Monday, December 25, 2017


A very exhausting week is over. And I am left with the sobering realization that I am not particularly fond of my fellow stumblesome bipeds when they are in herd mode. Or their musical choices this festive season.
In the past several days I have heard all the usual nauseating Christmas tunes in three languages -- English, Spanish, and Chipmunk -- sung several ways very many times. The Santa is a stalker song, the Santa is a creep song, the Santa is the police state song, the Childish greed song, the Whore greed song, and the Peer group bullying song that does not end logically, with a killing spree, as it should. Christmas culture is dysfunctional.
Here's a playstation!

A better song for this time of year:



On my right, but your left. If you want to piss on the carpet, go right ahead. You are tired, that's obvious. And all those credit cards are heavy! You limp suburban consumerite whores. Brandnames, bitches! Michael Kors. Louis Vuitton. Prada. Yves Saint Laurent. Dupont. Bugatti and Benz.
Blue Point, Red Spot, Yellow Stripe.
We've got buckets!

The other day a retired colleague dropped by my place of employment.
He mentioned that he and his lady are visiting Paris in January, and asked whether he could bring me back anything.

"Yeah man, a French girl."

"Any age age requirements?"

"Oh, twenty five or under."

"You're a f*&^ing, pervert, you know..."

"Dude! I've been practicing my whole life to be dirty old man!"

What I didn't tell him was why I needed one. See, in this weather my skin itches, boyo, and there are parts of my dermis I can't reach without wrecking something.
I need that French girl to energetically smear me all over with soothing ointments before I scratch big bloody holes.

Had I said that, he would keep her himself.

It's the middle of Winter.


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1 comment:

Moisje van der Bijl said...

Important news:

I expect a post from you on this topic.

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