CUNNILINGUS.

Fancy That is kind of an oddity when considered as part of my collection of writings because it is entirely unembarrassed to have scenes like the third panel present. In prose and in play/screenwriting, I tend to be more of the "fade to black" type when it comes to sex. For some reason, in comic form, that just...doesn't quite happen. It's as much a mystery to me as it is to anyone.

I've been on a serious anime/manga run recently, and it's not really showing any signs of stopping. I think I pretty much crested the anime hill with Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann (because how do you beat a show where the titular mecha is ten thousand light years tall?), but I'm still full steam ahead, mangawise. At the moment I'm plowing through the first volume of Trigun. My enjoyment of it is rather haphazard, though, as the mangaka tends towards a light, sketchy, heavily-detailed style that makes for complete visual overload during action scenes. Considering that it's about, as advertised, "Deep Space Planet Future Gun Action!!", the style becomes an issue relatively frequently.

It may be that I ought to stick to high school comedy/drama/romance in my manga, as I almost always have difficulty following intense action in a comic, no matter what. It's so much easier when people stand there and are adorable and fluffy at each other, and occasionally there's a giant robot to stir things up a bit. That's why Neon Genesis Evangelion: Angelic Days is just perfect for me. Because it's precisely that.

Something that I realized with a bit of a start the other day is that I haven't touched a video game console in weeks. Where once it was part of my daily routine, it now seems to have taken on significantly less importance as my free hours have become more and more precious. I still indulge a little bit on my computer, partaking in the odd bout of single-player Alien Arena, but other than that my gaming hunger seems to have been sated for the time being.

If I wasn't so certain of my sanity, I'd begin wondering if this change in habit perhaps indicated that one of H.P. Lovecraft's dark, vowel-despising gods was attempting to tunnel its way into our world by way of my brain. Then again, only the mad are certain of their sanity, so...

Cthulhu fhtagn, bitches.