The Thirst is Real

Whenever I get thirsty in the midst of a working day a strange thing happens: I get a very hard and very uncompromising erection. My thirst erection is harder than my normal erection, but it is a very asexual erection. Fortunately all it takes to mellow the little guy down is three glasses of water, which should not be a problem so long as I can make it to the dispenser without being spotted by those who lack understanding.

I'm only saying this because girls have taken to referring to men who give them any attention as "thirsty," as if we regard their vacuous inanities as cool water. No, princess, the thirst is real. If you get out of our way we might make it to the water dispenser.

Mere Ramblings. Do not read.

This being my blog I should have declared that I got a job at the start of this year, and updated everyone about it too. Did not.

I also stopped writing long-winded tales about the girls and myself, tales which, summarized, would simply say "Friend Zone." All those tales do is convey fuzzy feelings of some guy (me) having a crush and reading too much into mundane interactions with skirtwearers, which is a pathetic sight coz everybody who knows anything knows I ain't getting any. Another one the other day voluntarily declared herself to be in the sister zone, can you imagine such an outrage.

I have enough work and play on my plate nowadays not to think about these things too much, ever since I basically accepted that my long experience in being alone qualifies me for many more years of solitude.

Then I realized I enjoy and look forward to it now. Freedom, etc.

But the other day one of my female colleagues stopped giving me curious glances and started staring deep into my eyes and seeking me out at every half chance and roaming back and forth past my desk and looking for excuses to make me go to her desk and saying pretty much any old thing to keep us talking. Yea she likes me, her company is tolerable, despite her multitude of feminine quirks, no actual red flags. And I have a rough idea what this pretty petite perky bombshell wants.

A colleague observed our electric dynamic and drew up a mock marriage certificate on a sticky note, what a clown.

So, lunch hour, this lady and I were chatting during a long leisurely walk to exactly nowhere (the walk facilitated the talk). When we ran out of small talk she started to tell me how many "admirers" I have in the workplace. Even as I tried to coax her into listing their names, I could see how bothered by it she is.

Back to the topic at hand - me. I'm rambling here, it's allowed if your blog has not yet hit triple-digit following. Also bragging a bit. Gimme a break, such things don't happen to me everyday.

All that remains to be seen is whether I will remain true to form and ruin this indestructible opportunity by losing it in a thick fog of rationalizations, foremost of which is my ideological zealotry for the single life, which zealotry now faces, ahem, challenges.

The Gods of the Copybook Headings - Rudyard Kipling

AS I PASS through my incarnations in every age and race,
I make my proper prostrations to the Gods of the Market Place.
Peering through reverent fingers I watch them flourish and fall,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings, I notice, outlast them all.
We were living in trees when they met us. They showed us each in turn
That Water would certainly wet us, as Fire would certainly burn:
But we found them lacking in Uplift, Vision and Breadth of Mind,
So we left them to teach the Gorillas while we followed the March of Mankind.
We moved as the Spirit listed. They never altered their pace,
Being neither cloud nor wind-borne like the Gods of the Market Place,
But they always caught up with our progress, and presently word would come
That a tribe had been wiped off its icefield, or the lights had gone out in Rome.
With the Hopes that our World is built on they were utterly out of touch,
They denied that the Moon was Stilton ; they denied she was even Dutch;
They denied that Wishes were Horses ; they denied that a Pig had Wings ;
So we worshipped the Gods of the Market Who promised these beautiful things.
When the Cambrian measures were forming, They promised perpetual peace.
They swore, if we gave them our weapons, that the wars of the tribes would cease.
But when we disarmed They sold us and delivered us bound to our foe,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "Stick to the Devil you know."
On the first Feminian Sandstones we were promised the Fuller Life
(Which started by loving our neighbour and ended by loving his wife)
Till our women had no more children and the men lost reason and faith,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "The Wages of Sin is Death."
In the Carboniferous Epoch we were promised abundance for all,
By robbing selected Peter to pay for collective Paul;
But, though we had plenty of money, there was nothing our money could buy,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "If you don't work you die."
Then the Gods of the Market tumbled, and their smooth-tongued wizards withdrew
And the hearts of the meanest were humbled and began to believe it was true
That All is not Gold that Glitters , and Two and Two make Four
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings limped up to explain it once more.
As it will be in the future, it was at the birth of Man
There are only four things certain since Social Progress began.
That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Sow returns to her Mire,
And the burnt Fool's bandaged finger goes wabbling back to the Fire;
And that after this is accomplished, and the brave new world begins
When all men are paid for existing and no man must pay for his sins,
As surely as Water will wet us, as surely as Fire will burn,
The Gods of the Copybook Headings with terror and slaughter return!

Double Standards

There was a headline story some time back, in which a man grew a pair of breasts after sleeping with a married woman (not his own wife). This unnatural development allegedly arose because the woman's husband had arranged with forces of darkness to inflict a pair of breasts on all trespassers.

Now the print article openly displayed the man's black-magic-induced breasts whereas a woman's wholesome natural breasts would never be so brazenly published. It makes one wonder really how twisted the media is. Is shock value that important?

It's kind of instructive however that a pair of breasts on a man is not desirable whereas women prize their packages highly. If sleeping around were proven to grow busts, then more women would do it do it do it, but their problem would be where to find men to sleep around with, for they would certainly avoid sleeping around.

But this is a case involving forces of darkness.

The natural world clearly demonstrates that the social double standards between the genders arise from their anatomical  biological differences.

PS: Leave people's spouses alone.