortcut out of doors. And after tonight, Haggerty thought as they approached their transfer point off the Ojai, there would be one less person putting out heat.

Haggerty and Elsa merged onto the Northside beltwheel, where practically the entire cityscape came into view: the Northside heavenscrapers, home to the uber-rich, where Haggerty lived; the Westside slums, refuge of the ultra-poor; the Southside, an uneasy blend of those who struggled in between. And the Eastside, dominated by Vegas, the world-renowned Black Light District, the place where one’s monetary status could change for better or worse with a single roll of dice.

A group of teens sporting garish skinpaint and stickjewel artwork on the visible portions of their bodies sped up on airboards to Haggerty and Elsa, surfing several feet above belt level, the hovering boards the latest end-run by Junior Citizens around the law prohibiting those without full CC status from setting foot on privileged belts during rush hour. Legally, the kids couldn’t even apply to be CCs until they were of employment age. Haggerty wasn’t sure how they got past the entrance turnstiles, unless they airboarded from the floor of the terminal to the maintenance catwalks, along those to the overpasses, then dropped a hundred feet to belt level. Just the kind of dangerous, brain-dead stunt typical of JCs. They thought they could come away unscathed from any outrageous stunt. He couldn’t deny that they were skilled as they maneuvered their boards deftly between annoyed CCs without causing accidents. Still, the belt wasn’t wide enough to leave much margin for error; Elsa had to step aside quickly to avoid being hit.

“Sorry,” one of the teens called back in a voice of indeterminate gender.

“Reckless,” Haggerty said as he watched them weave in and around ducking pedestrians, the stickjeweled words CLONE JESUS! flashing on one JC’s bare back.

“What’s Clone Jesus?” he asked Elsa, not bothering to link. “A new religious movement?”

After a moment, she answered, “It’s a band of musicians. They have the number-one song on the current Indranet download charts. Would you like to hear it?”

“No, thanks,” Haggerty said. He didn’t like the music popular with JCs these days. He was happy to let Elsa keep track of such cultural trends, along with all the other bits of trivia she tracked as part of her assigned duties.

A buildingboard-sized cityscreen flashed the morning news as they belted along, repeating a story Haggerty had seen last night depicting dozens of illegal ships off the California coast, filled with hopeful immigrants, fired upon relentlessly by the American Coast Guard. Their tiny boats were no match for the gargantuan U.S. gunships. Those that did not capsize fled back toward the free zone, their dreams of the Promised Land never to become reality. There was simply no room for them here.

“Poor bastards,” Haggerty said to Elsa. “Do they have enough rations for a return trip, or even homes to go back to?”

Elsa considered his question, then shook her head. “Unlikely,” she said softly. “Space is at a premium on the pirate ships smuggling illegals into the country. More cargo means fewer passengers and less profit. When a ship fails to make landfall here, mortality rates increase rapidly after the first few days of the return journey. For those who do make it back to their homelands, there is a very high probability that any property they left behind has already been confiscated.”

Haggerty nodded, not really surprised. He knew that for most illegals, the journey was all or nothing. He could only imagine the sufferings they’d face upon return.

“Keeping America’s borders safe for Americans,” the board stated, and then displayed a five-second advertisement from BBI of a smiling man reclining in a hammock with the latest unit model by his side. “KV. The choice is yours,” the advertisement droned.

Haggerty and Elsa stepped onto the exit belt that would take them to BBI’s platform. Haggerty scanned his identiplate at the gate, which obligingly rose out of their way, and they headed toward the building’s main entrance.

They heard shouting. Haggerty grimaced. Another protest must be underway. The Religious Right had more or less set up a permanent camp on the BBI quad. Maybe a hundred people hoisted flashbanners demanding NATURE FIRST and DISARM YOUR SWITCH! And, inevitably, HEAVEN WON’T TAKE THOSE WHO PRESS!

“Do you want to go around back to avoid them?” Elsa asked.

“Tempting,” Haggerty admitted. “But I’m already running late. Not like we haven’t run the gauntlet before.”

It was, in fact, almost a daily occurrence. They pushed past the protesters with practiced ease, but as they reached the marble archway flanked by six bull-faced guards wearing crash gear and holding multi-burst autostuns, a girl with long, sandy-brown hair rushed to block their path.

“Don’t go in there and fit for a button,” she pleaded. “You don’t need a Killswitch. Life and death are decisions meant for God, not for you!”

Her eyes caught Haggerty, their green depths so earnest he couldn’t simply walk past, as he had walked past a thousand protesters before her. He allowed himself to be stopped, and returned her intense gaze. Judging anyone’s age by physical appearance alone was always dicey. She was wearing the kind of clothing popular among Junior Citizens — loose-fitting pants that started at the hip and ended just below the knee, a half-tee that truncated right beneath her breasts, both in a mossy green that matched her eyes, and the backpack no one but students ever seemed to carry. Skinpainting of a purple iris bloomed on her torso. But Haggerty had long ago trained himself to read more subtle, almost subliminal, signs to figure out how old someone really was. Usually, there were clues — the way people spoke or dressed, the specific films or music or books they enjoyed, the sports playoffs they talked about, the politicians they admired — something that revealed when they’d grown up. No clues were needed now. The girl’s unlined face had a rawness that plastiche would have smoothed away, all the more attractive for its lack of perfection. Haggerty was sure that she wasn’t much older than the twenty or so she appeared.

“I’ll make my own choices, thank you,” he said, not unkindly, and tried to move past her. She mirrored his action, continuing to block the path. He sensed Elsa tensing for action, and hastily sent reassurance across their link.

“Pressing is a mistake,” the girl said vehemently. “And it’s one you can’t fix. There are no second thoughts with a Killswitch.” She all but spat out the derogatory slang for the Kevorkian unit.

She was so young, Haggerty thought. Too young for this much intensity. Then again, maybe only the young could feel so intensely about life anymore. He guessed she had lost someone recently, maybe a parent, someone she wasn’t ready to let go. He might feel pity or compassion, even empathy, for her, but he still had to do his job.

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” he said truthfully. “Now, if you’ll excuse us.”

She remained in their path. Haggerty tried to force his way past her.

The girl grasped his arm. “Don’t do this,” she pleaded.

There was nothing particularly aggressive about the way she’d reached for him. If anything, her hold was tentative, a gesture to get his attention, nothing that could really have prevented him from moving. But her effort did not go down well with security. Elsa grabbed the girl by the wrists as the nearby guards swooped in. Exasperated by everyone’s overreaction, Haggerty raised a hand.

“It’s okay,” he said.

The guards lowered their weapons and at Haggerty’s linked command, Elsa let the girl go.

Haggerty stared her in the eye. The girl returned his gaze with defiance, even pride. But he had the edge on her, the weight of age and grief and the sheer length of time he’d gone on living enabling him to face her down as long as it might take. After a moment, her gaze faltered. Haggerty gave the girl a grim smile and continued walking. Elsa threw her a disapproving look before falling into step behind him.

As they entered the BBI building, the girl came forward once more. “Go ahead, then,” she cried out angrily. “Cough and die if it suits you! Press your Killswitch!”

There was no point in telling her he planned to.

* * *

Excerpt from The Killswitch Review, published by Yard Dog Press. Copyright 2011 Steven-Elliot Altman.

Steven-Elliot Altman is a bestselling author, screenwriter, and videogame developer. He won multiple awards for his online role playing game, 9Dragons. His novels include Captain America is Dead, Zen in the Art of Slaying Vampires, Batman: Fear Itself, Batman: Infinite Mirror, The Killswitch Review, The Irregulars, and Deprivers. His writing has been compared to that of Stephen King, Dean Koontz, Michael Crichton and Philip K. Dick, and he has collaborated with world class writers such as Neil Gaiman, Michael Reaves, Harry Turtledove and Dr. Janet Asimov. He’s also the editor of the critically acclaimed anthology The Touch, and a contributor to Shadows Over Baker Street, a Hugo Award winning anthology of Sherlock Holmes meets H.P. Lovecraft stories.

Steven also bares ink on his body, and is bi, as in bi-coastal, between NYC and LA. He’s currently hard at work writing and directing his latest videogame Cursed Love, an online free to play gothic horror RPG from Dark Hermit Studios, set in Victorian London. Think Sherlock Holmes, Jack The Ripper and Dorian Gray mercilessly exploit the cast of Twilight. Friend Cursed Love (Official Closed Beta) on facebook and you can have fun playing out this tawdry, tragic romance with Steven while the game is being beta tested!

Diane DeKelb-Rittehouse spent several years in Manhattan as an actress before marrying her college sweetheart and returning to the Philadelphia area where she had been born. Diane first worked with Steven-Elliot Altman when they created the acclaimed, Publisher’s Weekly Starred-Review anthology The Touch: Epidemic of the Millennium, in which her story “Gifted” appeared. Diane has published a number of critically acclaimed short stories, most notably in the science fiction, murder, and horror genres. Her young adult fantasy novel, Fareie Rings: The Book of Forests, is now available in stores or online.

Interested in buying a printed copy of The Killswitch Review? Well, Steve’s publisher Yard Dog Press was kind enough to put up a special page where SuicideGirls can get a special discount and watch a sexy trailer. Just follow this link to KillswitchReview.com and click on the SG logo.

* * *

Related Posts:
Fiction Friday: The Killswitch Review – Chapter One
Fiction Friday: The Killswitch Review – Chapter One, Part Three

by Damon Martin

Recent discoveries by scientists studying meteorites may very well prove everyone on Earth evolved from alien life forms.

Technically, extraterrestrial building blocks to be exact.

Several scientists studying meteorite fragments have discovered they contain the building blocks of DNA, strengthening previous theories that life on Earth may have been spawned from materials landing here from space. According to findings by scientists, meteorites that have landed on Earth contain all the necessary elements to create DNA.

While studies in the past have shown meteorites that carried nucleobases, key ingredients in DNA, it's been difficult to prove whether the material actually came from space or was a bi-product of the area where the meteorite landed on Earth.

Scientists working on 12 different samples of meteorites found amino acids, an essential component of DNA, but had to study and conduct experiments to prove that these particular amino acids were formed in space and not on Earth.


Space.com explains:

These particular studies were done on a meteorite found in the Sudan, which was created after two asteroids collided in space. Normally a high impact collision like the one that created this particular meteorite would have created temperatures too high for any amino acids to survive, but the studies done on these particular samples prove otherwise.



Essentially because amino acids did survive on these particular meteorite samples, it gives credence to the idea that life may exist on other planets or that life on Earth itself resulted from this type of occurrence happening millions of years ago.

Scientists are now studying the idea that amino acids could be created in space by gas reactions at much hotter temperatures instead of in cooler atmospheric climates, with water being essential to the process. Experiments are ongoing to try and recreate the same scenario on Earth.

While these theories are exactly that –– theories –– scientists are working on trying to prove the building blocks of life could have been created and formed in a very different way than previously believed, and that life on Earth could have been alien all along.

by Laurelin

I’ve never thought of myself as a particularly crazy person. I don’t yell or scream at people I’m dating, I’m not jealous, I don’t nag, and I don’t get upset when ex- girlfriends are still in the picture. I was horrified by the female lead in He’s Just Not That Into You, and I am a firm believer in the idea “if it’s not fun, why do it?” Relationships are supposed to be fun. If it’s not fun, why the hell are you still dating? I’m not a crazy girl. Or, at least that’s what I have been telling myself for as far back as I can remember. I guess if you break it down, I’m just as crazy as the next girl. I just hide it damn well.

I have been caught being crazy once about six years ago, and let me tell you, it whipped me into shape. As much as I like throwing myself under the bus when I write these articles, what I did was so absolutely insane that I can’t even think about it without my cheek burning in shame. All I know is that I was busted, and the look on my boyfriend’s face when he caught me red handed was enough for me to realize then and there that acting like an untrusting maniac was the most un- sexy quality a girl can have.

I had stepped out of the room and he had jumped on my computer to check his e-mail, and as I walked back into the room our horrified eyes met over the glow of the screen and my heart fell like concrete into my stomach. The digital age makes it too easy to have access to whatever you want, and I had left whatever I wanted to know about him right up on the screen for him to find. It was all there, e-mails, conversations with ex girlfriends, everything. He should have broken up with me on the spot, and I’m not sure why he didn’t. I guess I got lucky. Unfortunately, that experience engrained something in me, and from that moment on I didn’t act anything but totally laid back about everything, ever. I didn’t ever want anyone looking at me the way my boyfriend looked at me that day.

That same guy would later start cheating on me, and when I walked in on him and the other woman, I smiled and shook her hand and introduced myself before collecting my things and walking out. I remember my blood boiling inside as I smiled and said, “Hi, I’m Laurelin.” I thought smoke might come out of my ears as she turned to him and said, “Oh, she’s so nice!” I almost threw up walking back to my car, tears spilling over my bloodshot eyes and burning hot down my cheeks. One would think that I would never talk to that guy again. But I didn’t want to be crazy, so I swallowed any ounce of emotion and soon we were back on track as just friends –– the three of us would even hang out. Looking back, even I know that that’s fucked up –– an ounce of crazy in that situation would have been more than fine.

Fast-forward to now, and my current situation. I am no one’s girlfriend, but I guess I wouldn’t classify myself as exactly single either. I’m not itching to have “that talk.” I like things the way they are. (I think…) I’m noticing that I’m starting to look for things that are wrong with this person; I’m itching for a fight and looking for any reason to kick myself, or him, to the curb. Luckily with my anti-crazy female training I am aware that I’m fishing for self-sabotage and I have been able to talk myself out of being anything but totally calm and collected. There is no reason to get angry because you’re not going to lunch on time. Don’t delete his phone number because he had to work late. Stop. Acting. Crazy.

It’s just so odd to me when things are just…perfect. It’s been a few months of smooth sailing, and as I am forever waiting for disaster I’m trying to prepare myself for the worst, getting ready for the inevitable heartbreak. I feel like I’m already in over my head and I’m choking and thrashing to break the surface, trying to find any reason to get out of this before it’s really too late, before I’m sobbing into my pillows watching Meg Ryan movies and eating Chinese food for days on end. I guess deep down every crazy girl just doesn’t want to get hurt, and in searching mercilessly for something wrong with this guy I’m only showing my true shameful colors. Calm and collected all the time, my ass. I like this guy and he’s in trouble, because I have a serious case of the crazies.

***

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by Blogbot



SG / Artist Name: Sucette, but I usually use Miss Sucette as my artist name.

Mission Statement: I began to draw when I was a cute lil’ girl. My father is an artist as well. I admired him and I wanted to draw like him. I spent all my childhood drawing, and I never let it go. It's something that has come naturaly to me since I was a child. I just can't live without art.

I grew up surrounded by old horror movies (the kind of movies where the car always broke down in the middle of nowhere...) and old cartoons. As a result, I began to create my own world, my own stories. Painting was just a result for me of an overflowing imagination, a way to exorcize my childhood fears.

With my own universe, I create art to propel you in a fantastic world and to talk about what I like the most. Animals, nature, science, and symbolism are central themes for my work. Through my paintings, I contemplate life, death, evolution, technology, loss of innocence, cruelty, and more. The messages I deliver are often tragic. I don't like to show only what is good in the world. I want you to think about what's wrong with us, what's wrong in our world.





Medium: The majority of my work is oil painting, but I like to use graphite and charcoal as well. My latest drawings are mostly done with those mediums.

Aesthetic: Renaissance, Flemish Art, Art Nouveau.

Notable Achievements: I’ve been fortunate to show my work in many galleries in Europe and lately I’ve been involved in a group show at the Miles Gallery in London. I'm now working on new paintings and thinking about some future shows.

Why We Should Care: Art is essential, no matter whether it brings a positive or a negative message. I want to share my art, but I also want to deliver messages through my work that are dear to me and important. Art is an excellent way to communicate. I express myself through art, it's natural and essential to me.

Technique is really important for me as well. I try to preserve the techniques of the great painters from Renaissance when I paint with oils. I make everything by myself, the medium, the varnish, etc. It takes me more time, but it is important to me, and for the public as well. The technique is essential.

I Want Me Some: Some drawings and paintings are available via my website, or my Facebook page. You can also see my work on my SG blog and message me via the site.







***

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by Secretary



This past Sunday, I woke up in a different London to the one I know and love. On Saturday night, a peaceful protest about the shooting of Mark Duggan in Tottenham had turned into a violent riot. The riots morphed into looting and violence, and it spread like a virus.

That Saturday, I’d been at two fellow SG member’s apartment in North London. We’d heard of the Tottenham riots, but had assumed it would die down once the police got there. Since we were also in the company of an SG member living in Germany, talk turned to what we loved about London. We talked about how it is truly a diverse city in every sense of the word; about how people from every walk of life live side by side, and about how this makes the city feel so alive.

Earlier in the day, I’d briefly dived through the Brixton Splash, an annual community street festival that’s a celebration of diversity in an area famed for past troubles and tensions. Free food was cooked and handed out, there was rap, reggae and people drinking and dancing in the streets under the blazing sunshine. It was happy and relaxed, and it had ended peacefully at around 7 PM.

As myself and SG member Vermin made our way back from North to South London that Saturday night, we passed again through Brixton. We had no idea that just two hours later a gang of 200 youths would descend on the place, looting businesses and starting huge fires as they rampaged down the high street

We awoke on Sunday morning to find shops had been broken into. The police had cordoned the affected area off, tube stations were closed, busses were diverted, and the air was thick with a shared sense of unease. Shops closed early and people hurried home in the daylight. Rumors started to spread, of looting and riots planned in other areas.

Nobody was quite prepared for just how out of hand it became.

Friends in Streatham couldn’t sleep that night for the sound of sirens.

Friends in Peckham listened as a mob descended upon the shop and petrol station at the end of their road, as fires blazed one street over.

Friends in Croydon weathered some of the most terrifying violence of all, seeing people in masks pulling others out of their cars and robbing people’s homes. Muggings and serious acts of arson meant the London borough was described widely as a 'war zone.'


[Image source: Telegraph.co.uk]

People filled up Twitter with eyewitness reports of horrors in Ealing, Clapham, Hackney, Camden. This map shows the extent of the rioting in London.

Whilst the rolling news channels played the same scenes of devastation on a loop, Facebook, Youtube and Twitter have showed a million small acts of kindness, community and defiance. @riotcleanup has been coordinating volunteers for the clean-up effort all day. Their website has crashed several times over, and so many volunteers turned up in some places that people didn’t know what to do with them. The picture below, taken of the clean-up effort in Clapham, has warmed many a Londoner's heart today.


[The clean-up in Clapham via @Lawcol888 and Mirror.co.uk]

The looters, for the most part, were young. Depressingly young in some cases. They tended to come from the more economically deprived areas of the city, although it would be a mistake to assume that they looted because they were poor. Many of the photos captured showed that those partaking in the lawlessness were wearing expensive branded clothing, and it has been said that much of the organization of the mobs was done via BBM (Blackberry messaging), Blackberries of course being fairly pricey phones. The shops most often targeted were those selling cell phones and sneakers (or mobiles and trainers as we say here in the UK) rather than those from which looters might take electronics, alcohol and cash.

What started as a peaceful protest turned into something else, in part because of a realization that numbers help to make you invisible. People burned and smashed property so that they could feel important and above the law. They took things because they thought they could get away with it. The police were not prepared for things to get so bad so quickly; thanks to BBM the rioters and looters, whilst representing a miniscule minority of Londoners, were able to outsmart the police.

As my good friend and SG member DrewBeckett said ‘These people aren’t Londoners; London wants nothing to do with them. Whilst some copycat violence has erupted in other big UK cities, public anger at those partaking is overwhelming. One Facebook initiative, Operation Cup of Tea, encourages us Brits to do what comes naturally in a crisis – namely to keep calm, stay in, and drink tea.

People are invited to show their opposition to the riots by posting a picture of themselves on Facebook, having a cup of tea. We’re also encouraging SG readers/members to post pictures in the comments section below. To kick things off, here’s some pics of me and my SG mates Mat8drb and LaurenZombie showing support with a mug of the good stuff.


[Above: Secretary, SG Member]


[Above: Mat8drb, SG Member]


[Above: LaurenZombie, SG Member]

Further Reading:
Our SG UK group has threads on The Riots (What’s Really Happening and Why) and on Operation Cup of Tea.

***UPDATE***

Wednesday, Aug 10, 4.47 AM PST - More images just in:


"Last night during the Manchester riots, I could hear a fair few gangs come past my street near to the end of the night...Luckily I was drinking "Twinings - A moment of calm." - Social, SG Member


Oxy, SG Member


CptPyjama, SG Member

***UPDATE***

Wednesday, Aug 10, 1.45 PM PST - Even more images just in:



“I had an extra special peppermint tea bag that I had saved” – Sminks, SG Member


coldandwet, SG Member


Wilona, SG Member


Umeko, SG Member


Sticks, SG Member


Saiylor Suicide


“I got that mug in 1989 with an Easter egg. 
Still going strong and makes the brew better.” – Mark_plus_Beer, SG Member


“My mug is a direct homage to a very London-centric bunch of artists. The Bloomsbury Group, the Omega Workshop...I salute your absolute fucking barminess, and your questionable genius. But most of all, I salute you for having been part of making London the magical city it is. No amount of vandalism can kill that magic.” - DrewBeckett, SG Member

***UPDATE***

Wednesday, Aug 10, 4.06 PM PST - Yet more images just in:


“Drinking Lemsip since I'm ill.” – gtwr, SG Member


“Joining the party late as usual...
Hippified blackcurrant, raspberry and cinnamon works, right?” - Reuben, SG Member


“Yorkshire tea for the win!” - Brompton, SG Member

by Blogbot

A column which highlights Suicide Girls and their fave groups.


[Damsel in Bold]

This week, Damsel Suicide tells us why she gets all tied up in the Dreadlocks

 Group.

Members: 1057 / Comments: 3,640

• WHY DO YOU LOVE IT?: It offers lots of tips, methods, and advice. Every set of dreadlocks is unique, and there are so many different ways to maintain them. Some people are anti-product and choose the natty route, while others enjoy the benefits of using wax and other dreadlock products. Either way, if you see a set of locks you think are beautiful, it's nice to find out how they keep them that way!





• DISCUSSION TIP: Respect the opinions and differences of others. There is no "right" or "wrong" way to do dreadlocks, only a variety of methods that all work equally. Different strokes for different folks!




• BEST RANDOM QUOTE: "My mane is my source of power. I am able to do superhuman things that I couldn't do otherwise."






• MOST HEATED DISCUSSION THREAD: Synthetic Dreads...People who have spent years developing their dreadlocks claim synth dreads are the easy way out, while people with synth dreads argue they are still dreadheads. Either way, having synthetic dreads does NOT make you a pussy bitch.




• WHO'S WELCOME TO JOIN?: Appreciate lovely locks and natty ladies? Come on in and appreciate the nappy goodness...




***
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by A.J. Focht

Superheroes swarmed the geek news again this last week with several major announcements from all sides. Warner Bros kicked the week off revealing Laurence Fishburne would be playing the role of Perry White in Man of Steel. Shortly thereafter, they released the first look at Henry Cavill as Superman. Despite the recent script problems, Superman is set to fly back into theaters on June 14, 2013.



Warner Bros didn't stop there. The first official photo of Anne Hathaway in The Dark Knight Rises was released soon after the Superman photo. The outfit pays some homage to the more 'tactical' look of the comic books, but gives absolutely no feline resemblance. This has only fueled the theory that Hathaway will actually be playing the role as Selina Kyle, and may not become Catwoman at all.



As for the Marvel side of things, the Thor sequel is setting up for production. It looks like they're shopping for a new director, instead of sticking with Kenneth Branagh. Word is that Brian Kirk (Game of Thrones) is in talks for the follow up.

Despite the rumors of delays with The Amazing Spider-Man, Sony has set an ambitious date for the sequel. The Amazing Spider-Man 2 is scheduled for May 2, 2014. With the reboot being taken skeptically by fans as is, this is a bold move on Sony's part. Sony executives told Dateline:

For anyone still interested in the remnants of the Wolverine series, former 3LW singer turned actress Naturi Naughton has joined the cast of The Wolverine, alongside Hugh Jackman, Kelly Hu, and Ken Wantanabe, as Cecilia Reyes.

While the film studios have been flooding the net with superhero updates, the best announcement last week came from the land of Oz. Bruce Campbell (Burn Notice) has confirmed he is going to take on a pivotal role in Sam Raimi's new Oz The Great and Powerful. According to his Twitter, he doesn't even know what role he is playing but it will be 'pivotal.' I'm wondering if an army of flying monkeys could be considered 'pivotal.'

Over in the video game industry, GameFly is moving into the PC market. They'll be offering “ulimited PC play” to subscribers, allowing them to download and play from a catalog that will start out with 1500 titles. The beta for the GameFly digital client begins September 8, with full release for both PC and Mac in the holidays.

Finally, the nerd world is about to suffer another major loss; Syfy has announced it will not to continue Eureka for a sixth season. The series still has a holiday episode left in December, and 12 episodes coming in the new year.

by Blogbot







Delilah
 the Pekingese


 (pictured with her mistress Creepy Suicide)

• INTO: Mini tennis balls, squeakers from inside my toys, food of any kind, chasing squirrels and birds on walks, chasing the cat, singing for mommy, and sleeping all day

.


• NOT INTO: Children, being woken up, going to the vet, baths or getting my hair and nails cut, having to wait for mommy to wake up to go outside, rain, and when it snows because the salt gets stuck in between my toes =(

.


• MAKES ME HAPPY: Mini balls, squeakers, my crochet corn and eggplant toys, bacon, long walks at night, sleeping behind mommys knees, and going to grandma's

.


• MAKES ME SAD: The rain and snow, the kennel (purgatory), losing my mini balls under the furniture, leaving grandma's, getting shots, and people I dont know trying to pick me up.


• HOBBIES: Sleeping and more sleeping, barking at any noise I hear, playing fetch, chasing animals big and small, and doing tricks for my treats

.


• 5 THINGS I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT: My squeakers and balls, ice cubes in my water bowl, bacon, mommy, and my Juicy Couture collar.


• VICES: Barking at everything while mommy is trying to sleep, growling when I'm woken up, biting mommy when I get scared or mad, rolling in dirty things outside (like poop), not letting mommy come near me when we're at grandma's, tearing every toy I get apart for the squeaker inside, and trying to attack people I dont know outside on my walks

.


• I SPEND MOST OF MY FREE TIME: Chewing on tennis balls, chewing on my toys, chewing in general, eating everything I can find, and driving mommy crazy cuz I love her!