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Leto Armitage, Quartermaster
Welcome aboard the Resilience. I am the Quartermaster of this floating pile of degeneracy and that means I control the rum, which includes a lot of quality control testing. I had to put that duty aside long enough to write this, so trust me, it won’t be longer than necessary.
Now, I do encourage the degeneracy around here so long as work gets done on time. The ship is something like Hemingway’s Mobile Feast, just with more lesbians. Maybe, I mean it was Paris. Here, you can open a bunk room to find tentacles ravishing young maidens (gleefully), go to the Quarterdeck and find sapphic spacefarers who lost their way, enter the hold to discover things best not mentioned at bedtime, and far more.
Today, it’s my turn to update you lot on these various shenanigans. There will also be talk of books, bread, balls and butts, so draw a cup of the black spiced stuff and let’s get stuck in.
In This Week’s Ship’s Log
On April 16th, in 1972, at 5:03 PM, a Catholic priest named Herman Collingwood removed his smock and collar. He drove two miles to pick up a woman named Natasha Asloo. He was 34 and she was 31. Both carried legal documents with them and they drove for five hours deep into the night.
Well, Hemingway said write drunk and edit sober. Clearly, that means he was a quitter. I say write drunk and find a wench to edit for you. Note: Erase this part before the Captain sees it. [Too late! I saw…] Really, I don’t even know why I wrote it. [Yes, you do!] Oh yeah, drunk.
This is bread lust, the lust of home and hearth. And the smell of fresh baking bread is like breathing fresh air onto a simmering fire. Work that bread and tell me your lover doesn’t see those fingers working them. Let the moisture and flour coat you like sweat. It’s all foreplay. Bake the loaf and cut…
I wanted to make a recommendation, as I don’t think World Book Day should just be encouraging the world to read a book. It should also encourage existing readers to read outside their normal comfort zones. Don’t worry, it won’t be a radical suggestion. No mutton shumping, at least, but I’m not…
Next week, it’s our Ship’s Witch, M.W. Marie McLeod who takes over the pen, which I have a problem with. Her little pet demon keeps stealing my socks, and I am unamused by this. Do you know how hard it is to replace socks on a ship at sea? I don’t even want to know what he’s doing with them…
ABOUT LETO ARMITAGE
Leto Armitage was born in America under a set of circumstances that prophesied that he would one day unite the lost tribes and return the Ever Summer. Somewhere around twelve, he realized he had been left unsupervised and binged too many Arthurian movies in his formative years and that he was just another kid who accidentally got an education while reading above his age level.
By the time he turned old enough to get a passport, he started finding excuses to travel determined to find out what culture, food and women there were to experience. After learning to grill in Oaxaca, do kinbaku in Japan, and being banned from several former Soviet block countries, he returned home to settle down and see what damage he could do locally.
After working jobs including being a short order cook, bodyguarding strippers and professionally doing reader’s advisory for erotica he realized the most reasonable path forward was to become a writer. Today he lives with cats, dogs, and humans who seem to like him despite actually knowing him. He prefers to sit on his back deck, listening to the birds and Barry the Bumblebear bee, while he writes cozy, uplit romance and raunchy erotica.