Every world—or group, or idea, even—appears to spawn its own homemade narratives, almost as a first instinct. Have world, will narrate. Have community, will story. Again, the phenomenon of fanfic (fan fiction—fiction written with characters created by someone else, like Mulder & Scully from The X-Files—often becoming sexual) is striking. And it pops up everywhere. And I think I can get behind it, mostly.

I just finished reading Dostoevsky's The Brothers Karamazov (the Richard Pevear, and Larissa Volokhonsky translation, if you care—the most recent and arguably best one) in my attempts to read one Big Novel per summer at a minimum to fill the gaps in my own lackluster education, and I was sitting in bed, air conditioner just starting to spin up to cooling mode, cats running around thinking of food, and I wondered—apropos of nothing really; who knows why we think at times of the things we do—whether there was such a thing as a hiccup fetish.

The easy way to find these things out, thankfully, is to head to the Internet, because if there is a fetish, there's a home for it online. Googling "hiccup fetish" dropped me down the rabbit hole, and the answer is yes. Yes, there is a place for that fetish. I clicked on the first link that came up. Here it is, if you care: [link]. I saw pretty quickly that there was a fiction section, and you can see for yourself, it's filled with hiccupping girls (and some boys) with "deliciously large and firm" breasts, etc. It's weird how fast this happens, and how available it is, these stories we tell each other about ourselves, about our own proclivities. It's nonfiction of a different order.

    I suppose you can return to the "main" "text" if you want to: (re)turn to page 66