NATURE'S REMARKABLE BOUNTY

Someone, presumably a regular reader, complains that this blog seems somewhat monochromatic at times. She entered a comment underneath a recent post in which I complained about the weather we are having.

Quote:

"Round faces, small breasts, bright curious eyes. And short stature. This is rapidly becoming a fetish-blog. Do you care about scaring away the regular clientele?"

End quote.

I can see her point. So as a change of pace, let me talk instead about 'angular hatchet faces, humongous bazoombas, dull dead eyes, and yeti physiques'.

Which, as all people know, is a description of ideal femininity.
Illustrated on a weekly basis in Cosmopolitan. For sure.

Ladies who flock in vast, stimulatingly mindless droves, to the shopping area around Union Square.

Spending their every non-working moment hunting for handbags: Christian Louboutin. Louis Vuitton. Ugg. Burberry. Michael Kors. Coach. Gucci.

In between watching the Real Housewives, while curled up in fluffy pink and hugging their giant Hello Kitty dolls.


I also have a Hello Kitty. But it's merely a small one. A cigar-smoking friend gave it to me for Christmas, because she said that she immediately thought of me when she saw it in the store. I've mentioned Hello Kitty often enough that she remembered.

Hello Kitty, as you know, is a fetish of mine.

One of these days I shall have to give her a Partagas, or perhaps a Padrón.
Something from the Anniversary series. I'm fairly certain that she likes maduro wrappers, though that's much more of her husband's thing.
Maybe a Gran Habana. Or an Aroma De Cuba, or a Tatuaje Reserva.

My friend who gifted me with Hello Kitty is neither hatchet nor round faced.
She does have bright curious eyes, and is indeed not built large. Shorter than me, and even though this is just guess-work, she probably weighs fifty pounds less than I do at least. She also has elegant hands. Slim and vibrant.
I will absolutely NOT speculate about her bosom.

She's younger than me, her husband is older.
They're a lovely couple. Very cute together.

Very similar tastes in cigars, identical taste in Bourbon.

I do not think she has a sister.
But I have not asked.


AFTER THOUGHT

In addition to admiring words for large glandular freak Germano-Wasp Midwestern Women, and their somewhat trimmer but no less deep-bosomed cousins in the vast coastal urban hinterland, I must also utter praise for the big, big, BIG all-American men, over six feet tall at least and with large botties encased in shiny fabric, that real Americans drool over nearly every Sunday.
At least until the Super Bowl.

Truly, the ideal end-result of attending college is joining the football team. All across this country, huge handsome athletic types who date delightfully empty-headed blondes are weeping into their pitchers of beer that they were not chosen.
The competition was too fierce.
A vast throng of like-minded hunk-o-ramas swallowed them whole. Maybe they were a little hungover that week, the fraternity had a social event. They got pummeled on the way to the try-out by a stampeding herd of boy beef.
Then they look at their ever-so-feminine and perfectly luscious mutton-brained arm-candy, and realize that in the great game of life they have lost out.

She's not as good as what the Captain of the Squad has.

Woe.

I have nothing but fond, and slightly moist, thoughts for all of these people.
And like them, I also lust after big boobed Barbie and pigskin.

Magic words: Coors. Michelob. Budweiser. Miller Lite. Corona.
Plus Louboutin, Vuitton, Ugg, Burberry, Kors, Coach, and Gucci.

Remember, folks, extraordinary mammaries prove that fortune favours you.
You'll meet the finest people and have a marvelous life.


Hello, Kitty!




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