The blank page! I never thought I would admit that the blank page staring back at me could be intimidating. And thank whoever controls the universe that I never did because it is not going to happen. The admittance, of course. I have spewed enough gut on this blog. Why add to the gore?
There are chomu (Chomu: 1. Anyone whose parents should have had the good sense to abstain since their ten minutes of pleasure produced nothing but an annoying irritance. 2. Anyone who is lesser than you, more specifically in their fashion sense, personal hygiene, eating habits. 3. Anyone with intellect limited to the extent that you risk spontaneous head implosion everytime you ask them a question.) people everywhere. I don't think very highly of chomu people. I believe they should be exterminated, a la ethnic cleansing.
Everytime I see this male (yes, yes I mean that as a highly derogatory reference) my anal hair stand on their end almost jutting out of my pants through my underwear. Whether I have very coarse hair or I wear silk underwear I shall let the women who read my posts decide. But that male is the quintessentially real chomu. Pardonable chomus are those who have no qualms of being otherwise. The anal-hair raising kinds think that sliced bread is the next best thing since they happened.
Personally, I don't know why sliced bread is accorded an exalted status. Trust the yanks to come up with something this banal. I don't approve of many things as it is but if the yanks were the last things (things only - they are an accident that happened to the human race and let us leave it at that) left in this cosmos I still would not approve of them. The same way I would not approve of chomu people using face creams or people sharing bathrooms/loos. Who does that?
That brings us to something very tragic. I have had to share my housemate's bathroom the last few days because the drain of my bath has become a Centre for Study in Transport Phenomenon. It has re-engineered itself to work the reverse way. So what if I am all for personal toilets? I am not very approving of casual sex either. The point being?
It was not very long ago when this woman ran her hands all over my tight ass. A near repeat occured two days ago at a bar. I say a near repeat because this woman went a step ahead. She actually felt me up. I don't know how drunk she was, which is not to say that I don't have the stuff that deserves feeling up even if at that moment in time it very much preferred to be by itself. What happened next? I can't say for my sister reads my blog. What I will state, however, is that I don't have in me what it takes to take advantage of a drunk woman, unless she is that former colleague of mine. For her, ethical issues are good for only one thing - to be flung out the window. At the same time, I am not saying that the woman who felt me up was drunk or even that she was not.
I put two and two together the other day. And voila! I realised that during the first half of business about 300 people walk in and out of my office. The abrasion on the tiling mocks the manufacturer's claims of 'scratch resistance' like Neha Dhupia mocked the Miss India contest when she entered it with those atrocious teeth of hers. That she won it quantifies the foul odour there would have been due to the collective bad breath of all the contestants. In some cultures, France for instance, bad breath may be a turn on (come on, show me a French with good teeth) but good sense prevails elsewhere.
Thank you and goodnight.
Monday, January 29, 2007
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Monday, January 22, 2007
Momentary enlightenment
There are moments in my life. Of course, there are moments in all our lives. Just that I am more interested in my moments. I am self-centred that way. Actually, I am self-centred in every way but that is not the point of this post. Come to think of it, I have suddenly started making points in my posts. From having a natural flair for being completely pointless, I am at a place where I cannot but make points. What a fall! Let me not harp on a point again. Sigh!
Speaking of my moments, today for instance, I was in conversation with an intelligent woman. Well, okay. That statement is laced with redundancy. You can only have a conversation with those who are intelligent. Anyway. I tend to have better conversations with women. The more I talk to them, the more my conviction grows - any woman who aims to be equal to a man lacks ambition. That gyan too was given to me by a woman.
So. During the conversation in question, I started to wonder about the true depth of the phrase 'scare the shit out of someone'. What does it mean? I proposed that you scare someone to the extent that you constipate them. The woman came up with an alternative reasoning - you scare them so much that you give them the runs. See, I could never have thought of that in a thousand years. The same way I could never have thought that intelligent conversations could be more a survival necessity than food. Or even good green tea.
In my two months in Lagos, I have sorely missed my survival tonic. I have searched and searched. I cannot locate green tea for the life of me. If someone knows where I need to look, please pass on the information. It will be your good deed for the year. The thing is I am not a frequent tea-drinker. I am the avid variety. The tea has to be just right. I am more accomodating with coffee. It is not even a real drink. You cannot expect from artificiality an experience that transcends living.
Whiskey and tea are like that. They have more in common than Johnny Walker. Legend has it that Johnny Walker never had a sip of alcohol. His movies, however, are replete with his drunk idiosyncracies - scenes of him holding a bottle while he is doing his thing have made us laugh and cry. He filled the bottle with tea. I don't know if he got high on tea or not, but tea can have that effect. Green tea more so. If water is the whiskey of life, then tea is certainly the Absinth of it.
Aside: Woman without her man is incomplete.
Woman. Without her, man is incomplete.
The difference punctuation makes!
Speaking of my moments, today for instance, I was in conversation with an intelligent woman. Well, okay. That statement is laced with redundancy. You can only have a conversation with those who are intelligent. Anyway. I tend to have better conversations with women. The more I talk to them, the more my conviction grows - any woman who aims to be equal to a man lacks ambition. That gyan too was given to me by a woman.
So. During the conversation in question, I started to wonder about the true depth of the phrase 'scare the shit out of someone'. What does it mean? I proposed that you scare someone to the extent that you constipate them. The woman came up with an alternative reasoning - you scare them so much that you give them the runs. See, I could never have thought of that in a thousand years. The same way I could never have thought that intelligent conversations could be more a survival necessity than food. Or even good green tea.
In my two months in Lagos, I have sorely missed my survival tonic. I have searched and searched. I cannot locate green tea for the life of me. If someone knows where I need to look, please pass on the information. It will be your good deed for the year. The thing is I am not a frequent tea-drinker. I am the avid variety. The tea has to be just right. I am more accomodating with coffee. It is not even a real drink. You cannot expect from artificiality an experience that transcends living.
Whiskey and tea are like that. They have more in common than Johnny Walker. Legend has it that Johnny Walker never had a sip of alcohol. His movies, however, are replete with his drunk idiosyncracies - scenes of him holding a bottle while he is doing his thing have made us laugh and cry. He filled the bottle with tea. I don't know if he got high on tea or not, but tea can have that effect. Green tea more so. If water is the whiskey of life, then tea is certainly the Absinth of it.
Aside: Woman without her man is incomplete.
Woman. Without her, man is incomplete.
The difference punctuation makes!
Thursday, January 18, 2007
The ass of all things
Single guys don’t need much to survive – food, clothing, shelter, house-help, and sex. Ah well. If you are a guy you need sex, preferably with another person. That is not to imply that women don’t need sex. They are just prudish about it. Also, they don’t have an appendage dangling between their legs raising its point periodically.
No wonder chauvinists tend to believe men have more brains than women. I am not one to concur with people for I believe concurrence exhibits a weakness of character. The fact remains, however, that men do have two centres of thought, though the one between our ears has atrophied due to eons of disuse. To make up for it, we think from our balls. We keep it simple too. We think only two things – sex, and ways to think of sex.
I don’t know what women think. I don’t wish to get into a woman’s mind. I would rather get into her bed, thank you very much. It took me 19 of my 25 years on this planet to realise the obviousness of the truth first distilled and sublimed by Harold Robbins. Tits and ass – they make the world go round. Of course, pear-shaped tits like those of Cindy Crawford, Sharon Stone and Elizabeth Hurley, and heart-shaped asses like those of Kim Basinger, Kylie Minogue, and Naomi Campbell do a far better job.
More than the blatant sexual connotation, there is a deeper significance to that statement. It is simply another way to word the ‘carrot and stick policy’. Obviously, tits are the carrots. They are usually all the motivation men ever need, and usually cause for all the self-esteem, or the lack of it, in women. And nothing works more beautifully than a bamboo up the ass – the deeper the bamboo the louder the moan.
The super boss is in town. The asses of all the other bosses are collectively on fire. It is great fun! It is not sadistic pleasure, mind you. It transcends sadism and reaches a plain hitherto unknown. What’s more, there is good whiskey – Royal Salute 21 years. Smooth, like wiping your arse with silk. Chivas Regal 18 years is bird vomit compared to it.
Have been in meetings with the MAN (Money, Authority, Need) the last two days. Good fun. He rams your ass in such a way that the only thing you can say once you have recouped sufficiently from your orgasmic spasms is ‘thank you’. I had more than my fair share of humping. There is more in the offing for he does not leave till next week. Yoo hoo!
No wonder chauvinists tend to believe men have more brains than women. I am not one to concur with people for I believe concurrence exhibits a weakness of character. The fact remains, however, that men do have two centres of thought, though the one between our ears has atrophied due to eons of disuse. To make up for it, we think from our balls. We keep it simple too. We think only two things – sex, and ways to think of sex.
I don’t know what women think. I don’t wish to get into a woman’s mind. I would rather get into her bed, thank you very much. It took me 19 of my 25 years on this planet to realise the obviousness of the truth first distilled and sublimed by Harold Robbins. Tits and ass – they make the world go round. Of course, pear-shaped tits like those of Cindy Crawford, Sharon Stone and Elizabeth Hurley, and heart-shaped asses like those of Kim Basinger, Kylie Minogue, and Naomi Campbell do a far better job.
More than the blatant sexual connotation, there is a deeper significance to that statement. It is simply another way to word the ‘carrot and stick policy’. Obviously, tits are the carrots. They are usually all the motivation men ever need, and usually cause for all the self-esteem, or the lack of it, in women. And nothing works more beautifully than a bamboo up the ass – the deeper the bamboo the louder the moan.
The super boss is in town. The asses of all the other bosses are collectively on fire. It is great fun! It is not sadistic pleasure, mind you. It transcends sadism and reaches a plain hitherto unknown. What’s more, there is good whiskey – Royal Salute 21 years. Smooth, like wiping your arse with silk. Chivas Regal 18 years is bird vomit compared to it.
Have been in meetings with the MAN (Money, Authority, Need) the last two days. Good fun. He rams your ass in such a way that the only thing you can say once you have recouped sufficiently from your orgasmic spasms is ‘thank you’. I had more than my fair share of humping. There is more in the offing for he does not leave till next week. Yoo hoo!
Monday, January 15, 2007
Randomised nothingness
I envy three kinds of people – those without credit cards, those without mobile phones, and those without laptop computers. They owe nothing to anybody. I have all three. And none of my own volition. Volition. Such a lovely word that is!
Moving on. I haven’t quite been able to zero in on the greatest evil that we have created for ourselves, though mobile phones have got to rank right up there. Unless you are lost in the Sahara, you are never off the grid. Therein lies the irony. You only really need to use your cell phone if you are lost. Good luck with finding a signal then!
Nah, this is not a crack on modern living and its terrible offshoots. Hell, I am all for the present world. Electricity, motorised transportation, treadmills –all joys that we take for granted. So what if we are dumping enough filth in the biosphere to completely destroy the world as we know it a couple of decades down the line? Hey, we did our thinking and got to where we are. Fuck the future generations. If they want to live, let them do their own thinking and clean the place up. Survival of the fittest, didn’t Darwin say?
Phew, I have this terrific disposition for going off on my own tangent! I don’t remember what I intended to say in this post. It surely was not this. It was to be about the last few days, my work, my women, my sex life or the lack of it, etc. Where do I begin?
The women at my workplace are a riot! Not just those who work, but also those who visit. Ask them a question, and expect nothing short of a smart-alecky answer. The more rhetorical a question, the more ripping a reply. You don’t know what to do. It annoys you. Yet it bemuses you at the same time. You just can’t help appreciate the wit. Sample this.
This woman customer of ours visits us very early one morning. So we ask her very matter-of-factly, “Madam, how come you are in this early?” Pat comes her answer, “So I could spend the whole day with you.” How do you deal with an answer like that? Right! You enjoy it. :)
Another instance. We do a de-brief every evening before close of business. Someone makes a huge faux pas, what I sometimes deliberately describe as a ‘blunder mistake’. To cover it up, she (used purely to make the language non-sexist – not indicative of the gender of the person in question) says it was a ‘topographical’ error when she meant to say it was a ‘typographical’ error. Either way, full points for presence of mind. That the report was hand-written and not typed notwithstanding.
There is something I have learned. The Nigerian loves to talk. That way, it is one of the easiest countries in the world to live in. You will never be socially challenged as long as you walk on two legs and breathe oxygen. If you are a bit of a prude, though, be prepared to have your brains knocked in every once in a while.
Like I discovered on Saturday. There was a staff party. A group of four dancers was performing. And, boy were they exotic! So hot that you could eat them with a spoon. So wild that they could give all those girls in hip-hop videos a run for their money. Anyway. They drag me to the centre of the stage and sit me down on a chair. Then they start doing their thing. Shaking their booty, doing the splits – that sort of thing. By the time they finished, I did not have any shred of my dignity left in me. Reminded me of this old Hindi song, “Hamein to loot liya mil ke husn waalon ne…” Whoever thinks that it is impossible to rape a man, please think again!
There are Sundays and then there are fantastic Sundays. Yesterday’s was a fantastically happy Sunday! Had nothing to do save vegetate all day long. Well, drove down to the Supermarket in the evening to get supplies but that is not a life-threatening chore. Would have loved it, in fact, if the car had been a Fiat. The only Fiats I have seen here are trucks. I don’t really intend driving them.
Aside: How do you win someone’s heart when she wants you to have nothing to do with her?
Moving on. I haven’t quite been able to zero in on the greatest evil that we have created for ourselves, though mobile phones have got to rank right up there. Unless you are lost in the Sahara, you are never off the grid. Therein lies the irony. You only really need to use your cell phone if you are lost. Good luck with finding a signal then!
Nah, this is not a crack on modern living and its terrible offshoots. Hell, I am all for the present world. Electricity, motorised transportation, treadmills –all joys that we take for granted. So what if we are dumping enough filth in the biosphere to completely destroy the world as we know it a couple of decades down the line? Hey, we did our thinking and got to where we are. Fuck the future generations. If they want to live, let them do their own thinking and clean the place up. Survival of the fittest, didn’t Darwin say?
Phew, I have this terrific disposition for going off on my own tangent! I don’t remember what I intended to say in this post. It surely was not this. It was to be about the last few days, my work, my women, my sex life or the lack of it, etc. Where do I begin?
The women at my workplace are a riot! Not just those who work, but also those who visit. Ask them a question, and expect nothing short of a smart-alecky answer. The more rhetorical a question, the more ripping a reply. You don’t know what to do. It annoys you. Yet it bemuses you at the same time. You just can’t help appreciate the wit. Sample this.
This woman customer of ours visits us very early one morning. So we ask her very matter-of-factly, “Madam, how come you are in this early?” Pat comes her answer, “So I could spend the whole day with you.” How do you deal with an answer like that? Right! You enjoy it. :)
Another instance. We do a de-brief every evening before close of business. Someone makes a huge faux pas, what I sometimes deliberately describe as a ‘blunder mistake’. To cover it up, she (used purely to make the language non-sexist – not indicative of the gender of the person in question) says it was a ‘topographical’ error when she meant to say it was a ‘typographical’ error. Either way, full points for presence of mind. That the report was hand-written and not typed notwithstanding.
There is something I have learned. The Nigerian loves to talk. That way, it is one of the easiest countries in the world to live in. You will never be socially challenged as long as you walk on two legs and breathe oxygen. If you are a bit of a prude, though, be prepared to have your brains knocked in every once in a while.
Like I discovered on Saturday. There was a staff party. A group of four dancers was performing. And, boy were they exotic! So hot that you could eat them with a spoon. So wild that they could give all those girls in hip-hop videos a run for their money. Anyway. They drag me to the centre of the stage and sit me down on a chair. Then they start doing their thing. Shaking their booty, doing the splits – that sort of thing. By the time they finished, I did not have any shred of my dignity left in me. Reminded me of this old Hindi song, “Hamein to loot liya mil ke husn waalon ne…” Whoever thinks that it is impossible to rape a man, please think again!
There are Sundays and then there are fantastic Sundays. Yesterday’s was a fantastically happy Sunday! Had nothing to do save vegetate all day long. Well, drove down to the Supermarket in the evening to get supplies but that is not a life-threatening chore. Would have loved it, in fact, if the car had been a Fiat. The only Fiats I have seen here are trucks. I don’t really intend driving them.
Aside: How do you win someone’s heart when she wants you to have nothing to do with her?
Friday, January 05, 2007
Ka-Ching!
The Holidays are done! So done that you can poke a fork. Can't even begin to describe that post-holiday feeling of emptiness. I like the holiday season. I like the delusion that I am getting paid for no work. Delusion it is because I inevitably end up working on those days. At least in Nigeria. In India, it was different. My working on a holiday meant the house was on fire. Ah, the good life!
I am not particularly fond of crying over spilt milk, more so if it is milk that I have spilt. Aware I was of what I was getting into when I decided to move here. What's more is that I did not even do it for the money. Yes, mercenary that I think of myself to be the greens had nothing to do with it. I actually moved for better 'career prospects'! And I thought such terms were dropped around solely for making pseudo impressions in job interviews. Sometimes our own doings can be such eye-openers! Shocking.
Cliched though it may sound (isn't this phrase itself hackneyed?), each day at work teaches me something different. I need to learn fast too. For instance, if I bump into an Area Boy (a really flashy term for a local goon) then I must either choose to part with some of my money or all of my life. When talking to customers, there cannot be a slip between the cup and the lip. Vehicles drive on the right of the road - especially of note if you don't wish to have your body parts and you separated. And, most importantly, when eating spring rolls remember it is the temperature on the inside and not on the surface that determines how charred your mouth gets.
My workplace is chaotic. There is almost a method to the madness - how we Indians define a fish market. The hustly-bustly noise almost blows the wind out of your sails the first time. Takes some getting used to. When you do, you have only one reaction to silence. Huh? Silence means no business, which means no money coming in. We all love the jingling of coins, don't we? The smell of Naira bills tickles my nostrils like the nostrils of Jehovah were tickled by the burnt offerings of the Semites, to borrow a similie from Maugham (and please, it is pronounced 'Maum' not 'Maugham')1.
Today was good. Not orgasmic by any stretch of the imagination but good. I was out in the market (a big market called Agege) for half of the day, as has become the norm. I was passing by a Mosque just after the Friday Prayers were offerred, and I saw women coming out of it! From what I knew, men and women are not to pray at the same mosque. I guess my knowledge base isn't too sound. We live and learn. At any rate, we live2.
We are doing a consumer promotion for our noodles. It is the first time that such a grand promo has been done in Nigeria. There are loads of gift items to be won - wristbands, glasses, ipods, handsets, bags, footballs, even scholarships. The response is fantastic. Yesterday this four year old girl came to the office for she had won a scholarship of Naira 100,000. Makes one glad when such things happen. Such a tiny little thing she was but quite the brat! The awareness that kids of this generation have sometimes makes me wonder if I am living in a cocoon.
The week is almost through. Saturday is half a working day. Cruel, I know. I had taken two days in a weekend for granted for far too long, I suppose.
1. William Somerset Maugham; The Luncheon
2. Douglas Adams; The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
I am not particularly fond of crying over spilt milk, more so if it is milk that I have spilt. Aware I was of what I was getting into when I decided to move here. What's more is that I did not even do it for the money. Yes, mercenary that I think of myself to be the greens had nothing to do with it. I actually moved for better 'career prospects'! And I thought such terms were dropped around solely for making pseudo impressions in job interviews. Sometimes our own doings can be such eye-openers! Shocking.
Cliched though it may sound (isn't this phrase itself hackneyed?), each day at work teaches me something different. I need to learn fast too. For instance, if I bump into an Area Boy (a really flashy term for a local goon) then I must either choose to part with some of my money or all of my life. When talking to customers, there cannot be a slip between the cup and the lip. Vehicles drive on the right of the road - especially of note if you don't wish to have your body parts and you separated. And, most importantly, when eating spring rolls remember it is the temperature on the inside and not on the surface that determines how charred your mouth gets.
My workplace is chaotic. There is almost a method to the madness - how we Indians define a fish market. The hustly-bustly noise almost blows the wind out of your sails the first time. Takes some getting used to. When you do, you have only one reaction to silence. Huh? Silence means no business, which means no money coming in. We all love the jingling of coins, don't we? The smell of Naira bills tickles my nostrils like the nostrils of Jehovah were tickled by the burnt offerings of the Semites, to borrow a similie from Maugham (and please, it is pronounced 'Maum' not 'Maugham')1.
Today was good. Not orgasmic by any stretch of the imagination but good. I was out in the market (a big market called Agege) for half of the day, as has become the norm. I was passing by a Mosque just after the Friday Prayers were offerred, and I saw women coming out of it! From what I knew, men and women are not to pray at the same mosque. I guess my knowledge base isn't too sound. We live and learn. At any rate, we live2.
We are doing a consumer promotion for our noodles. It is the first time that such a grand promo has been done in Nigeria. There are loads of gift items to be won - wristbands, glasses, ipods, handsets, bags, footballs, even scholarships. The response is fantastic. Yesterday this four year old girl came to the office for she had won a scholarship of Naira 100,000. Makes one glad when such things happen. Such a tiny little thing she was but quite the brat! The awareness that kids of this generation have sometimes makes me wonder if I am living in a cocoon.
The week is almost through. Saturday is half a working day. Cruel, I know. I had taken two days in a weekend for granted for far too long, I suppose.
1. William Somerset Maugham; The Luncheon
2. Douglas Adams; The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
From this year to the next
There are some things money can't buy - good times and friends to state a couple. Okay. Bad examples. The fact remains that there is no life without money, whatever those suave Mastercard ads say be damned. And if you get to spend someone else's money, then you are in what I choose to call monetary nirvana.
For a change, this New Year's eve I had no intent to indulge in alcohol. Not like I have been ritually drinking each 31st December but it is the thought that counts. Anyway. I had intent. That does not mean I went through with it. Honestly, I think it is the feeble minded who carry out what they intend to. There is a certain charm in making a resolve and then going back on it. Not everyone can do it.
Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on which end of the spectrum you choose to belong to, most of the human race continues to believe in integrity, morality, and ethics. They tend to be straightforward - practice what they preach. Dull, I know. Yes, some don't do a one hundred percent compliance. That is dull too. It is doing a complete volte face that only the select few are capable of. Therein lies the magnetism of humanity.
Anyway. There was an office party at a disc. It would not be an exaggeration if I said that at the end of it I had enough liquor in me to stock a decent bar. Two Black Labels on the rocks (that is the only acceptable way to have scotch) started it all. This was followed by a few shots of whiskey, tequila, and vodka. Somewhere around midnight, a bottle of champagne was uncorked. Post that there were a few shots of rum. It was rounded off well by Flaming Lambourghini - hold Drambuie in your mouth, light it up, and then gulp it down. Almost like the Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster - having your brains smashed out by a slice of lemon wrapped around a large gold brick1.
Not too many babes around, though. The few that were were either taken, married or gay. How did I know? I already explained about knowing when a woman is gay2. It is easier determining a woman's marital status. Her left ring finger gives it away. Some married women don't wear a ring, and some unmarried women do. It does not matter. What matters is this. If she is wearing a ring, she is telling you to keep off. If she is not, then she is open to invitation. Why should it make any difference if she is married or otherwise provided she is available?
Went to a couple of clubs after that. A few women gyrating their booty to the music, but nothing that could entice me enough to park my derriere for any respectable span of time. Got home around four, went to my room, took my clothes off, and hit the sack. Woke up when hunger got the better of me. Around 1:30 in the afty. Ate. Watched Boston Legal. Ate some more. And slept again, this time only to wake up the next morning.
Life is good!
1. Douglas Adams; Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
2. Script Writer; Hitting the nail on the head; Of Travels and Travails
For a change, this New Year's eve I had no intent to indulge in alcohol. Not like I have been ritually drinking each 31st December but it is the thought that counts. Anyway. I had intent. That does not mean I went through with it. Honestly, I think it is the feeble minded who carry out what they intend to. There is a certain charm in making a resolve and then going back on it. Not everyone can do it.
Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on which end of the spectrum you choose to belong to, most of the human race continues to believe in integrity, morality, and ethics. They tend to be straightforward - practice what they preach. Dull, I know. Yes, some don't do a one hundred percent compliance. That is dull too. It is doing a complete volte face that only the select few are capable of. Therein lies the magnetism of humanity.
Anyway. There was an office party at a disc. It would not be an exaggeration if I said that at the end of it I had enough liquor in me to stock a decent bar. Two Black Labels on the rocks (that is the only acceptable way to have scotch) started it all. This was followed by a few shots of whiskey, tequila, and vodka. Somewhere around midnight, a bottle of champagne was uncorked. Post that there were a few shots of rum. It was rounded off well by Flaming Lambourghini - hold Drambuie in your mouth, light it up, and then gulp it down. Almost like the Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster - having your brains smashed out by a slice of lemon wrapped around a large gold brick1.
Not too many babes around, though. The few that were were either taken, married or gay. How did I know? I already explained about knowing when a woman is gay2. It is easier determining a woman's marital status. Her left ring finger gives it away. Some married women don't wear a ring, and some unmarried women do. It does not matter. What matters is this. If she is wearing a ring, she is telling you to keep off. If she is not, then she is open to invitation. Why should it make any difference if she is married or otherwise provided she is available?
Went to a couple of clubs after that. A few women gyrating their booty to the music, but nothing that could entice me enough to park my derriere for any respectable span of time. Got home around four, went to my room, took my clothes off, and hit the sack. Woke up when hunger got the better of me. Around 1:30 in the afty. Ate. Watched Boston Legal. Ate some more. And slept again, this time only to wake up the next morning.
Life is good!
1. Douglas Adams; Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
2. Script Writer; Hitting the nail on the head; Of Travels and Travails
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