Nope, I have no idea what he's talking about, not a clue. Normally the stuff that comes out of his mouth makes scant sense anyhow. Some days he's better than other days. But even at his best, you rather wish you hadn't started the conversation for fear of where he'll take it.
He's just not as firmly anchored in my version of reality as you or I could wish.
I am talking about the head of the security detail watching the building, of course. Whenever I see him on my way in or out I say 'hi'. Which will always prompt some odd nonsequitorial dialogue. Such as the time he responded by telling me all about the colours of a butterfly he had seen years ago. Or when he started speculating about height-augmentation for bald people, so that the tops of their heads would not show.
It took me several months to realize that his private thoughts were always of a richness beyond normal comprehension. Very complex, too.
Today, as I wait for the elevator, I can hear and see him speaking to nobody. He's pacing around animatedly, and giving voice.
"When the Jedi and the Sith meet up again, there will be blood let me tell you! Righteousness will be restored, justice! The sands of the hot planet will be crimson and wet with the liquid of combat, and it will be good again!"
Should I be worried that the guard unit is commanded by someone with a rich inner life? Or are these operational details that he is mulling over, out loud?
"There are screws at the bottom of each saber - some go left, some go right."
I did not know that.
"Some are green - a green so intense that you cannot see it. Only the pure of heart can see it."
At this point a woman who came into the lobby just a moment ago turns around and leaves. She works in the building, and I was expecting her to come over to the elevators.
I am now alone with the increasingly agitated security personage.
"The force is sometimes so great that it carries you into the path of tractor beams. Engineers of the Guild Academy are cognizant of the problem, but they just aren't doing anything! They refuse! They refuse!"
As the elevator doors close, I can hear him gasping "there are SPIKES under their ROBES!"
Good thing it's the end of the week. He sounds like he needs a few days off.
Showing posts with label Pajamas. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pajamas. Show all posts
Friday, July 17, 2009
Friday, April 17, 2009
WAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!
Women just don't understand female beauty. You may scoff, but it is nevertheless a fact. The feminine mind is entirely unable to digest, with any degree of balance, the aesthetic spectrum as it applies to their own kind. There isn't a woman alive who truly understands what makes a woman attractive; whether her self or that cow over there.
"What on earth does HE see in HER?"
A man will never ask this. He knows.
This is why the best shoe-designers and pornographers are men.
Always.
A woman is convinced that there is just one thing - you know, THAT ONE THING, which if it is done, or put on, or acquired, will change her from plain jane to the sexiest woman alive.
Tuck in, push out, and lift.
Savage Kitten has times when she feels that way.
She already thinks that the average male would only notice her if she were tall, blonde, and had watermelons, and she's fine with that - the attention of the average male is not a blessing. What excites her passion to improve on nature, however, is not height, hair, or hooter related.
Shoes!
Like many Chinese girls, she feels that her legs could be improved upon.
I don't see how, I think her thighs are fine, sweetheart, just fine, lovely knees and ankles too - and those darling widdew feetsies. Eeeeeek!
Which is where high-heels come in. Against her own better judgement, she starts looking at what she refers to as 'chase-me-do-me' shoes. The ones with the ridiculous heels. Precisely the type of shoe that only willowy queens and cross-dressers can wear.
The thing about high-heels is that they tilt the posterior just ever so, and throw the silhouette of the legs into sharp definition while making them seem longer.
Sure it looks nice, but only a woman would think that it was the one thing that was missing.
Did I already mention that her gams have considerable charm? If I were a World War Two pilot, I would so paint her on my cockpit. Yummy.
Every four or five weeks, she gives in to temptation and buys a pair of hot-sex-mama spikes. Which she then puts on to go see how they really look in front of the hallway mirror. That brief experience is usually enough to convince her that sane people do not walk in such things, and anybody who wears them habitually is probably going to have chronic back problems and a butt-ache. The next day they are sadly returned to the store and exchanged for credit or something comfy, which she will then look at with regret - sensible shoes just aren't 'that one thing'.
The other night, before bed, she asked my advice. What that really meant was that she had already made up her mind to return them, but wanted feedback or reassurance.
She put them on, strutted a bit, and looked totally hot hot hot!
Absolutely steamingly gorgeous one dynamite babe oh heavens.
Not because of the shoes.
It was the comfy pajamas with sleeves just slightly too long. Cute!
Sweetie, high heels do NOT make you huggable, happy pajamas do.
Go ahead and ditch the pumps. Keep the jammies.
So of course I got to listen to how the shoes hurt, pinched, seemed more comfortable in the store, look at the leg, does it make my ankle look weird, how about the knee, why do these things ALWAYS pinch at the toe, that shade of red is a HOT colour, I can't wear skirts, it's always big blondes who can get away with these things, I wish they made highheeled shoes better but the men who design them are cruel vicious sadists and probably degenerates who would never put them on themselves, even the trashy Philippinas wear these how do they do it without falling flat on their overly made-up faces, and it's totally ridiculous to expect anybody to walk up and down the San Francisco hills with these dangerous things on it's SO unfair!!!!!
Waaaaaaaaaaaaaah!
Every middle-aged Dutch-American needs a worked-up Chinese girl wearing loose nightwear in their apartment.
The rest of you, well, you can stick to the tall fruity blondes or something. Whatever.
We keep the huggable babes in happy jammies.
"What on earth does HE see in HER?"
A man will never ask this. He knows.
This is why the best shoe-designers and pornographers are men.
Always.
A woman is convinced that there is just one thing - you know, THAT ONE THING, which if it is done, or put on, or acquired, will change her from plain jane to the sexiest woman alive.
Tuck in, push out, and lift.
Savage Kitten has times when she feels that way.
She already thinks that the average male would only notice her if she were tall, blonde, and had watermelons, and she's fine with that - the attention of the average male is not a blessing. What excites her passion to improve on nature, however, is not height, hair, or hooter related.
Shoes!
Like many Chinese girls, she feels that her legs could be improved upon.
I don't see how, I think her thighs are fine, sweetheart, just fine, lovely knees and ankles too - and those darling widdew feetsies. Eeeeeek!
Which is where high-heels come in. Against her own better judgement, she starts looking at what she refers to as 'chase-me-do-me' shoes. The ones with the ridiculous heels. Precisely the type of shoe that only willowy queens and cross-dressers can wear.
The thing about high-heels is that they tilt the posterior just ever so, and throw the silhouette of the legs into sharp definition while making them seem longer.
Sure it looks nice, but only a woman would think that it was the one thing that was missing.
Did I already mention that her gams have considerable charm? If I were a World War Two pilot, I would so paint her on my cockpit. Yummy.
Every four or five weeks, she gives in to temptation and buys a pair of hot-sex-mama spikes. Which she then puts on to go see how they really look in front of the hallway mirror. That brief experience is usually enough to convince her that sane people do not walk in such things, and anybody who wears them habitually is probably going to have chronic back problems and a butt-ache. The next day they are sadly returned to the store and exchanged for credit or something comfy, which she will then look at with regret - sensible shoes just aren't 'that one thing'.
The other night, before bed, she asked my advice. What that really meant was that she had already made up her mind to return them, but wanted feedback or reassurance.
She put them on, strutted a bit, and looked totally hot hot hot!
Absolutely steamingly gorgeous one dynamite babe oh heavens.
Not because of the shoes.
It was the comfy pajamas with sleeves just slightly too long. Cute!
Sweetie, high heels do NOT make you huggable, happy pajamas do.
Go ahead and ditch the pumps. Keep the jammies.
So of course I got to listen to how the shoes hurt, pinched, seemed more comfortable in the store, look at the leg, does it make my ankle look weird, how about the knee, why do these things ALWAYS pinch at the toe, that shade of red is a HOT colour, I can't wear skirts, it's always big blondes who can get away with these things, I wish they made highheeled shoes better but the men who design them are cruel vicious sadists and probably degenerates who would never put them on themselves, even the trashy Philippinas wear these how do they do it without falling flat on their overly made-up faces, and it's totally ridiculous to expect anybody to walk up and down the San Francisco hills with these dangerous things on it's SO unfair!!!!!
Waaaaaaaaaaaaaah!
Every middle-aged Dutch-American needs a worked-up Chinese girl wearing loose nightwear in their apartment.
The rest of you, well, you can stick to the tall fruity blondes or something. Whatever.
We keep the huggable babes in happy jammies.
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GRITS AND TOFU
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