CONVERSATIONAL TORNADO

Middle aged white women, especially in Marin, should sometimes be avoided. Life is too short. And, thanks to modern technology, I now know everything about her dreary priggish life, and her absent man friend.
As does everybody else on the bus.
Twenty plus minutes of pathetic bitchy pretentious entitlement.
While she didn't mention embarrassing physical data about what goes on between her and the man-interest, she revealed everything else.

After all of that I wish her ill.
Her cell phone stuck ... somewhere.

I know several people who rely on cell-phones for nearly every aspect of their waking lives, even a few who could not go one single hour without checking their messages, e-mails, twitter, and Facebook.
Many of them are conversationally impaired.
Hold on, someone just messaged me.
They're saying "shut up".


One person who does not walk around with his cell-phone probably should: Little White Nipple Dude. In order to change the subject from one of his usual excrutiating conversational trains I mentioned the gympie gympie tree, which grows in Australia. Also known as nettle tree, and "guardian of the rainforest". The leaves are covered with microscopic hairs filled with poison, which break off in the skin of whoever accidentally touches it and causes unbelievable pain. Pain so horrendous it keeps the victim from sleeping for days, last for weeks, and recurs periodically for years.

From Wikipedia: "Moroidin, a bicyclic octapeptide containing an unusual C-N linkage between tryptophan and histidine, was first isolated from the leaves and stalks of Dendrocnide moroides, and subsequently shown to be the principal compound responsible for the long duration of the stings."

To indicate exactly how unpleasant this plant is, I mentioned that one man used the leaves as toilet paper while out in the wilds, and ended up blowing his brains out.


Little White Nipple Dude then said:


"Good thing he didn't use it to wipe the gunk off his penis"


Okay. A dozen people who either don't know you or don't want to know you heard you saying that, loudly, in public. I'm probably not the only one who is wondering how arse pain so intense it made someone blow his brains out could be considered less horrible because at least it wasn't penis or scrotal pain that made him blow his brains out. How is that possibly better?
Do you ever listen to yourself?

Elliminative organ agony that drives a person to suicide is, in every way, precisely as bad as regenerative organ agony with the same result.
Please don't even try to explain why one is worse.

I mentioned leaves used for a cleansing act in the wilds.
You went directly and loudly to gunk on the penis.

Why penis? And gunk? Huh?

I'd like to know what goes on in your mind.

So that it can be stopped.



Every year his parents take him on vacations to foreign places, probably because even though he is an adult they don't trust him out of their sight for more than a day. But, given that these places are always in the parts of the world where English is not the native language, there is also the likelihood that they are hoping he will go on shore leave by himself and end up hopelessly, permanently, lost.



There's a needy and entitled middle aged Marinite white woman out there with his name on it. In the fullness of time they will meet, they must.
They belong to each other.




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