and they are aware of their consent to sleep with any and every husband/wife when they enter, one would think.
It's made hyper-trans-clear that the scarcity of women means that a woman can enter into any kind of heterosexual arrangement her heart desires, including seventeen tanned cabana boys. (Homosexuality doesn't seem to exist, and that in a prison colony.) The claim is that the short survival time of most male Moonies makes it advantageous to enter into an arrangement with multiple husbands.
It didn't strike me as any weirder than any other kind of poly. Me, I have enough trouble living pleasantly with one other adult. If we brought any other adults into the household, one of us would get killed by a falling stack of books.
Total tangent: David, does anybody actually know who shot the lala? Google is no help because all I can come up with is the song title.
To be clear, I've no problems (and by problems, I mean squicks) with anyone enterering into a non-monogamous marraige/relationship provided both parties agree that they would be happiest fucking outside the relationship and both try their best not to bring home the scabies.
I got problems with spooning grampa.
Nobody ever argued anybody else out of a squick; I'm good with that.
Total tangent: David, does anybody actually know who shot the lala? Google is no help because all I can come up with is the song title.
Heh. Well
I
don't know. But a lot of that stuff isn't clear until you get to New Orleans anyway. That's where I finally figured out what the whole "spyboy" thing was about, and why he might light somebody's ass on fire.
I'm still confused, Allyson, but since I think this probably is not a topic of conversation you relish, I'll let it drop.
"The singer is not sure who shot him; but, he says, 'I know it was a .44.'"
Actually it sounds like it was a hot shot (the drug kind). Ninth Ward - figures.
Skipping ahead because, Tim, if you're still here, I have a Brilliant and Insightful Question for you. That I always remember an hour after you've passed through.
Which means I'm almost certainly too late. Grump. That'll teach me to spend the evening watching cartoons.
