CIGAR SMOKERS, CAVEMEN

On weekends I am a babysitter to a collection of pudgy middle-aged cigar smokers yowling at a teevee screen. Ocassionally, someone else (a new arrival) will ask me the score. I don't know, I am not paying attention to that; taught botties in shiny spandex.

It's like studying wild animals.


"Tamanduas manufacture a potent musk in their anal glands which they use for marking territory. They smear the strong smelling secretions on rocks, trees, fallen logs, and other prominent landmarks to announce their presence to other tamanduas."
[Wikipedia]


Yes, that describes these men perfectly.


That, or female Orang utans. Who defecate when startled or excited.


It's a good thing I love animals. They are more acceptable if one imagines them as beasts in a zoo than as living breathing sentient beings of one's own kind. Because they do not often show evidence of that. Giant lizards, perhaps. With spiny neck ruffles, claws, and phenomenally bad breath.


Butch sports are a stupid thing.





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