Not Redshirts

One might say - might! - that by willingly going in to an obviously doomed situation it is your own fault for the doom that falls upon you, even if you really had nothing to do with it, even if your intents were as pure as a cat's purr...... Or, any situation that can reasonably be foreseen. Another example: In a "bad part of town", you leave your wallet on the car seat with the windows rolled down and hundred dollar bills hanging out. Do you deserve to get it stolen?

Thusly, falling in love with a Redshirt is just asking for heartbreak, since we all should know what happens to Redshirts. But! In the grand scheme of it, are we not all Redshirts? Mortal, fools, fated to be used, doomed to a certain end? So why bother falling in love if it will end - Darwin guarantees it! - in tragic loss?

You know the answer.

Now, onto the show. WARNING! ADULT CONTENT BELOW THE FOLD (speaking of guarantees)!

Sex. Here's pics from some kind of nude body painting hot chick German soccer pseudo beach match. Or something to that effect.
All for men's (and lesbians) pleasure, no doubt. Or "charity".
Ya see? I was a goalie long ago, went to goalie camp (concentration camp) and everything. Tough role. Sometimes you get brutalized. Other times, it's boring as hell. But clearly, it's the most important position in soccer/hockey and also topless female beach soccer. Or football, which does indeed make a hell of a lot more sense as a name. Stupid America.

Also, too:
I've recently realized the incredible value of bras. I mean, I got it, abstractly, thumbing through 1970's National Geographics. But, yeah, here? Hippie to the Nth.

Also also? Technically, not Redshirts, but rather redskins. Racists.

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