Bones – The He in the She

Yep, I still love Bones. This episode opened with two half-baked fellows floating on the cloud of some undefined drug and sitting on the rocky edge of the water when the remains of a body (half of it, to be precise) wash off near them.

I still love Bones, but Sweets is annoying. I’m not sure why, but that I find him irksome doesn’t mean I don’t want his character in the show. He’s good for laughs and a great antithesis for Booth, who’s displayed patronizing contempt for him several times.

I think the best way for Sweets to leave the show (and I don’t want him to) would be for a serial killer to get his hands on him. At this point that’s the only way he’ll gain any of my sympathy, especially if his death brings back Zach. Zaaaaaach!!!

Note to self: buy self a Slinky.

The part of Zach was played by Mr. Nigel-Murray, one bright grad student of forensic anthropology, his first name Vincent but called vino delectable by one of his girlfriends because of how his-

-And we don’t know how that sentence ends because he never finished it, but we can assume it relates to his flavor, and how good it is. I assume he stays away from coffee and strong-flavored foods, which can ruin a man’s sweetness and render him unlicked (and unliked).

Speaking of licking, I didn’t know tongue prints are as distinctive as fingerprints. In Advances in Biometrics it is stated that both tongue prints and the shape of the tongue can be successfully applied for identity verification, which gives me a hilarious image of people sticking out their tongues in order to obtain access to their bank accounts, or entry to art performances for which they have paid, etc.

That’s something cool I learned because of Bones as Mr. Nigel-Murray unnecessarily provided tidbits of random information, but not what was used to identify the victim. The serial number in the mammary implant found with the remains provided that, and it was only one sign the victim had undergone elective violence of cosmetic surgery. Another one was the eye sockets (or supraorbital limbi, if you want to get technical), which had been ground down long before death took place.

But now I interrupt this entry with the episode’s first aerial, also known as My Porn because aerial shots give me a delicious perspective on what it would be like to be a very tall giantess, one casually strolling near the United States Capitol building, which only rises to 289 feet.

Here I'd put me at over 300' in height.

But why stop there when I can grow much taller? I interrupt this interruption to reveal that this episode of Bones contains a scene of a mega giantess as she carefully tiptoes her way through Washington, D.C. because she’s not mindlessly murderous despite what you might think.

She knows what she’s doing as she avoids traffic and people and reaches Sweets’ office, bringing down one colossal foot down on it, flattening it instantly as he watches from his window and tugs furiously at his Slinky, only realizing his fate when it’s too late to escape. And who is that mega giantess?

Me, of course! It’s squishy time!

Why 300' tall when I can reach much greater heights?

*sighs* If only the above were true.

Here are some other things I learned because of Bones:

• I didn’t know what pelagic meant. Etymology: Latin pelagicus, from Greek pelagikos, from pelagos sea. Date: circa 1656. Of, relating to, or living or occurring in the open sea, such as “pelagic sediment”. Well, that explains the word “archipelago”. I love word origins.

• The American shad flesh, despised by some and appreciated by others, was considered a delicacy in the 1800s, but that’s not what’s important about this fish. What you must know is that the male weighs 1-3 pounds, and the female is generally 3-8 pounds, therefore sexually dismorphic in that awesome way that we giantesses are.

• Being topless is illegal in Liverpool unless you are a saleswoman at a tropical fish store. Now, there are such stores in Liverpool, but last I checked no one has taken advantage of this legal idiocy, if it’s true at all.

• Is it true that women blink twice as often as men? I’m not going to go along with that until I see some scientific evidence. There’s a purpose for blinking and I know I do it very often because of the sad state of my contact lenses.

• Gunwale is pronounced gunnel. Seriously, what’s up with that? It’s a miracle I ever learned English, and I still remember when I thought Newfoundland was pronounced new, found, land; and don’t get me started on Worcestershire.

• Catholic also means broad in tastes, sympathies, or interests, such as “a catholic enjoyment of shrinking fantasies”.

One more reason I enjoy Bones so much is the banter between Bones and Booth about religion or sexuality. Bones is always open to debating the rituals she observes, sometimes as they are happening, and Booth stands firm in his Catholic (as in Roman) beliefs even though Bones renders him speechless, which is what she did when comparing the “vanity” of a pastor undergoing plastic surgery, and that one of the Pope wearing expensive articles of clothing.

I do remember when I was a child and received the Eucharist, thinking secretly that it didn’t taste anything like blood, and wondering what gave the priest the arrogance to state (not in these words) he had done anything at a molecular level to alter what clearly tasted like sour grapes.

Not the Aesop ones.

Back to the show: the other half of the body is found, and if you ever find the lower remains of a body, you’ll be able to tell if they are female when you find a ventral arc, a ridge of bone in the pubis that’s not found in males. They have their own ridges of bone in their heart-shaped pelvic girdle, but getting into that would only be fun for me.

Anyway, a flustered Booth appears to get bent out of shape when the lower half of the victim turns out to be male; it turns out it costs about $25,000 in Thailand to get a sex change operation; a point is made about Zach being locked up for the rest of his life (Zaaaaaach!!!); only 1% of all deaths are murders (an astronomical percentage); all tributaries to the most beautiful thing that was said during the episode: bodies are like book dust covers.

Aerosmith – Dude (Looks Like a Lady)

Lays Tiny Man commercials

So, last night I woke up in the middle of the night for no apparent reason, so I came online for a few minutes before I returned to bed. I visited my blog admin area, and it tickled me to see a term someone had googled to stumble upon my blog was “two-inch-tall man”.

Well, of course.

Some of the other Google results for that group of words were related to serial killers (none two inches tall), and a couple others I got to see had to do with two Lays Potato Chips Singles commercials that I think were released early this year. I don’t have cable, so they are both brand new to me. I can’t tell you how much I enjoy them!

Which is more than I can say about the place where I found out about them, some board about bad TV ads. These ads, bad? That’s crazy. They are both close to the best porn commercials I’ve ever seen! They don’t exactly make me want to go out and eat chips, but c’est la tee vie.

I am going to go out and buy a bag of that brand anyway, just to show my support for a company that produces such good porn chip commercials.

Bones – The Crank in the Shaft

Gunky hoistways are not good for the digestion.

I’ve been watching Bones for years now, and this is the first episode I actually felt something close to repugnance, which surprised me. I’ve seen fake corpses covered with maggots of different sizes, I’ve watched fake melted bodies in a tub of goo, I’ve clapped at a truckful of garbage Hodgins had to sift through as he identified different putrefied matter by smell, and I’ve generally been a Mary Poppins (you know, with the cheerful disposition, and probably a couple of rosy cheeks) about each 45 minutes, from slimy, smelly beginning, through scientifically sensible middle, until funny end.

Still, I was eating while I watched the beginning of this episode, and the whole shaft mess didn’t interrupt my meal. We can’t know what our true responses to extreme situations would be when compared to what we imagine they should be, but I have thought that if I’d ever followed a career in forensic medicine, I’d be the kind of person that can eat a quick meal while weighing a human brain.

Fun brain facts: It weighs about 3 pounds, and its constitution includes a large amount of water. If exposed to fire, it boils, creating intracraneal pressure as it expands. If the heat is intense enough, the cranial vault can crack, or explode. Much different from the brain boiling that occurs while staring at a collage, or reading a giantess story.

The whole office chair deal was slightly annoying, all the way until the end of the episode. Then it was hilarious.

New words learned: Hoistway! Lateral Epicondyle!

Details to tattoo on one’s forehead:

Special Agent Graham Kelton is dead.

Marihuana makes you stupid.

The part of Zach was played by Mr. Fisher, whose character was a caricature. I suppose that was intentional, since he’s to fleet by like so many other assistants. What he said nine minutes into the show made listening to him at any other time supportable. He spoke of the Lateral Epicondyle, and of a grad thesis he had written about the effects of falls in human bones.

That, of course, made me think of giantesses. See, this not only pops into my mind for one purpose alone. Thoughts on size differences come as stories from many perspectives, including scientific ones, the very ones I was making fun of a couple of days ago.

Say an evil giantess grabs you, and I hope that never happens to you, but say she does. After she toys with you for the prescribed amount of time, she flings you off her fingers like a dirty tissue. Three days later your splattered remains are found, and by examining the hairline fractures in parts of your bones, the height of your fall can be determined, and a warrant can be issued for the giantess’ arrest, as the estimated height of her flinging range matches the one evidenced by your poor broken bones.

The height of buildings around the area is not taken into account, as it would interfere with my scenario, and I’m sorry to say your murder will go unpunished, because who in their right mind wants to tell a giantess she’s under arrest? Probably the guy smoking pot, since it makes him stupid.

Another fun forensic fact: When your remains are found smeared all over a street or whatever, their dispersal can make it difficult to collect fluids for analyses, especially if no one finds you for days… but here it reads that vitreous humor can be used to determine time of death* for up to 72 hours. The cool detail for me was that the body in the shaft was last seen on Friday evening, and it is presumable that the first scene of the episode took place on Monday morning, so… less than 72 hours. I like!

That’s all she wrote.

*Assuming the giantess didn’t squish them as she crushed your body with the ball of her foot after it hit the ground, that is.

"g2911" by burni

Chiquitolina

The above is a short clip I found when I searched for Chiquitolina* at youtube. I think it’s cute, so I wanted to share it here. I know the characters are from Venezuela because of the unmistakable accent, and because of the way she says chiquitico, a word that’s an intensive form of “little”, and usually spelled chiquitito, but in Venezuela, sometimes the last “t” of diminutive forms switches to a “c”, and I think Luis Enrique also says ratico instead of ratito (diminutive of rato, which means “a while”). So charming.

So, here’s what they say. I took a few liberties so as not to translate it literally, which I can’t do without losing more linguistic flavor than I already have. By the way, Negra in Latin America is a term of endearment for people that have a tanned, darker tone of skin (although a neighbor of mine was also called Negra and she was white as paper… her sisters called her Gorda as well even though she was skinny), and in no way it’s an insult, or a racist remark. Not in this context, anyway.

* * *

La Negra is driving somewhere, and suddenly there’s a little voice calling out to her.

“Psst! Negra! Negra!” A shrunken Luis Enrique stands on the dashboard and whistles to grab her attention.

“Down here,” he hops in place a couple of times. “Negrita!”

“Luis Enrique, what are you doing there so small?” she asks him, surprised.

“Ah, you see? What do you think? I came to talk to you for a little bit.”

“Hold on. I’m gonna be late, because I can’t talk to you when you are that small.”

La Negra parks the car and asks Luis Enrique, “What did you do to get so small?”

For some reason [genius script], he repeats, “Ah, you see? What do you think?” and then adds, “I took Chapulín’s Chiquitolina pills, and I left him trapped inside a matchbox! Hahahah!”

“This is annoying, Luis Enrique! I really can’t stand you this way. Chao!” And la Negra slaps poor little Luis Enrique as though he’s a mosquito as he cries out. Now a cartoonish pile on the dashboard, he says, “I don’t like you.”

* * *

After taking a Chiquitolina dosage.

*Chapulín Colorado, a super hero that always got in amusing sorts of trouble, which he always detected beforehand with his vinyl antennae (a nod to Spider-man, I suppose).

In the photo he’s doing his courageous, ready-for-anything stance, while saying, “¡No contaban con mi astucia!” which means, “They weren’t counting with my cunning!” a phrase he was likely to repeat at least three times during each show.

If he looks to you anything like that Bee Man from The Simpsons, that’s because he’s the inspiration behind it. I guessed as much the first time I ever saw the bee guy, since they made him look quite a bit like Chespirito.

Among his crime-fighting weapons was his stash of shrinking pills, called Chiquitolina. As you can see in the picture, he became very small, and the effect lasted for a few minutes after taking a dosage.

I will always remember the scenes during which a female character would give him a very close look, or hold him in the palm of her hand. Heck, even the ones with male interaction worked for me. Back then I had no idea why I loved those parts of the show so much. Now I do.

Well, at least I have nice dreams.

There I am, part of the crew.

I never had nightmares when I was a child. Never. Well, just that once when I was six years old, but it was such an unusual occurrence that I never forgot it. I only started having bad dreams in recent years. Last night I dreamed my son ran away from home, and later called me on the phone so I’d pick him up at a crowded place. The horrible part of the dream was getting there before anyone thought of kidnapping him.

But then the dream changed, and I was suddenly part of the Serenity crew, battling bad guys in space. Of course I looked like my normal self, and not a squid. Actually, I didn’t look like my normal self either, since I was wearing a combination of cowgirl and high-tech clothes. Ya know, the boots, but made of bantha leather; the pants, but made of space-age fabric, the sexy S&W .44 Magnum type revolvers, but the kind that shot ray blasts.

Anywho, after we beat the bad guys we were celebrating, somebody shouted in disgust, and pointed at the floor toward the kitchen. There we saw a flood of roaches and other bugs running away from the kitchen in one direction, heedless of the light and humans around them. Then we heard a series of terrible explosions, and we realized the bugs had sensed trouble before humans the way some creatures do. We opened the ship’s windows to look outside, parked about 20 miles away from the city. What we saw was terrifying: A colossal mechanical bug destroying the city with missiles and rays shooting from it.

I heard someone sigh and say (with regret, as though they had hoped it had been a different foe), “And I had hoped we were being attacked by Iraqis”, and someone else whispered, “And I had hoped we were under nuclear attack”. In other words, the city-sized bugs were much worse than either of the other possibilities. Then a third person said, “We have to call Dr Who!” at which point I felt great disappointment as I thought, But I’m in a Firefly dream! Not in a Dr Who one!

Then I woke up thinking it would have been tremendously cool just to grow in my dream as I’ve done before, and squish those mecha bugs. Some of my dreams do make it worthwhile to sleep like crap.

Do you have a square to spare?

If someone had told me in 2004 that I would be creating giantess collages in 2006, I would have laughed. I clearly remember looking at collages and thinking, Wow, now this is something I’m never gonna waste my time doing.

Then I got my avatar at Giantess.com (after I won an enigma contest and the corresponding 750 points), which as you know is a small image that somehow should represent you, always next to your posts. It was my first “purchase” with points at that board, and I proceeded to have obscene amounts of fun with it.

Officially, my first collage was created because I had a penchant for changing my avatar about once a week. When members at Giantess.com found that place online to create different South Park characters based on their own physical appearance, many of them used those images as avatars at GDC. I wanted to join in on the fun, so I created this one:

My favorite South Park characters

I’m the tall one, of course.

Then, during the World Cup I was inspired to create a few fútbol-related ones, and after that I had caught the collaging bug, but didn’t know it until I felt compelled to work on my first medium-sized collage:

He will spare a square if he knows what's good for him.

Remember that Seinfeld episode? Well, it was not the inspiration for this collage (created some time in July 2006), but now I can’t help but think of it when I look at this image. It was borne out of my need to look for shoes, stilettos to be precise. I came across the image of the woman using the toilet, and the rest practically wrote itself.

I can image a woman (let’s call her Undersquid) caught in the bathroom without tissue, and asking her little man to give her a square….

She sat, thinking. She was done with what she had gone there to do, but did not move, so distracted she was with thoughts of her day and what still shocked her as her new life.

It’s his new life, really, she thought. My life hasn’t changed much. I still get up and go to work, come back and spend the rest of my day with him….

She worried. What if he kept getting smaller? His height had reached a plateau between seven and eight inches in the last few months, but that didn’t mean it would stay that way forever. She sighed and reached for some toilet paper, her fingers sliding over the empty cardboard cylinder that rolled in place with a fwapt.

Dang it! I’m all out.

And then she heard it, a scratching, squirreling sound that came from below the bathroom sink, where she kept what she knew what the last roll of toilet paper in the house and other bathroom items. She looked to her right, bending over far enough and just in time to see the squeaky cabinet door open very slowly. It jerked, closing back a bit, and then, after a fragile-sounding grunt, it opened wide enough to allow the passage of a roll of toilet paper. The only roll. It hit the tile floor with a delicate thump, and its momentum turned it over a couple of times, but she wasn’t looking at it anymore.

A pair of manly legs, toy-sized and naked, were hanging from the base of the cabinet, and dropped onto the floor. His little feet slapped the floor when they hit it, and then scurried the body they carried into visibility, when she saw him run to the roll of toilet paper he was now intent on transporting from its rightful place, to whereabouts undisclosed.

“Honey, what in the world are you doing?” her voice echoed in the tile-wall bathroom. The rascal didn’t even turn to look at her.

“Nuttin.” He pushed the roll, aiming it toward the bathroom door and moving it away from her.

“What do you mean, ‘nothing’? I can see you are taking a whole roll of toilet paper! Could you bring it this way, please? I’m all out here.”

“No.” He said, simply. Her eyes widened a tad. It wasn’t as though he never said “no” to her. In fact, he was the most recalcitrant, reticent, resolute man she had ever loved, but this was too much! She needed what he had, and now. Her gaze must have burned his skin, because he glanced at her for one second when he stopped to take a break from his energetic pushing. He sat on the floor, the roll a convenient wall between them.

“I can’t. I don’t have a square to spare,” he chirped, blushing.

“Darling, what is going on?” she shook her head, and smiled condescendingly. “You need to bring me that roll now. I need to wipe myself!” Her eyes grew wider as she thought, What’s with him? Maybe he wants to use it as writing paper, but he could just say that!

“I’m sorry, but I won’t. I need every bit of this roll. You are just going to have to find something else-” He began to unbend his legs from underneath his body when, filled with impatience, she lifted and brought her heeled foot down with great force. He couldn’t help but flinch, but mirrored her eyes and didn’t look away. He was no longer getting up, though.

“Oh, sweetie, you need to learn who wears the pants in this house,” she said, and dove off the toilet bowl, her hand shooting in his direction like a bird of prey.

A few seconds later, roll and man in hand, she did as she pleased as he argued, “But you’re not wearing paaaaants!”

And here, because I can, I’m posting a song I think goes well with the scene.

INXS – Need You Tonight

Bones – The Perfect Pieces in the Purple Pond

King of the loony bin!

Part of the beauty of Bones is the conclusive way it inspires me to learn more about the world around me. It can be argued that the knowledge I gain will serve absolutely no purpose, and will not enhance my life more than fulfilling my duties as a human being would and does, but who knows….

Maybe there’s a balance between awareness and obligation that escapes me, and that one day will pop into my life and prove that it was important for me to know the relationship between Lemania subspecies and high-gradient streams despite how frustrating it is that the Internet is not a place the reveals whether algae does indeed turn purple when agitated by a stream of urine.

Most of the world may never know, but at least I’ve learned of the existence of a lemma beyond the world of Terry Pratchett. Another fully hardened brain erection took place when looking up forensic blood detection methods, specifically what Brennan used when she scooped what might have been blood.

They show it a lot on TV shows. Forensic dude uses a q-tip to recover traces of something, and the q-tip goes into some liquid, and the liquid turns pink like so many pregnancy tests. What they don’t do in most TV shows is tell you what the hell that is. Bones did, when she said the word “phenolphthalein”, thus allowing me to find out more about it, and to find great delight in learning the science was accurate.

Vegetable peroxidases have never been sexier!

Lovely subplots:

1. Zach reappears!

2. Booth’s back’s in pain after going down a small slide while with his son Parker

3. Zach’s part is played by Mr. Bray, Brennan’s brightest scholarship student

4. There’s a reference to someone “giant” about four minutes into the show, ruined by adding the word “toddler” after it

And much more.

This was a terrific episode. The squint content went through the roof like a horny giantess, and the quid pro quo between the horror of violence and chemistry and humor was perfectly produced. As Parker Lewis would have said,

“[Ladies and] gentlemen, we have achieved coolness!”

America’s Next Top Giantess Model

As I’ve said before, I think watching TV is a huge waste of valuable time, some times more than others. Reality shows are perfect examples of the clock ticking away while it steals minutes you’ll never get back as you watch fake reality happen to imperfect strangers.

So it is with a sizable amount of shame that I admit I have, on occasion, from time to time, almost always accidentally, watched America’s Next Top Model. Since I don’t have cable, these accidental watchings have taken place online for the most part, with probably one exception.

I will say for myself that the benefit of watching these cycles (they are not seasons, as they take place more often than once a year) online is that I can watch the last five minutes of each episode and spare myself the mindless shrieking, the cruel shrewing, and the senseless attempts at sabotaging displayed by some of these ambitious young ladies.

And boy does the show lick its lips and savor each great fall that comes after an excessively proud girl states someone other than herself should leave the competition. So why do I watch it? I don’t know… I have stopped watching when the shrill screaming begins (it usually follows Tyra Banks’ entrance, or that one of either of the J’s), or when the girls display overly immature behavior, but I really like the girlie stuff, such as the clothes, and the shoes (when I can catch a glimpse of them), and the hairstyles, and sometimes even the jewelry and makeup.

There was this episode a few days ago where J II led the girls in posing as “giants” (his word) creating different “natural disasters”, and I instantly thought there would be a thread about this on the giantess boards. I imagined there would be naysayers that would mention the inability of the girls to act as “real giantesses”, or to pose realistically as “giantesses”. This is the face I make at those hypothetical people:

I doubt there’s a single clothes designer in the business interested in models portraying giantesses convincingly more than they care about how they will sell the clothes they invent.

The photo shoot was nice to watch, partly because I wanted those model towns and mountains and beaches right in my living room so I could pretend to be a giantess myself, and partly because some of those dresses and boots rocked. My absolute favorite one is the red dress Analeigh (the windstorm maker) is wearing, together with those fabulous white boots. I’ve had dreams about similar boots.

Except in my dreams my white boots were magical and had the power to make me grow.

Earthquake

Traffic Jam

Windstorm

Sandstorm

Power Outage

Rockslide

Heat Wave

Snowstorm

Tidal Wave

Bones – The Finger in the Nest

This is the first episode I began to feel like the old Bones of the past seasons was back. By the way, in my life I’ve only purchased two TV series in DVD form: The X-Files, and Bones. Patiently too… I waited until the second season of Bones went down to $15.00.

The episode opens with Booth hanging out with his son at a park. There’s a bit of boneheadedness when Seeley says that a spiral-thrown football is more beautiful than a sunset or the Mona Lisa. I suppose that falls under personal preference, but I sure as hell would not pass it down to my son that I’m a moron that places a misshapen ball before the aesthetics of art or nature.

Anyway, I’m not going to be one of those silly people that reads too much in a TV moment that shows fake interaction between a father and his son (even though I just was), especially when I know parenthood is filled with erroneous sound bites that are great opportunities for a child to make up her own mind about real things.

When I was a child my father was enraged after a visit to my grandparents because my grandma had stated that the bible was the most pornographic book she had ever read. I had to look away so he would not see my lack of empathy with his feelings. While I didn’t exactly agree with my grandmother, at that age I had already began to ponder the value of a book that illustrated women as chattel constantly used for begetting, or as extensions of men right from the beginning.

In the end, I still think the bible is one of the most interesting books I have ever read, but enough of that. There’s a bit of character exposition I love about Bones, and it’s when the squints and Booth get together to discuss a case, and the former will name drop some Latin species or name for something which invariably goes over Seeley’s head. Cue in his clueless look followed immediately by their explanation using the common name for things.

If that doesn’t make you open up a book to study Latin, or look things up on the Internet (the sort of things that expand your brain and your brain only, that is), or develop a thirst for knowledge, then… well, it does that for me.

For example, when Parker finds the human bone in a Corvus Brachyrhynchos (American Crow) nest, I felt compelled to find out more about that bird. That it feeds on carrion is true, although it’s only a small part of its diet. There are other interesting facts about it, but moving on.

Decomposed body parts are fun to find!

I was also extremely diverted by the whole Parker-must-be-traumatized bit. When I was a little girl my thirst for snails and puppy dog tails was equal to my sugar and spice components, so Booth’s distress over his son possibly being emotionally scarred over the rotten finger was touching, while Parker’s smirky, delighted attitude reminded me of myself. The whole psycho babble about children’s brains not being able to process death as an end is pure hooey, of course.

The part of Zach was played by Mr. Starret, Brennan’s oldest star student. Another favorite part of all episodes is when the body of the victim is found, but in this case it was hardly believable that Booth did not know that possums go into a false sleep, therefore originating the phrase “playing possum”. That bit seemed too “let’s educate the viewer”, which is something annoying and unfortunately ubiquitous to any TV show that displays any amount of real science.

I felt the same when Hodgins identified the murder weapon as Canis Lupus Familiaris. Anyone with half a brain knows that “canis” can mean dog, and Booth’s character certainly has more than half a brain.

Another episode highlight was Schatzi, the beautiful Cane Corso Mastiff? of a drug dealer who was a murder suspect. Schatzi (which means “treasure” in German) had been trained to obey commands spoken in German. That’s exactly what I dreamt of doing back when I wanted two Rottweilers as doggy companions… before my life was invaded by three cats.

Schatzi being ordered to bark.

I wanted to come up with a secret command word in German that meant “kill home invader now by chewing his throat to bloody flesh threads”. Ah, to be young and to have dreams of your dogs as weapons. And all that fun and memories within the first thirteen minutes of the show. The rest was just as enjoyable.

Sports

This is something I added to my old blog over a year and a half ago, and since I save plenty of the things I write and today is Sunday so I’m lazy, I’m reusing it.

* * *

I think most of us like sports, whether we play or watch them, or both. Years ago I was watching a game between the Packers and some other team. I was rooting for the Packers, my allegiance won out of friendship with fans and an enjoyment of cheese hats, and not rooted at all on understanding or appreciation of the game. The ball looks deformed, and the players are far too large. If anybody needs a good shrinking, it’s a football player. Anyway, I was watching the game, following it after a fashion, and began to think, What if a giantess was the only player of an opposing team? How much fun would that be to watch?

Those little bodies would scurry and rush and try to pry that abomination of a ball from between her gigantic toes. Good luck with that! And when she’d flick it off, send it like a bullet to singe the air between those two posts, may there be mercy for whoever catches it at the other side. The same goes for fútbol, the sport that raised me as it mingled with my childhood and consciousness as iron does with blood. During the last World Cup I wanted to create an image I could use as an avatar at Giantess.com that would communicate my feelings about it, so I came up with this:

Not perfect. The lighting is all wrong, as he comes from a sunny image, and she doesn’t. His face looks at the camera, when he should be craning his neck, and gazing up. Those were things I wanted to fix at some point, and a few weeks ago I tweaked it a bit and ended up with this.

My kind of fútbol.

Still not perfect, but closer to what I prefer. If a woman in my invented world of dimorphic sexes is halfway smart, she knows how important it is for her health to keep active and exercise her body. If she’s halfway decent, she knows the same holds true for her pets and has little balls and toy mice and trinkets she tosses their way. If she’s lucky the way I am, her pets will toss back. If she’s anything like me, she will combine both pieces of information and know that she should play with her shrunken man as often as possible in order to keep him healthy. Entropy is the enemy.

Fútbol my way is played on rich, green, velvety grass, while wearing high heels (yes, the feminist in me knows that high heels are an oppressive invention of The Man, but I still love them ). A lacy dress is optional, but helpful. I personally skirt the pants, although shorts are nice. Anything to distract him into playing very poorly. Never mind that my size is already extremely advantageous, and that I have all the cards up my sleeve. Yellow and red ones, that is.

He’s very small, but I don’t miss a detail of scissoring legs and straining muscles as he scampers and zig-zags on the field, trying to keep his footing on unfriendly terrain, each step getting lost in shin-high blades of grass as thick as butcher knives. If that was all he had to contend with, the game would be easy… but there’s that gargantuan sphere the size of a mountain boulder, thick rounded leather he wants to kick, remembers how to kick, but is reduced to pushing at his infinitesimal size, until I steal it from him the moment he makes the strategic mistake of trying to lift it, and falls on his back, the ball a heavy weight on his chest.

Foul! Yellow card! I card him for that as I giggle to see those tiny arms and legs flail and whip the air underneath that ball. “Get this thing off me!” he pleads.

So adorable. But not so much that I let him win. We don’t keep that kind of score anyway.