What makes you attracted to someone moving in the same room? Is it her eyes, her figure? Since she may not have spoken a single word, and you don’t know the contents of her mind, it can’t be her essence — who she is. It’s something else.
Every time she twitches her lips in your direction, you expect a smile to form, but it doesn’t. Is she amused at you? Is amusement even a female emotion? Backbiting and bitterness. Yes, you recall those emotions are deep wells of existence within the female essence; but amusement? Isn’t that a royal purple emotion reserved for only the highest of males?
The rod & sceptre will not be denied. It will batter down doors and gain entrance by whatever means possible & necessary.
Satire. Doubletalking. Higher intelligence. These comprise the glass ceiling which chicks will never crack because such diamonds don’t reside in the here-and-now, presently in a room with them. Likewise, a woman’s sexuality consists of displaying her huge rack of tits if she’s got them, not with doing anything with them. She plops them down, says here they are. Now drool, dog.
Male sexuality is harder to achieve than female because females are the mocking dogs of the species. A man has to be supremely calm when displaying his sexuality. If the peacock can do it, he can. He must.
Tits and ass make the nation. But the biceps and male hairstyle together form an empire.
Strip bars are designed to facilitate arousal, without discharging it. By so doing, it violates one of the fundamental premises of decency in this world.
But who cares about decency. This isn’t an After School Special.
Once upon a time, in some timeline, an emperor sat upon a throne that was also a tomb of bones. A small child’s skull was his ottoman. The lower jawbone had been glued to the main skull. A magical kind of liquid had been glued as a teardrop to the skull. It moved like a liquid in a carpenter’s level tool.
The emperor had been sucked off to completion 100, 500 times in this throne. All while watching live television coverage of his wars of conquest. The sounds of rattling-rolling tanks made the girls suck all the harder. And he came the hardest.
In every timeline, there is sex. And there are sex differences. But the one unifying factor is: CALMNESS. The nervous boy is barred from these premises. You must master yourself before you can overmaster others.
Remember to keep calm, always, as you glide among the judging gender. They’ll be comparing notes about you later on; dismissively prance over their little notes well in advance, making spittle form as you prepare to . . . spit. They’ll be spitting out your cum later on, those who once dared to judge the superior male sexuality-figure.
As with all things, in sexuality the male bests the female. If he cared to, man would even make a better parent than a woman would. There truly is no domain set up that he can’t knock the pins all down. Go to a house party, wow all the chicks, then glide out with two on both arms. Go to a fame show and light up the heavens with the Tom Cruise smile and Brad Pitt flare of nostrils. This is sexuality. And the voice of Kelsey Grammar. And the education of a Bill Gates and the and the AND THE!!!
There are only gods here; the end is nigh.
With crying girls below, let the adult chaperones sigh.
Isn’t that about right? Doesn’t that about cover it?
I’m currently sitting at the Internet Cafe on Seymour Street, not far from the Indian-Subcontinental Convenience store that has the spicy dishes I love so. The problem is such dishes are often taken away before I can get there. It’s a long walk, so . . .
The weather is cold, but nothing like the hysterical man who climbed up the front stairs of the Regal, declaring, “It’s gonna be minus eighteen [Celcius] tonight, man!” I asked him for how many days and he didn’t know.
Bryan Adams, you know, was from Vancouver. But it proved too small for his wandering eye. Along with his parents, he felt the call of Great Britain, Britannia, Britannia rule the waves . . .
I woke up today past noon. Reluctant to go get out of my bed because of the cold room, I was eager to hit the library. Didn’t quite make it that far. Today’s meal was . . . what was today’s meal? I’m trying to think. It seems important somehow . . . umm . . . ummmmm . . .
Oh yeah. I bought milk for the calcium and the protein and walked right directly next-door to the A&W restaurant and plumped down 8 bucks for a Papa Burger, huge thing that it is. Based on the cocks of the more well-endowed races, the Papa Burger urges you to think non-prosaic thoughts and hate your own race. It’s all a liberal conspiracy! I’m tellin’ ya!
I watched several new Epic Rap Battles of History tonight. They are tres mondo high quality, most sincerely.
This cafe is too dark. Good for gaming, but hell on the eyes for reading the recorded notes I brought with me. I’ve been practicing my writing. Such as:
Just like with the Soviet Union, the progressives here had a field day. Their opponents may be honest and sincere, but the progressives hold the day for which they have dreamed for two centuries.
Yeah, I wrote that and more. Check it out at PA World and Times, a “rambling but user-friendly site” as Stephen King might term it.
I’m about ready to go backward in the site, this Dark Sport of mine (compare and contrast to PA World and Times, friends and neighbors and Constant Readers!) and find areas I can improve upon. I think indentations are a good start. Getting rid of the hyperlinks at the bottom are another probable improvement. They’re simply too much work. The bigger the site (Dark Sport) gets, the more it’ll turn into a giant anaconda ready to turn on me. I like that. Like the line I wrote about alpha males being crocodiles who lunge out at not-so-innocent girls and given them the shake of their lives . . . PA liked that one . . .
PA’s site is doomed. He won’t turn away in another direction, and the WordPress censors are bound to notice him sooner or later. Ah well. He probably has enough sense to limit his site to Polish poetry translations and thoughts on the beauty of life and melancholy at the same time, very melancholic, Big In Japan . . .