At this very moment, somewhere in the  universe, an anthropologist is waking up in a haze, trying to figure out exactly what he did last night.

The only clues are a now-empty sarcophagus in the laboratory and a half-remembered dream that was… not entirely unpleasant.

Now, to be honest, I find this hilarious. And, since the “sarcophagus” turns out to be a stasis pod… and since the woman in question is alive and well, and very much endowed with a pulse… Well, no harm, no foul… right?

I have that kind of a sense of humor. Does a werewolf have a baculum? How do you overcomes erectile dysfunction in a vampire? I mean… there are obvious logistics. My Twilight-obsessed friend survived… barely. She still has a twitch, but I blame her grandkids for getting her into that stuff in the first place.

Never mind the fact that I write for adults, I have been deemed not age appropriate.

My mind is in the gutter. Always has been.

The AP psychology teacher in high school let my class vote on what they wanted to study. Big mistake. And it’s all been downhill since then. (If you can spell paraphilia, thank a teacher.)

Still, I generally like to avoid saying things that are going to become a nuisance later on… If I can figure out exactly where that line is. That’s why I need my Booksellers back. Someone I can get an objective opinion from.

The people around here would just tell me that if I think something is even slightly funny in any way, I should burn it with fire.