For three days now the garment has been on the sidewalk on my way to work. The colour says young woman, gay and sprightly, but the size and style tell me it's someone older and more elephantine. Bright and deep raspberry pink, with lace edging. Granny panties.
I have to wonder how they ended up there. No gay drinking establishment is nearby, just a McDonalds and a 7-Eleven. What I suspect happened is that Grandma Cletus had a tasty meal at one place with her boyfriend, and then bought two bottles of California Chardonnay at the other place.
After which things got interesting.
And then they went home to their respective spouses.
No, I haven't closely examined the object.
I doubt that anyone has.
Ever.
Weird things happen in Marin County after dark. The happy-hued Texas-sized feminine underwear is just one scrap of evidence, but on a regular basis there is much more. Often that seems to involve liquor, drugs, 5-hour energy drinks, schizophrenia, and the insane people who travel back and forth to San Rafael. Perhaps that's where they get Federal, State, and County assistance in being crazy, or it's a mystic pilgrimage centre, but the weather there is, on average, twenty degrees warmer than San Francisco, and much more conducive to their life-style choices than the city.
No, I have never been there. Just met the transitory natives.
They seem to be fond of marijuana and 'shrooms.
SF is more Coke and Heroin.
Shocking pink granny panties occur right in between.
Along with tasty burgers and cheap wine.
A veritable slice of heaven.
From what I could see, the cotton was perfectly clean.
The title of this blogpost? Oh that is just to trigger some people. Particularly some rightwing folks in Israel, who forgot what their side said about Obama for eight years, as well as all the shit they spewed about Hillary.
A number of them unfriended me recently.
It was something I said.
BTW: the worst ones were de-Facebooked quite a while back.
Between the bombardment of Gaza and January 2017.
Their racist garbage got to me.
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