Sunday, April 14, 2019

WELTS AND CHILI SAUCE

After being subjected to leggy blonde vulgarians on the telly last night -- my apartment mate likes to watch white women acting like tacky hoes, as the perfect examples of what not to be -- of which I see plenty normally anyhow, seeing as I work in the suburbs -- I reread something I wrote about wild public sexual escapades over three years ago.

CLIMACTIC PECULIARITIES

Quite inadvertently, in that essay I suggested that cold weather was the best circumstance for rutting. That could be the insanest thing I ever wrote.
What was I thinking? February and March were perfectly beastly this year, and not surprisingly nobody was rutting in public during those months. Certainly not me, nor would I have wanted to see any of it anyhow.

It was cold and wet. Needed my Canadian overcoat, and gloves.

I spent a lot of time outdoors. Necessitated by the civic ordinances against smoking inside. Which have probably caused more pneumonia and fatal joint-lock than the health authorities want to admit.

All over the city rheumatic elderly smokers -- many of them very exemplary people who recycle -- probably ended up keeling over and croaking, floored by extremes of weather. Vegans and street people died too.
After rifling through the pockets of the victims.

Piles of rotting frozen corpses.
Damn the anti-smokers.
Bitches.


Yesterday I was wearing a sweater and heavy shirt, and still felt cold. My colleague was lightly and stylishly garbed in a guyabera and belly-ached that it was too warm. Madre de dios! Temperature-wise, he's clearly an idiot.
He's from Central America, where it's usually one hundred Fahrenheit.
His cojones should've been ice by the end of the day.

Neither of us were sexually excited.



I disapprove of public rutting, moronic clothing choices, and displays of both sexuality and fertility in public. You all need to mortify yourselves. Beatings to raise red lines all over, then rub hot sauce and salt into the stripes.
Please feel free to chastise yourselves in public.
There's nobody watching anyhow.
Don't send photos.




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