This one post, entitled 'Whoopee: How Not to Write About Sex #2', written back in August just kills me.
I rifle through some pages. Pages which have actually made me want to wash my hands, because the story has a horribly cathartic tone of personal experience to it, and the hands that have grasped the tumescent veiny stumps of boring old men have also touched the paper I am reading.
Not only is there a great band name in that last sentence, but I'm thinking I would trade all my posts of the past year, if I could write one sentence that good/well/smart..
A wonderful example of purplish prose she cites:
"The woman was amazing. She was like a fresh new day. Clean, uncluttered and ready for anything."
I'm off to search for 'How Not to Write About Sex, #1'...