A WOMAN LIKE A STREUSEL TORTE: FILLED WITH CRUMBLY GOODNESS

There is a clichéd quote out there, and I cannot remember who first said it, about a man liking his women like he likes his coffee: black and bitter.
It's a berserk statement, and I have scant clue what it means.
I would rather my women do not resemble coffee at all.
My coffee is unsweetened and slightly milky.
I do not like bitter women.

More like hotsauce is perfectly alright, though.

I also like my women to like hotsauce.

Or, like a peeled lychee.


Women, you will understand, in this example, is a loaded term that reflects either wishful thinking or an over-active imagination. I like women.
But I do not have "women". Nor do I want "women".
And usually, I do not "get" them either.
Most of them are bent.

The singular woman is far better than the plural.

Women, as a collective-concept, like handbags, flowers, anything named Vuitton or Prada, and fully paid vacations.

Individual exemplars may like other things, like Russian novels and Dutch pancakes. A few might even have a fondness for fast cars or slow dancing. And crazy ones even love football and baseball.
Many of them like doctors.

I do not like women like I like my coffee. Nor do I like near-illiterates, right-wingers, superstitious people, folks who believe the pyramids were built by space-aliens, conspiracy theorists, anti-vaxxers, vegans, law-office personnel, Berkeleyite leftwingers, self-absorbed twats, neurotics, sex-crazed alcoholics, fundamentalist Christians, artistic types, evolution deniers, hysterics, sports fans, beer-swilling college girls, or psychos.
Belly-aching whiny weeping types.
And Oakland.



What I particularly despise are folks who talk about puppies, butterflies, angels, and the sweetness of little babies.


Just sayin'.




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