Epistemic status: Speculation. An unholy union of evo psych, introspection, random stuff I happen to observe & hear about, and thinking. Done on a highly charged topic. Caveat emptor!
oh boy
archive: https://archive.is/uOP4y
Epistemic status: Speculation. An unholy union of evo psych, introspection, random stuff I happen to observe & hear about, and thinking. Done on a highly charged topic. Caveat emptor!
oh boy
archive: https://archive.is/uOP4y
Blake was so interested in Rachel cladistically. “If my priors are correct, there’s a 98.3% chance you want me,” Blake said suggestively. “That’s good enough for me.”
“Oh yes! I want you with all my gene pool!” she exclaimed. Blake’s priors were correct. Her bakery had finally found meaning.
Blake had never felt the way he felt about Rachel about anyone since that time he showed Kayla how to strafe in Purple Heart 2. He still remembered the feel of his big, manly hands gently touching her controller, pressing her buttons expertly. They strafed together all afternoon, gigglingly. He had a manly giggle. But that was before he learned how to really sift flour. It takes a tough man to make flour smooth as silk.
Rachel wanted to make pastries with Blake more than she had ever wanted anything in her life. She didn’t know if they would make a big handsome croissant or some cute little danishes, but at this point she didn’t care. Her gastronomical clock was ticking.
Just like how in Minecraft if you line two chests up next to each other you make a big chest, Rachel’s two breasts lined up perfectly to make a big chest. “She’s at the peak of evolutionary fitness!” Blake thought through his masculine flannel hat. It made him proud to be a mammal.
Blake couldn’t wait to rip Rachel’s bodice. He turned on his computer so that he could Google where the bodice would be located. He wanted to be prepared. It was good that the Internet had finally come to Pastryton.
Suddenly, inspiration hit Blake like a deer hits the grill of a mint condition Chevy on a foggy night. “Boda” was Spanish for wedding. “Bodice” was probably French for wedding-thing. You needed to know a lot of French to be an expert baker. But Blake didn’t have a whole lot of other opportunities to use his French in Pastryton. He hoped Rachel would like him using his French on her. All of his French. On her.
Finally, Blake couldn’t resist a second more. It was not when he planned it, but he couldn’t hold it in any longer. Blake spontaneously popped the question! “Do you like Harry Potter and/or rational thinking? Do you want to be less wrong?”
“Yes!” Rachel cried out with her whole soul. “Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes!” She tackled him and they rolled around for an hour. It was amazing how femininely she could roll and how masculinely he could roll and how perfectly they rolled together, like two ball bearings milled for the same track. They rolled on the thing she had put down on the grass for them to have their picnic upon. Blake wasn’t sure whether it was supposed to be a tablecloth or a blanket. The pattern on it looked more like gingham than flannel, but he wasn’t an expert. He would have to ask his sister about it. But that could wait for later. When he was done rolling.
“I started out with bad priors about you, Blake. About all of Pastryton really. But I’ve updated them now.”
“As it should be, Rachel. As it should be.”
“That’s not the only thing I’ve updated my priors about lately.”
Rachel looked essentially identical to almost every other adult female Homo sapiens. There were trivial deviations here and there but everything was clearly within normal parameters. It was a pattern that evolution had programmed Blake to like. And he liked it very much indeed.
“I can’t believe that Rachel is going back to Manhattan because of a misunderstanding I could explain to her in six words but have instead chosen to make a huge plot point.”
“Have you tried just telling her how you feel, Blakeston?”
“Is that… is that a thing you can do? Like there are words for such things? This is incredible, Mom! What an amazing idea! No one else could give advice like you do!” Blake couldn’t wait to get home, turn on his computer with his thick, rod-like fingers, and Google “words that describe emotions.”