Hrm, I hate my manuscript today. It's gotta be alchemical because I go through this with most of my writing projects. The blush of creation is over, and the editor emerges in that tight-bunned matronly way and raps my knuckles over and over with her yardstick, and what are you doing with this foul mess?
I think I need to recast my internal editor as a dominatrix in thigh boots. We'd probably get along much better.
Oh, and because Greg hasn't got around to it:
Sexual practices of the cephalopodic kind