Thankfully, it's really summertime and Toronto's zillions of hot chicks are scantily clad. That makes me forget how I lust for my own death, if only for a moment. Except of course when it doesn't.
Anyhow, there's this PR-charity-giant pain in the ass campaign here in the city called Because I am a Girl.You've likely seen their ads on the subway. If you haven't, you're probably a better person for it.
Because I am a Girl strives to educate us all on the importance of teaching girls to read and not mutilating their genitals and stuff. Oddly enough, their method of education involves gathering in packs on the sidewalk and annoying the fuck out of everyone that crosses their path. Far be it from me to tell a charity how to conduct their business, but it seems self-evident that if you want to stop, say, the genital mutilation of girls, it might be the better part of wisdom to not have girls fucking with everybody's lunch hour. People who work for a living are generally under lots of stress. Just sayin'.
I spend a good deal of my day staring out the window. I find that it helps me properly strew in my own hate. As I age, I find that my contempt has been entirely too focused, and I've ignored far too many other things that are deserving of my loathing, such as the things that happen right outside of my window.
The Because I am a Girl folks had been in front of the giant Yuppie Fucking Mountaineering Outlet across the street for a couple of weeks now, unintentionally making a pretty solid case for violence against women. They wave dramatically at passers-by and try to engage in the fake-cheeriness and most people ignore them. But they Don't Stop. They call after the people who just ignored them as they continue on their merry way.
Keep in my mind that no one's more against female genital mutilation and illiteracy more than I am, and I started reconsidering my opinions after a few days of watching this. And because Jesus exists only to kick me in the balls, it was only a matter of time before they showed up directly outside my window.
There was a dramatically gay Chinese guy, a morbidly obese butch dyke and Her, an Indian girl with a body so banging that it reaffirmed that Jesus exists only to kick me in the balls. She was tiny, but seemingly couldn't move at all without her shapely titties jiggling. And she had a beautiful, nay, a magnificent ass that spoke to me in a secret language that only I could I understand. Seeing it was a profoundly spiritual experience. I actually wept a little inside, in the forlorn hope that I could be a better man.
And you know what? I was! It was almost magical. Sure, I still despise virtually everything about being me, and I only got more miserable as the day continued. But there was something different about it. Something I couldn't immediately identify.
Hours later, on the subway, I found myself between a super cute Indian girl who works for the Hospital for Sick Kids with a dramatically plunging neckline on her dress that barely concealed the biggest jugs I've ever seen on such a tiny woman, and someone who looked suspiciously like Raymi's mom, who tents my trousers like few other MILFs. Verily, she has it going on. Ordinarily, such a combination would have me spewing my goo in ways that could potentially derail the train. It's happened before and, God help us all, it could happen again.
But today was no ordinary day. Oh, no. All I could think about was that Indian chick from Because I am a Girl. Sure, I mostly thought about how I would sodomize her and stuff, but I thought about doing it very tenderly.
And that, I think, is how you know when it's love.
0 comments:
Post a Comment