Friday, February 27, 2009

Wound Care In The Age of Pain

In the last two weeks I've had various run-ins with Wound Care. First the Hospital Variations; this is where you go to be viewed by the nurse, the doctor, another nurse, a nurse practitioner, some guy with a camera and another nurse.

First the nurses gang up on you and toss you into bed, strip off your pants and roll you over to check out your ass. This might seem easy enough, especially for the hopeful perverts out there, but its not nice at all if what they are looking at is a bunch of Stage 4 holes in your backside, wounds tunneling into the dead meat of your ass.

Next the Nurse Practitioner comes at you with a probe. Not a nice comfy alien probe either but a sharp, cold human type probe, the kind of probe you really don't want anywhere near you, especially near your ass. Then the Nurse Practitioner starts to dig, probing away, scraping, slicing, cutting off the black dead meat down to the bloody meat below. And oh the sensations, the shear joy of being cut and dug upon, its really indescribable. Maybe if you tried chewing glass?

Anyway next comes the Photo-Op. The guy with the camera gets to work taking professionally framed pictures of your gaping ass wounds. Smile for the camera dear. Ugh. Having been suitably recorded onto a mass media device to be shared with others, your ass moves on to....

The Doctor. Now we just have to wait for the Doctor, who is off viewing other asses in other rooms just like yours, giving his esteemed opinion. Just have to wait a bit. yep. waiting. Hah. The Waiting Game... waiterino... waitoria... waititraitia... waiting is such sweet fun. If you wait long enough the Nurse Practitioner might venture to make a polite joking remark about, oh, maybe your ass. If this goes over well, maybe one of the Nurses will throw in a quip, then another nurse and maybe the camera guy too. Then a whole humorous conversation might ensue concerning your ass. Then the Doctor rushes on stage, bows to the audience, glances at the ass and says the same thing he did last month, "Its looking good, keep off it."

And thats wound care.

Saturday, February 14, 2009


Blessed are the partners who constantly put up with our shit, take care of us and devote themselves to our relative wholeness and heathful welfare. So go forth and buy flowers thou and candy and sweet little teddy bears with red bows, and do giveth said items of meaningfulness to thine main squeeze. And let there be horniness and all things fruitful to your house or apartment, and yea even unto your dorm rooms and such places, and let the horniness spill forth in great joy.

Happy Valentines Day, please stay clear of massacres!

Friday, February 13, 2009

Fancy Free

It would be nice to get out of bed. You folks with jobs and busy lives may think, "gosh it would be nice to stay in bed", but believe me the reality of it sucks wads. Being a shut-in is one thing, being an enforced shut-in is quite another, and being forced to lay in bed for a year is really to be avoided at all costs. I, being in the third case myself, would not recommend it. What I wouldn't give to go outside, to feel the wind in my face, to gaze across the deep blue waters of Gitchigoomie, to get lost once more in her cool embrace.

Some people actually choose this existance and are afraid to venture forth from thier abode, while others simply forget that there is another life, another world, outside of thier dark holes. I could not dream of such a nightmare, but it was my life for many years after my accident, alone and annoyed in my little room. Maybe I was afraid of what others would think of my broken body, maybe I wanted to hide. It took me allot of time to come to a place where I believed in myself, but eventually I did. I ventured outside, I met people, had me a life, wife, kid.... And a good ten years of living it, with ups and downs as is ever the case.

Then came the news that I had a hole in my ass in which you could hide a hens egg. Not the usual hole either. No, this was a whole new hole which just popped up one day, grown in my rotting flesh. Excuse me, my over pressurised rotting flesh. Who knew if you put pressure on flesh it goes bad? Well, actually it is something they teach you in hospital, but who was I to believe it? I was stupid, that's who.

So after roughly a year of healing up from that, I put it behind me (figuratively) and hoped never to go back. Then boom, smack, wanko, here we go again. I get another hole in my ass, and some rotting bone, and a few more wounds until I'm some kind of funpark for wound nurses in training. That's right, they love it when I show up because I got a roadmap of every kind of wound there is on my ass. Woo Hoo!

I'm glad I can entertain someone. (wry grin)

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Talking About Corporate Stupidity v.s. Medical Need

Kinetic Concepts, Inc. (KCI) is a global medical technology company with leadership positions in advanced wound care, and they must employ the stupidest people on the planet. They have this wound care machine called a VAC which basicly constantly sucks the puss out of open wounds such as bed sores, medical wounds, etcetera. For a person with an open wound the VAC is a godsend since it keeps all the goo out of a wound, allowing for faster healing.

Unfortunatly the administrators over at KCI have thier heads cleanly up thier asses because they are constantly trying to take these machines away from the people that need them. Thier ability to keep track of thier own internal memos is comparable to mankinds ability to fly with rocket powered farts, i.e., not quite up to speed.

Of course the world revolves not around helping others, but rather around how much money you can make whilst helping others as little and as badly as possible. Stupid humans....


Pain sucks. I hate pain. Sure its got its uses, but on a daily basis I'd rather have something better, like new shoes or a good diseased goose liver. Of course goose liver for pain would get old too. My problem is that the pain is constant, but its not just the pain per se, but rather the effects of the pain that really blows.

As a C6/7 quad, I have a certain protection from direct pain given that I cannot feel a damned thing below my chest. But the effects of pain hit me all the harder. Spasms rip through my muscles, arcing my body into flailing shapes with no particular warning. Pain rages like chaos into my brain, shearing thought into a jumble of inarticulate blather and insane cravings for some respite. Pain makes me shake like a leaf in the wind, stealing my small and much horded ability to type even in my oh so slow one key at a time way. Ripping from me the only fun I have as a bed bound shut-in, my ability to reach out to others.

Yes, then too the medications for pain, medications that rob you of your sences, meds that leave you a breathing lump of otherwise zonked human flesh. Unable to think beyond the next pill, and the next, reactions to stimuli on nil.

And so I hope for a rainbow, and some greener grass on the other side.

Saturday, February 7, 2009

What If God Craps Souls?

No, really, this could go a long way towards explaining where souls come from. If everybody keeps reincarnating and there are more people now than there were like 50,000 years ago, then the souls must be coming from somewhere. So what if God crap is where souls come from? Sort of, you know, like fertilizer or something? Manure for the human race.

What If....

What if our toenails are really aliens? Maybe they are making little colonies under our beds. But its not the big ones we need to worry about, no sir. Them big ones are easy to get with a broom, vacume or one of those nifty dust mop things. No its the small ones that worry me. The broom skips over them too easily, and they stick in the rug so the vacume can't get them. And they laugh at dust mops let me tell you. Nope its definitly the small ones that I worry about. They have the time to plan. What terrible toenailish plans might they be hatching right now, under your bed? Hah, you'll say you have a maid. Maybe her name is Hazel or Alice or something retro like that. Maybe she actually gets down on hands and knees to maid around under the bed. Maybe she even moves the bed to clean under it. But it still won't help. You see I fear that tiny toenail clippings who are actually aliens know about base boards, and even the best stereotypical maid won't bother to clean under the base boards, not without a really good tip anyway. No, I fear that if our toenails are really aliens, and they have had time to lay thier plans against us, then we are doomed.

Brane Cosmology and Black Holes

I have an idea. They (the physicists of fame) say black holes suck up all this energy, light, even time. The black hole sucks it all to a point of singularity, where it goes "poof". But the problem is there can't just be a "poof" because matter and energy cannot be destroyed. So what if black holes hold and store the energy at the point of singularity until a brane happens to run into the singularity. As the brane intersects with the singularity, the singularity explodes into the space of the brane, thus creating a new "big bang" universe on the intersecting brane. Maybe this happens all the time. Maybe the black hole is like the womb of the Universe and singularities are the ova. Yeah, okay, its a stretch. But hey, it's late here at the zoo.

Friday, February 6, 2009

The Devils Dance

listen yea fair folk and listen well
this is the door to fairy hell
the iron gate to down below
that leads to where the bogles go

beyond the gate a stair goes down
below the earth far under ground
it leads to a place of fire and air
so i bid thee fair folk do beware

beyond the stair is a tunnel all black
and if you go in you're not coming back
for it comes to a pit all full of fire
and there the dark one does conspire

his evil minions shout and prance
and spin thier deeds in the devils dance
they set thier blades to the dark ones call
bestowing thier evil upon one and all

so i bid thee fair folk to take heed
lest thee are bound to the dark ones creed
and into that dark place do not stray
for if you do you shall surely pay

- the devils dance
by sarvil rover, 11722 f.c. (fae calender)

Avalon Bek, What Dreams May Become

This is the story of Avalon Bek, a warrior, a scientist, a champion of justice, who got screwed by the "Powers That Be" and became thier tool. He was one of the first men to be implanted with the most advanced cutting edge micro science bio-computer hardware mankind had so far invented, and the first man cryofrozen and shot into space in a manned interstellar probe. He was also one of the first men lost between the stars. Until he was rescued.

This is also the story of a boy and his dog, and a place where high fantasy meets hard science in a race both to claim a far away world and save our own.

The wheel turns, the cycle is unbroken.

Chapter 1

"Arilla? Arilla Renghe? What are you doing on Nexus?" James Shaffert said, as the slim young lieutenant came in through the forward bay, planted her feet firmly on the grav-ring and sauntered over.

"I could ask the same of you, Gentek," Arilla said, a smile lighting up her face. "I thought you’d be in trans on Vega, or has Jan finally wised up and left you?"

"She is waiting at the shunt, actually. I’m just under the wire and heading that way myself, as soon as Stoggy gets here that is," James said, smiling back at her quip. "Meantime, what can I do for you?"

"I’m under the wire too, actually. I need a fix," she smiled sweetly, batting her long black lashes and closing on him.

He groaned in apparent vexation as she slid up to him.

Wrapping his arms around her slim frame he said, "What else is new? Okay, what do you need?"

"I’m signed on the Acchilli as PSS, and the Captain sent me to fill the ranks," she said, cuddling into his embrace and staring up at him.

"Primary Science Specialist, huh? and on a ramship no less? The Acchilli is slated for deep space isn’t it? That’s quite a move for you, Arilla, considering your politics."

Her smile became a bit forced and she pulled out of his embrace, turning to survey the room. It was wide, round and filled with cryo tubes like large silver coffins all lining the walls, ceiling and floor, accessible via robotic jack-hoist. A grav-ring went around the room covered by a slab of light emitting flooring that hid the g-pads, super condenser coils which gave off artificial gravity at about a tenth of earth normal.

"So," she said, changing the subject as artfully as ever. "Do you have anyone for me?"
He was about to say something, to dredge up their past, old feelings, mutual need, to say something about the pain they had shared, and about her pain, things he could not share. He was about to, but like so many times before, he stopped himself.

She turned her back on him, pulled away, and he just let it go.

"So you want a bioprobe?" he asked instead. "I thought that was against your politics too. What are you looking for?"

He moved his fingers above the scanboard, bringing up a list of inventory as well as the logs of the ramship Acchilli.

She ignored the remark and turned to view the scanboard records over his shoulder. The lists corresponded to the cryo tubes covering the room, each of which housed a single cybernetic bioprobe. Some of the bioprobes were under construction, or waiting for various upgrades, but most were simply waiting for reassignment.

"Maybe a VX-22," she said sweetly. "Something with advanced micro scans and long- ranged sub-particle communications?"

"Yeah, you wish you could get a scan on that, but no chance. That’s restricted tech," he said, his fingers spinning through the mist of text dancing above the scanboard. "We only ship those out on Hierarchy craft, you know that. Or did you forget all your honest Gentek training now that you’re a Spacer?"

"Hmm," she said, pouting a bit for his benefit, "that’s why the captain sent me, I suppose. She thought I could get a favor."

"A favor?" James laughed. "I’m giving you favor enough just talking to you!" Then his look of vexation returned, but for another reason entirely.

"Where is that Stoggy?" James said. "I need to get to that shunt before third turn or my wire will be up and burnt."

"I’ll mind the stores if you need to get going," Arilla offered. "I’ve done it enough before. Just check my cred-chit before you go, so I can pick out someone nice for the Acchilli."

"Someone huh? Same old Arilla," James said, shaking his head. "Still persistently believing bioprobes are people too. At least your fantasies are consistent, mine never were."

She ignored him and his attempt at levity, letting the comment go; they had argued the point raw, there was no reason to bring it up again. They stood on opposite sides, that was all there was to it.

"One more favor for your old friend before he leaves you again?" James asked, breaking the silence awkwardly, something like regret coming through his words.

"Don’t worry, you and Jan are made for each other," she answered, a smile lighting her face that almost touched her eyes. "Besides, you’d never catch me signing a breeding contract with Megacor, even if it is the only way you can get a kid nowadays."

"I know," James said quietly, that look of regret lingering.

"Anyway, I would gladly take your offer, but it's against regs, and Prime Control would not like it if something went wrong on my click, and I was not here," James added, almost apologetically.
She moved closer, taking the scanner hot point from him, her fingers sliding along his wrist and extended fingers in a slow exaggerated motion to gather the cyber strand.

"Look, silly," she said, flash questing her bioprint and opening her main file. "I am still listed as temp in Core Records, and I have the clear for Gentek spec manipulation. I’m sure desk jockey falls lower than that, don’t you think?"

"Putting it that way, I suppose you’re right," James said, almost acquiescing to her will. "But there’s still a problem."

"Such as?" She asked, her eyebrows on the rise.

"I need to do a shutdown, and I know how you hate that," he said.

"Oh," she said, so quietly she almost seemed to be talking to herself. She almost blurted out an apology, almost bolted from the room; then she stopped and took reign of herself. She could do this, she must; she had quit Gentek Core because of this, she had become a Spacer to get away from this, but her past still haunted her. Space Core had put her in charge of the ship's bioprobes because of that past, and if she wanted to remain a citizen, with all the rights of that position, she would have to take one or the other. She steeled herself, and then she spoke the words, leveling a practiced look of disgust at James as if he had just insulted her pride.

"I can do it," she said, eyes daring him to say she couldn’t. "I am PSS on a ram-ship, after all."

"Okay,’ he said, backing down. He had seen Arilla angry before, and he did not wish to repeat the experience anytime soon. And while he did not really believe what she was saying, he could see that this was important to her. He used his voice command to unlock the stores for her, allowing for one bioprobe of her choice to be signed to the ram-ship Acchilli, and then he gathered up his things and headed for the core, thanking her profusely for the favor.

"I’ll check you out when you get back," James said, poised at the hatch. "I should have a family by then."

Arilla smiled as he departed. She had loved James once, or thought she had. They had both earned parent-right, permission granted to bear a child, genetic compatibility assured. They had found each other in Comp match, the company's computerized dating and mating system for parent-right earners. It was a perfect match from the start, they were both gentek trained, they liked the same tri-vids, had the same tastes in food court, and enjoyed each other's sexual styles. Their friends said they matched when they came to core gathering, like they had been together for years; that they fitted together. It was perfect, would have been perfect, but then life came and taught her some lessons which he could not fathom. They had lost each other across a scantable when the biomaterial they were manipulating became too personal to deal with, at least for her. He had never understood, and from that moment on, she could not love him; she could not even understand him anymore.

She pushed it away. It was the past.

She turned back to the scanboard and started tracing through the inventory lists. She refrained from bringing any of the VX scans online, though she thought of it, but not in a clandestine way. It was purely technical interest on her part. She had been a tech fanatic, and new tech always thrilled her. She had been attached to Gentek Core before switching to Spacer, before her brother's accident, before it had become too personal to manipulate humanoid biomaterial and create genetically engineered machines. It had been her life once, before she understood what she was doing, and who she might be called upon to do it to. But all that had changed. She refrained from looking up the VX scans not because it was illegal, she was good enough to cover her tracks in that respect. She refrained because she just wasn’t that person anymore, because she did not want to be that person anymore.

Instead of looking at the VX she brought up the shutdown list and accessed the block for current jobs. She opened the file list and switched to eyescan, flashing through the info blocks with unnerving speed. The file she was looking for clicked in almost immediately, showing three bots and one probe. The bots were phase-worn and definitely worthless; their frames were contaminated and their brains would no longer process information because of high radiation damage from the ore, but the probe seemed pristine at first glance, though something was not right about it. The kill specs were fine, there was the usual order for termination from Prime Control, the central authority of Gentek Core, but there were oddities that gave her cause to wonder. Oddities like the fact that the termination order had been routed from Alpha Core, Megacor's head offices on Earth; Alpha Core almost never concerned itself with Nexus Station or the outer ring. But it went deeper than that. The bioprobe had been shunted through Tarius Station after being picked up by a robot miner. Tarius was fully automated; a dump point for ore from the asteroid belt and a bot store for passing ships heading into the Rift, it was also fully outfitted with automated Gentek operations units for upgrading biobots and bioprobes used in prospecting operations. For some reason Tarius Station did a full upgrade before shipping this bioprobe to Nexus, which was odd because that kind of thing almost always took an order from Prime Control. And more so because as soon as the bioprobe hit the docking ring the termination order had come down.

Without stopping to think about what she was doing, or why she was doing it, Arilla accessed the bioprobe cryotube itself, her mind locked into the mystery and needing some conclusion that would answer it. She was looking for the reason the bioprobe needed to be terminated. She did a primary scan, doing trace for radiation contaminants and bimolecular virus mutations that might make the bioprobe a walking death machine, but she found no evidence of these. He was totally clean.

Next she brought up his body scan, marveling at the intricacies of his engineering. He was old, she could see that immediately; probably first or second generation. That would mean he had been out in deep space for a long time, probably in one of the early cryo-units; bulky tubes that relied on cold sleep rather than total stasis. The difference was slight--both caused the body to hibernate, but stasis was a complete shutdown of all faculties while in cold sleep it was said a subject still dreamed.

He was among the finest pieces of work she had ever seen; his implants were fully subcutaneous. That was illegal, had been since the Cyber War two hundred years ago. Before the war there had been cyber warriors, men honored for their choice to blend their flesh with machines for the good of mankind. But now any human with a cyber implant was considered a second class citizen if they were considered human at all; which most were not; even when someone chose to serve the company and blend with machines for the good of the company. Her brother had been one of these; over-zealous in his belief that the company would never sell him out if he gave everything he was to them. He had been a fool.

She could do this, she told herself. She was just stalling. She just needed to shunt the tube contents into the clean room and wipe it with the disintegration unit. Every bit of biomaterial would be gone and all the mechanicals would fall to the slot to be recycled, then she could go about her business. But she could not. Instead she brought up a picture of the bioprobe, scanning its sleeping face for something she couldn’t quite place.

Then it struck her. He looked like Tam.

Tamarin Renghe had been her brother. He had been a top jump jock in the Spacer Core, and he had given himself totally to his work. He had taken implants to better interface with the cascade, a computer model for accessing commands directly from an enhanced human brain. But something had gone wrong, something in the quantum curve of folded space time had driven him mad, or maybe q-kaon time reversal was just too complex for the human mind to comprehend. When he returned, his mind broken from his final test run, the company did not try to heal him. Instead they dissected him.

He could be Tam. He was older. Tam had been twenty-two cycles, while this man looked like he was at least ten cycles older, but the resemblance was uncanny. He was totally human in appearance, and she wondered if that was enough for the company to terminate him, but realized that there must be more to it. Megacor never wasted an asset, even where legalities were concerned.

She realized, too, that she could not be the one to terminate him.

She made her mind up almost too quickly. Everything fell into place; the steps she would need to take were clear in her mind. It would take an expert programmer, someone with her unique mindset, and a great deal of luck. She had the first two, she could only hope for the third.

Thursday, February 5, 2009

Avalon Bek, What Dreams May Become

This is the story of Avalon Bek, a warrior, a scientist, a champion of justice, who got screwed by the "Powers That Be" and became thier tool. He was one of the first men to be implanted with the most advanced cutting edge micro science bio-computer hardware mankind had so far invented, and the first man cryofrozen and shot into space in a manned interstellar probe. He was also one of the first men lost between the stars. Until he was rescued.

This is also the story of a boy and his dog, and a place where high fantasy meets hard science in a race both to claim a far away world and save our own.

The wheel turns, the cycle is unbroken.


The terrible fire of the Kabrin transpon beam erupted behind him as Avalon Bek engaged the cascade which seemed to tumble in front of him, partially in 3-D, but mostly a direct tap into his brain. The cascade was new to him; it was a flow of information, a raw feed which was his interface with the jump ship. The Valliant; his polytronic cyber brain logged the name in memcore. The Valliant was also new. However, he understood both the cascade and the Valliant to some degree. The cascade and the Valliant were both machines. He understood machines; understanding how he’d come to be in this one was another matter. He remembered a ship, billowing sheets of canvas, a fine mist carried by a sharp wind; but that must have been a dream. There were so many dreams. Was this a dream? Sometimes it was hard to tell. But no, this was real, this was work. Information flooded into him; dates, times, history, bringing him up to speed with all that had happened since he had last been Activated.

In many ways, especially within current classifications, Avalon Bek was a machine; though not in the ways that counted most. In those ways, he was all too human. He was old tech and his humanity was intact, unlike the bioprobes of today who had been wiped and wired, totally clean of the ability to think on their own. He didn’t let it affect him though. He never let emotion affect him. Instead he threw himself into his work, letting it engulf him. This was why he was here, why he had signed on in the first place: to serve.

Raw images and data surged into his brain, through his eyes, into his ocular sensors, and into his polytronic core just below his chest bone. The cascade had been conceived of and created for the cyber wars, for minds enhanced with high tech robotics. These days, since enhancing the minds of men was outlawed by the Kabrini Pact, men trained from birth to touch the cascade. Men had to, because the cascade was the ultimate interface for jumping the quantum curve; testing a mind's mental metal at every turn, it was hard to keep up with, harder still to control. The quantum curve itself was hard to control. Charting the curve of an anti-kaon event in space-time, or trying to find a way out of it, was a complex, exacting task. Only a highly intelligent, highly trained mind could even make the attempt. It required such intense concentration to interface with the cascade that sometimes it literally drove men mad. Or it burned them, fried their synapses on sheer complexity. There was just too much to think about, too many variables, too many possibilities happening all at once.

Avalon Bek manipulated the cascade as if he had been born to it, as if he had trained all his life for it, even though he had never touched it before. That was part of his specialty; had always been part of what he did, even before the extra hardware.

The cascade filled him and instantly he understood everything around him in minute detail. The ram-ship Acchilli, its vector in time-space, where it would be, where it must be, where it was now, in the grip of the transpon beam which held it plastered like a bug on a wall. He could almost feel the beam, his senses were that acute. The beam strength was pulsing with potential, gripping the hull of the Acchilli with a crushing power. The plasma reactors had already been crushed in that great force, their potential drawn along the beam toward the Star Fortress looming in the dark distance. The ram-scoop projectors and the massive hydrogen rarification plant would go next, then the positron laser and finally the living chamber in the forward hull; the transpon beam was pulling energy out of the Acchilli even as it crushed it.

He traced along the beam to its source, a massive pulse projector jutting through the magnetic shielding of the Star Fortress. He probed quickly along the massive shield of the great craft, barely touching it, a faint whisper in the static silence. He had done as much before and understood the danger; anything more than a whisper would alert the sensor grid and void jumpers would come screaming down on him. He had seen such a craft on the Rift and had made the mistake already. He’d barely eluded the dangers.

The Star Fortress was more a powered asteroid than a true space craft; it was a city floating in space. It was massive, but for all its mass it was quick and deadly in reaction to stimuli.
Behind him Avalon Bek felt the Acchilli begin to break apart and he spared a thought for Arilla Renghe and what she had done for him.

A part of him wished he could do something to stop it, to save her; some heroic thing. There was nothing he could do, of course. The Valliant was not armed. It was a gnat; worse, an amoeba against the bulk of the Star Fortress. He had no power here. He barely had enough luck to complete his mission.

All he had of Arilla Renghe was a dream. But it was real. He knew it had happened, as he knew that he had a debt he could never repay.

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

Lubrication Girl Theme Song

(Chorus) Lubrication Girl, In a messed up World
She's in astro glide with a real fine ride
Lubrication Girl, Lubrication Girl

With her liquid silk and her stroke machine
She's the slickist crime fighter you've ever seen

She will take you down so you better run
'Cause she's coming for you with her hot grease gun

(Chorus) Lubrication Girl, In a messed up World
She's in astro glide with a real fine ride
Lubrication Girl, Lubrication Girl

She's got a 2-in-1 punch that will knock you out
She's a wet platinum girl without a doubt

She makes things slippery and oh so slick
If you get in her way she will take you down quick

(Chorus) Lubrication Girl, In a messed up World
She's in astro glide with a real fine ride
Lubrication Girl, Lubrication Girl

She's got hot gun oil and cherry ease cream
Every teen aged boy's secret wet dream

She's out for hire, but not for what you think
She's a real crime fighter not just some old skank

(Chorus) Lubrication Girl, In a messed up World
She's in astro glide with a real fine ride
Lubrication Girl, Lubrication Girl