I’m watching Rocky.
Even if you haven’t seen the first film; you find yourself with nostalgia coming out of your ears.
Excuse, me there’s a series of clips showing gradual improvement all whilst set to music.
I’ve caught chickens; its easy. Not as easy as eating it; but at least it keeps you moving. You can fill your belly and your pillow. And you…bone and beak bag…keep that bag away from me.
Sitting here, and knowing I’m a good person, tells me I deserve a puppy.
A puppy I will gradually improve, whilst set to music.
Since that last sentence I am now at work, finishing my lunch just after breakfast and concerning myself with the most convincing ailments.
Diarrhoea is convincing enough to have the boss set you loose back into the public. Just calmly walk in to their office, with one look on your face: the look of a face that shall never express again because apparently I’m only expressing out my arse for the foreseeable.
Your walk should be slightly askew, basically as though you have an exceptionally private reason for keeping your butt-cheeks open and an equally private reason for keeping your knees entwined.
When offered a seat; just slowly shake your head.
“I am going home.” state simply, “I have diarrheoa.”
And immediately, that boss wants to know nothing more about your issue and simply wants you to escape this world and leave them in it.
If they say they can’t smell poo, ask them: “It’s not poo! What is it?! It’s grey!!”
And their urge to remove you from their office carpet and the potential lawsuit of “He made me work whilst sitting in my own grey diarrheoa! A million pounds and an apology should do…”
It’s days later now. I’m so undisciplined I couldn’t even finish Rocky.
Rocky was poor and 20 miles ago.
2 days ago me and the (my) Mrs hiked 20 miles across the county to get a feel for our feet.
You see some sights on a stroll like that.
Like the “fuck me or eat me – whatever” waddle of sheep.
I’m not going to ask; “Is it me?” because I know what people like you are likely to answer with, but it seems to me that sheep really are trying their best to walk sexily.
“Ooh, nibble my wool” Throwing weight from one sexy?/succulent? rump-bump to the other.
I can appreciate how the Welsh and Kiwis get to that stage now.
“Well…what was the sheep wearing?”
“Hardly anything at all!”
“It was asking for it then!”
I’ll end this stream of conscious blogging here by cutting off any thoughts I’m making light of woman-blaming with this other perception I went about and perceived.
This is the perception of having a woman on your knee. Comes across as a powerful chap having some delightful delight on his lap.
Or, in the other reality, there is the perception of a woman using a man for a chair.
Good for everybody.
Mores streams-ofs-consciousnesssssssss soons.
Women are women. You might have noticed.
What aspects of these creatures are we all to consider as items of biological personality worth considering?
Things to be enjoyed and things to be remembered- in case they turn and gang up on you. These things follow. They are numerical, so I hope you enjoy that.
1. There is nothing quite like holding, or being held, by a woman. You can set yourself right into that zone of physical emotion that takes over when it comes simply to a pair of thin but unrelenting arms being around you. This can be accomplished by hugging a bloke as well- but as we know, when it comes to physical contact, and especially when it comes to women, females are far more preferable in terms of being appropriately lumpy. Men are inappropriately lumpy- the opinion of many.
Then we have the flavour of females. The sheer smack of hormones from one of those ‘whiffable’ beauties can send you overboard and inside out- both of which are admirable traits in a man thoroughly using a woman he should.
In this same vein we have the flavour of either pair of lips. The upper’s are focused around the sensation of touch (touching all over what you have been brave enough to ask them to) and the appearance. Making a woman do that smiling thing with those upper lips of hers- it makes you imitate with a compulsion that denies you your supposed intelligence and reminds only of the duo facts: that you are barely beyond a childish ape, and you are making this woman.
As for the lower lips- we all know about them. If you don’t- I can only recommend it.
I want to give those lower lips a medal, you would too. And the smell…is tremendous. There is nothing like the flavour of fanny to be promised to you for the end of the day. Penetration is the ultimate reward for a hard day’s work. Get into it and it’s hard to stop thrusting. The flavour is undoubtedly meaty, but there’s not much that can be done about that. If anything- it’s of benefit to the nostrils, the meat being sweet and the presence of that smell so close to your nostrils only suggests that the proximity to your own genitals is favourable.
That feeling…dear sweet heavens above…that feeling. It has been widely noted that the feel of a woman is the inspiration that makes us (being the men of mankind) do anything. You can even name it- anything you can name is something we’re prepared to do.
I like to refer to it as: ‘The Reason’.
It feels like you’re back to the place you’ve been trying to get to since you opened your eyes, and it feels like that in your penis. And it feels like that in your hair. It feels like that in your teeth and your hips. In your finger-tips and your heart and lungs and toes. It feels like…as I’ve said…’The Reason’.
I recommend it.
2. I was once standing directly between two women that were defending their children from one another.
It was stunning- I have never been so impressed. You could see the hormones steaming off of them in the cold air of the day. I felt like I was…just a male, caught in between.
You see, one of the children has slapped the offspring of the other woman on the play equipment at a local park. The mother of she-who-was-slapped made a point of approaching the child so as to scare the shit out of him to ensure this wouldn’t happen again, at which point the mother of the ‘slappee’ intercepted and then the literal finger-pointing began. And the screeching.
Being male, whatever that might mean, I made my way over to intercept, and failed the fuck out of it. I arrived as the screeching was impressive enough to make me go all meek. Both were very ready to kill and die as their instincts kicked in and the power of mildly-loud speech fled too. I think they would’ve been ready to eat each other as well. It seemed natural.
So, to avoid a fight by the mothers in front of their children, I simply stood between them and encouraged them to laugh at the hilarity of the situation. Neither conceded until I was eventually firm (and sweet-Jesus was I firm) and sent one off in the other direction.
As I turned back to the remaining mother, I realised she was pointing at me. With her finger. Screaming. I also realised that my knees were touching.
There is nothing like being told off by a woman. Particularly a mother. Because they know that they can wither you down to the raisin that you are whilst you cower in respect of their grapey-self. What comes next is their reasons for why they’re good at this. They have to be.
3. Women are a people living in constant fear, or at least acknowledgement of, of being ‘socially defeated’ by a male.
You see, men are bigger and stronger than their female counterparts. Their hands are larger, with a denser skeleton, a superb (comparatively) reaction time and a two instincts that are far more intimidating than we men care to consider.
The first instinct of men is to not get beaten down. Therefore, we are somewhat naturally able to beat the good-grief out of most things. We know how to hurt, and we will keep trying until we know how to.
The second instinct is to occupy women. To take them, have them, grip them tightly…to own them in quantity.
These two instinct are frightening. The first instinct scares us all, man fears man, woman fears man. The second instinct is one that men accept as an aspect of their nature, whilst for women- it makes them walk home in the dark quickly, a slight presence of fear being forever there.
Imagine, fellas, that half the species out there was bigger than you, with an obvious instinct to defeat and kill whatever is defeat-able and kill-able. And that you were one of those things that was defeat-able and kill-able, you will really, really appreciate just how rape-able you are. The guys out there that might have had no choice in who or what touched them might understand this.
Women are a people frightened. This needs to be remembered. Particularly when it comes to high-heels.
4. Heels are the female phallus, simply beneath the sole (it’s wordplay. You should know that).
As we know woman are a people tormented, not by the fact that they are small and weak, but rather more because they are smaller and weaker than their counter-parts: mankind.
Second-fiddle is a literal place to be throughout the history of womankind. The physical reasons for this have been discussed, so now we encounter the means for women to deal with this problem.
Largely, this means high-heels. Those extra few inches make a massive difference when you are required to look a man in the eye. We don’t discuss it, but we all know that the few inches difference between two opponents means something. Even when it doesn’t come down to blows, the sociological meaning of those inches is that (if you are taller): “I am the superior- I am the larger”, whereas if you’re…petit: “You are the larger, I am petit. Congrats on your success”.
So, those meaningful inches enable women in boardrooms and staffrooms and in all places of business to look a man in the eye and therefore- be equal. At least in terms of confrontation occurring in the fancy form of conversation.
Not entirely equal (and therefore, I suppose, not technically…equal) but it makes an enormous difference.
I have worked with women my entire life and if you have too then you might not have realised that nigh-on every single woman you encounter is in fact an inch or two shorter than you have happily presumed. Their height is a lie, and you fell for it. You mug.
You had no idea that the average woman is probably actually a great deal smaller than you. She has altered her appearance to change your perception of her, and more importantly, her perception of herself.
Women have crafted this tool for themselves to promote their capabilities in the dialect of eye-contact. By making themselves the same height as men, or at least slightly less short, they have been making themselves a presence physically considered in a different format than previously.
Previously they were considered as legs, bosoms, backsides and lovely long hair.
Now they are considered as something that might tower over you when pissed off- something that is unpleasant to collide with, not just out of manners, but out of the sheer mass being unfavourable to meet at speed.
Height-via-heels makes you think about that. Hair does not. Hair makes you think about one of the things covered in ‘Point 1’…something to grip.
5. Big Hair is just tremendous to have tumbling down a woman’s back, poofed up around her head and neck and tickling the light fixtures of whatever room they’re in. Big Hair. I want to get me some. So do you.
For me, Big Hair is an interesting subject as it is a cross between the high-heeled phallus effect that women use to become physically imposing and the simple suggestion of something so sexy that most men have no option but to achieve erection and have it stay with them for several days. Big Hair- visual viagra.
Women are then, following the sheer sexual power that such body parts and persona have on a man, able to walk away. And so these men, although they might be ‘with-boner’; they are very, very lonely. With a boner.
Making a man lonely with an erection is the greatest power that a woman can have. It is this power than makes a man go to work in the hope that the sensation might leave him and that the pleasure of ‘Point 1’ might arrive- all over him.
This is power far beyond what a fist can do.
This is the power of the species- controlling how we make more of them.
6. Babies seem to have quite a bit of pull in this world.
They seem to have their own power that overcomes all that a man and a woman can offer. Indeed- it is what makes a man and a woman offer all that they can.
But if you fuck with a guy’s car, his collection of albums or his mother- you can be sure that you’ve crossed a line.
You don’t really have this with women. The only example that women have of this, aside from if you try to tackle their man-friend, is if you try to take/eat their children.
Now this obviously this tracks back to ‘Point 2’ but I want to address something else in link with it.
Women…want…children. In the same way that men feel that perpetual need to go about the means of procreation, women feel the need to have a baby. And when they’ve had that baby- they will smell it and be happy.
You, being merely male, are forgotten about- you were only the means, now you are creep that is never going to be good enough for her children, because nothing is going to be good enough for her children. This is a good mother.
As a man, you are like everything else that seemed lusty at the time of sex, and afterwards seems kind of gross. A discarded condom, puddles of semen gone awry in its aim, and little curly hairs. You rank amongst these now and- no- it isn’t fair. That’s possibly why you have that need to move on and go about sexing the women you encounter.
What is my point?
7. The point of this all is that as a man- you are doomed to females and doomed to lack of females.
They are the entire purpose of you being here. Just as there would be no children without parents- there would be no men without women- and indeed vice-versa.
As I said before, women are women and that is fine. There really is little we can do about that and really there is not much that we should do about that.
All you have to remember is that their smell is hypnotising, their gravitas is undeniable, their fury is unmatchable even by the sun, their maternal instinct is final, they are smaller than you think and they are frightened, they might have big hair for you to look forward to, and they feel…just like a woman.
I hate them because I love them so much- fairly much the definition and a great way to end this article.
What all these aspects beget is one of those feelings that seems eternal from this side of the clock. It is some kind of love and some kind of nature molten together into this female character and body which gives us a reason to be here, rather than an excuse.
Women, begetting and what women beget- it’s a heck of a thing to stand and enjoy.