You should have kept your smile.
Because smiling works.
Or else have yourself a prized grimace that denotes to all around you that you’ve completed harder word-searches than them, and they don’t stand a chance.
How you conduct your facial features as you mingle amongst the rest of the species can be the determiner of your destiny.
Being the greatest human to ever live, I smile.
Why shouldn’t I?
My smile is arresting and my grin is criminal.
My laugh is disarming. I buckle out a “ha-ha” as though it were a mix of Muttley’s wheeze and a Welsh choral singer’s bellow.
And it’s also very at you.
‘You’ being everyone in the vicinity.
People hear my laugh and they whip around as though there’s an avalanche of tumbling Santa Clauses’ ho-ho-ing its way towards them, only to see me enjoying a joke I just told.
However, laughing is also a highly pleasurable way of winning an argument.
It’s a matter of insistence.
Such as the time you might invade a UKIP event and ha-ha your way through the diatribe of people desperate to prove they’re not racist. If you were a racist; which party would you vote for?
I’m not a racist, but if I were; I’d vote UKIP.
But there’s one thing more that I find intolerable of UKIP, and naturally it would be me to see this for what it is.
Nigel Farage has stolen the colour purple from us.
Once, purple was a rarity in the urban world. Whereas in some aspects of nature there would be a slash of purple here and there, in the cities there was almost none, aside from the investments made by the wealthy who could afford dye.
Investing in purple.
I’d like to invest in purple, but it seems hard to do that without funding UKIP and I’m just not racist enough for that (although I am slightly racist….I hate Eskimos. Fuck ‘em. What did they ever do for me?).
If my smile, such as what crops up when I’m sure Eskimos aren’t nearby, had a colour then I’d presume it to be purple, but it’s not. It’s a tender yet rugged shade of ‘Handsome’.
The colour ‘Handsome’ is like chocolate, only more muscular. With totally manly nipples. Slightly abnormal, but still more manly than your father and that’s why you’re with me babe. Superior nipples and I’m handsome with a slight anti-Eskimo twist.
Plus I’m the greatest human to ever live.
My smile is like a flower that can bear-hug you so hard that you enjoy the cuddle it becomes.
My smile can, and I’m not sure exactly how (it’s natural science – I don’t need to know. Birds don’t know how they soar and a tumble weed doesn’t know how it tumbles. Just let it be), but my smile can make you fuck off. Just a little of a turn to the left, I think, tilting upwards slightly, let loose a smile and boom; you’ve fucked off.
I would undoubtedly announce on, perhaps, some sort of blogging website that the lower half of my head is the preferential half for when you fancy a conversation.
Whilst my brow is flexible and communicative; it’s easier to have a chat with the lower half of my head.
And other things besides…
I really enjoy cunnilingus. Not enjoying the act perpetrated unto myself as I really don’t have enough vaginas for that (not even one) but I love dolling it out beneath the skirt of the other half of the species.
Why? Because I like being good at something that other guys aren’t.
Laughing and cunnilingus go hand in hand in terms of a mutual act. Lip to lip.
The clitoris is substantially tingled by the vibrations of a giggling.
Perhaps not side-splitting, but certainly split-siding.
That’s a vaginal joke, that’s why you get it.
And that was an insult-joke and I’m sorry about that.
And that wasn’t a joke. There’s nothing wrong with vaginas and there’s nothing wrong with me being sorry about that.
Damn, I’m a fine writer.
So I’ve got some writing chops, the things I can do with a pen and a keyboard would tickle you beyond the hacky constraints of a weak-wristed journeyman with a quill. And inky fingers.
You can’t have that done to you by a writer with inky fingers. Everyone’d know you’d been tickled.
I can make you tingle with a space bar and you don’t even want to be enlightened as to my history with other people and the insert key.
We got along.
I recall they enjoyed what I had; especially my musk.
Yes. I’ve got a musk.
You should see it. Because you can. It’s purple.
You can see it emanating from me as the sun goes down – like the Northern Lights; only tougher. Tougher in the same way that you can see a bull’s balls. Not an advantage overly; unless you wilt at that sort of thing. But wilting is something I hope for my enemies, particularly in public.
So – to the point – I smell like an overly-purple Northern Lights with testicles on the outside.
My laugh, however, that’s not a thing to be given a name. Just let it be.
My laugh isn’t to be controlled as it is a wild thing let loose only by me, baby. The potency of my laugh can make you swoon in the same manner that my musk’s balls can make you wilt.
That’s how I know you’re enjoying it.
But I’ve got to stay in check with my physical appearance, even I can’t rely solely on musk, smiles, laughter and an incredible lower-face.
So I had a wet shave in a Turkish barbers.
I sat in the chair and awaited the compliments about how their nuclear-age razor equipment wasn’t up to the job of slicing my bristles. My mane. My organic chin-duvet.
I waited, and then they wrapped a towel doused in boiling water over my entire head with just enough gap to allow my nose to poke out.
“Damn” I thought, “I’ve got a cold nose”.
I like things a’boiling.
Once shaved I discovered I had a dimple in my chin. “Tremendous” thought I, “Now everyone will be able to know I’m an All-American Good Guy type. From Kent. England.
Now I can go into space, chin-dimple first.
You guy’s realise we’re in space?
I feel a need to acquire some sort of ticket. I’m set though, I own an acre of the moon. And I am going to plough it, along with my space alien girlfriend.
My Earthly semen cures her space-libido. Always momentarily.
And I only ejaculate when directed by my government.
I think there’s only one more thing I want you to know…
I only masturbate when I have to.
Maybe I’m straying into topics meant for next time on Alternative Literary Output for the Soul.
So I’ll leave it at this; throughout all the above, amidst the true and the exaggerated (somewhat)…I smiled.
The endorphins were released and I was happy.
And that was because I kept my smile, and I recommend you unleash yours.
Unto others and for yourself; smile.
And I should know.
I am the greatest human to ever live.
And so are you.