Satisfying The Boss Hunger
Sheryl's has an insatiable sexual appetite. Literally. She has a man-eating pussy, and no matter how many people her snatch swallows, or how big she gets, she always wants more. In this chapter, Sheryl sucks up two women in the pool, then grows even bigger than before. Jen brings over her ex and has a wild threesome. Then, to her surprise, she feels a new hunger. For the first time, Jen unbirths someone herself!
Satisfying The Boss Hunger
What we would like is for everybody to live in the best possible way: so that everybody with a minimum amount of effort will obtain maximum satisfaction. I don't know how to give you a theoretical formula which correctly depicts such a slate of affairs; but when we get rid of the social environment of the boss and the police, and people consider each other as family, and think of helping instead of exploiting one another, the practical formula for social life will soon be found. In any case, we will make the most of what we know and what we can do, providing for piece-by-piece modifications as we learn to do things better.
Come on. Don't waste your eloquence. These are well-known stock phrases... and are no more than a lot of brazen and irresponsible lies. Liberty, individuality of those who die of hunger! What crude irony! What profound hypocrisy!
You defend a society in which the great majority lives in bestial conditions, a society in which workers die of privation and of hunger, in which children die by the thousands and millions for lack of care, in which women prostitute themselves because of hunger, in which ignorance clouds the mind, in which even those who are educated must sell their talent and lie in order to eat, in which nobody is sure of tomorrow - and you dare talk of liberty and individuality?
The coexistence of the egoistic and the altruistic sentiment and the impossibility in existing society of satisfying both ensures that today no one is satisfied, not even those who are in privileged positions. On the other hand communism is the social form in which egoism and altruism mingle - and every person will accept it because it benefits everybody.
One dreadful day they squealed all the time while Marcella's littleEnglish mother lay on her couch in the window that looked overLashnagar, and cried. She had lain on this couch for nearly two yearsnow, whiter and thinner every day. Marcella adored her and used to kissher white, transparent hands, and call her by the names of queens andgoddesses in the legends she had read, trying to stretch her own tenyears of experience to match her mother's thirty-five so that she couldbe her friend. And this day when Rose Lashcairn cried because the beastswere crying with hunger and there was no food for them, Marcella thoughtof Jeannie Deans and Coeur de Lion and Sir Galahad. Buckling on herarmour in the shape of an old coat made of the family plaid, and a Tamo' Shanter, she went out to do battle for the helpless creatures whowere hungry, and stop her mother's tears.
At the end of the year things began to go badly again at the farm. Themoney was almost exhausted; the oat crop failed and one of the cows waslost on Lashnagar, where she had been tempted by hunger to find morefood. One of the serving women, falling ill, went to Edinburgh to becured and never came back; paint, blistered and scarred from the doorsand window frames by the weather, was not replaced; the holes gnawed andtorn by the hungry rats in wainscot and floor were never patched andfood was more scarce than ever. Aunt Janet sat, a dourly silent ghost,while Marcella read to Andrew, listening sickly to the beasts clamouringfor their scanty meals. And one night, when he had been out alone alongBen Grief and seen his lands and his old grey house, Lashcairn theLandless, as they called him, went back to his barrel.
"You're going away because you feel it in your feet that you've got togo, Marcella," said Aunt Janet calmly. The wind roared down the chimneyand sent fitful puffs of smoke out into the room. "If I tried to stopyou, you'd go on hungering to be away."
It was her first love letter. She felt, vaguely, that it lackedsomething though she did not quite know what. She hated the talk aboutmoney and about her uncle. She hated that he could borrow money socasually from a nurse who had been good to him. She wished that terriblehunger he had predicted had not happened to her. She knew, with absolutecertainty, that Dr. Angus had gauged her fatal habit of conceitedanxiety to help other people when he cabled to her not to marry adrunkard whom she had merely put to him as a hypothetical case. And sheknew the doctor was inevitably right about the folly of marrying a manlike Louis.
"Oh, my goodness," she said out aloud, "I'm caught! I'm chained! Louiswas right when he said I didn't understand about these hungers. Oh, mygoodness, it's like Louis's feet take him to a whisky bottle. My feetwere simply coolly walking me off to waken him up."
"My boss has gone off for the day," she complained. "I went up intoDutch Frank's room just now, and found the pail of water left there!He'd hardly begun his scrubbing. I don't know where he got his moneyfrom."
"Oh, go an' sit on his knee a bit, kid, and make up to him. That's thebest way to make them go quiet. He's at the vulgar stage to-night, yourboss is. But do keep him quiet. Not that I'm not sorry for you, kid,"she added, as she turned away. "They're beasts, men are. Mine's asleepas it happens."
At last he had no money. Everything portable he had sold, including someof her clothes. His drink hunger was tearing him. She was going aboutthe room with big, mournful eyes and white face, making a meal for him.He had scarcely eaten for the whole fortnight; she did not understandthat he was too poisoned to eat; she tried to persuade him to take fooduntil he was irritated beyond endurance and threw it on the floor. Asshe passed him, quiet footed, he noticed her purse in the pocket of thebig cooking apron Mrs. King had lent her.
She watched him, fascinated, her back against the door. With a look ofinfinite cunning he began to search his pockets and produced a bundle ofpapers, ordinary note-paper, pale grey with an embossed address andtelephone number at the top. He handed them to her solemnly.
"Louis, you're to leave this to me. On the Oriana you said you would.I'm your doctor and I'm prescribing treatment. I may be wrong, but giveme a trial, anyway. I don't want to boss you. I want you to be free. Butyou can't till you've learnt how to walk yourself."
"I've thought a lot about it," he went on, speaking more impersonallythan she had thought he could. "It's going to be so awful for you. I'llbe a fiend to you, I expect, when the hunger comes on. I suppose this isone of the advantages of an inebriates' home. They'd shove me in astraight jacket or give me drugs when I got like that. Out here, yousee, there's only you. I can't control myself. I may hurt you."
"Come on, kid, and have a cup of tea with me," said Mrs. Twist gently."I know what it is to feel as if you could chew anyone's head off. Italways takes me like that the last few weeks. Where's your boss?"
She had been working till after dark, in spite of Mrs. Twist'sremonstrances, to which she answered rudely and impatiently. At last theelder woman thought it less wearing to the girl to leave her alone; sheguessed that she would faint with physical weariness before she had gotover her mental misery. Louis could see the red glow in the sky for thelast two miles of his dazed tramp; it led him homewards, muttering tohimself about a pillar of fire and a pillar of cloud. He looked into thehouse and saw that she was not there. He had not known, till he saw theempty rooms, with her frock hanging over the hammock, her nightgownneatly folded on the shelf, her books and a pannikin half full of coldtea in the kitchen, how much he had counted on seeing her, how he hadhungered for her, deep down, during all the nightmare week. He felt tooashamed to go to the Homestead to look for her; then it occurred to himthat she would be across the clearing.
"Ah, this is different. This isn't physical. It's psychological. Justas, once, I hungered for whisky, now I loathe and dread it. The idealthing would be to be indifferent to it. That may come in time."
Source or Origin. Some goals, such as hunger, are biological in origin. Other goals, such as choosing Dover sole, are volitional. Physiological states lead to biological goals. Experience and beliefs lead to intentional goals.
Status. The state of the goal, e.g., active, satisfied, pending. When your hunger goal is active, you are hungry. After eating, your hunger goal is satisfied, but also pending, since you will later become hungry again.
Frequency and Persistence. How often does this goal arise and how long does it stick around? Physiological goals such as hunger and sleep have clear daily time courses. Other goals, such as raising children or pursuing a career, may persist for years and decades. There are normative frequencies for common goals. We would think it odd if a person bathed 30 times a day or just once a year.
Age. As most goals age, they grow in importance. That is, the longer that you neglect a goal, the harder it becomes to ignore. Goals such as hunger, sleep, paying taxes, and going to work all become more pressing as they go unattended.
Adopted Goals. As discussed in chapter 5, the importance of an adopted goal is a function of the importance of the underlying relationship. A request by your boss is generally of higher importance than a request by your secretary.
A hunger for authenticity guides us in every age and aspect of life. It drives our explorations of work, relationships, play, and prayer. Teens and twentysomethings try out friends, fashions, hobbies, jobs, lovers, locations, and living arrangements to see what fits and what's "just not me." Midlifers deepen commitments to career, community, faith, and family that match their self-images, or feel trapped in existences that seem not their own. Elders regard life choices with regret or satisfaction based largely on whether they were "true" to themselves.