At the back of the hill

Warning: If you stay here long enough you will gain weight! Grazing here strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton. And you might like cheese-doodles.
BTW: I'm presently searching for another person who likes cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.

Saturday, May 27, 2017

MYSTICAL THINKING

For years I've been recommending the brand of small cigarillo in my breast pocket to people by explaining that it's the perfect bus-stop smoke. Light one up, and the bus will turn the corner, or a rabid non-smoker will appear out of nowhere screaming at you.

It's the same principle behind cigarettes in roadside restaurants. The waitress will take your order now, and refill your coffee.


The opposite effect, however, goes for the condom that you kept in your upper left jacket pocket for six years. That it was there guaranteed that you would never need it, and now that it's gone you'll still never need it.

I guess it expired. When emptying all the pockets in order to launder the jacket I discovered that the package was no longer sealed, so I threw it out. It had fulfilled its task in life, it guarded me from contact, for several years. Yes, it remained unused, but I'm sure women could sense its evil presence.
It radiated powerful and scary yeung hei (yang energy), in consequence of which they left me alone. Now that it's finally gone, quite the opposite effect kicks in; the absence of a condom in a pocket discourages people.
Vibrantly dark ghost yeung hei. How utterly repellent!
I look around, and there's no one there.

I'm not particularly liking how this is working out. Perhaps I should step outside and light up a cigarillo. With my luck, a non-smoker of galactic dimensions, slimy and quivering, will start wailing about the children.

Oh, the precious! And their blistering puppies!
Tobacco, bad! Gmos! Vaccinations!
Karmic antichrists!


My excitement for Saturday evening is fighting with crazed space aliens. Either slug-like, or reptilian. This is San Francisco.


When I possess a condom, nothing.
Without a condom, zilch.


Maybe I should stand on the street corner yelling "I can spell condom, I iz a kollitch gradyawit!" At least then there would be a logical explanation for my staggering lack of connecting with the randy female beast.

Evident and extroverted eccentricity.

Outward signs of craziness.



Of course, I should mention that another reason for my long winning streak of celibacy has to do with my pickiness. I haven't met anybody, because I haven't met anybody.




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2 Comments:

  • At 5:24 AM, Anonymous Melissa said…

    That would be a lie, wouldn't it? In fact. you're not a kollitch gradyawit. Right?

    (PS: Remember me?)

     
  • At 12:43 PM, Blogger The back of the hill said…

    That is correct. I know how to spell 'condom'.

    And PS, yes I remember you. Cigars while falling asleep.

     

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