If you are a man? And if you don't get it?
I realized a long time ago that the smartest thing I could ever do was to realize that...sex ain't love. They are not even in the same SPORT, much less the same ballpark. As a result, it doesn't matter if you are speaking to the person you are intimate with or not, physical ain't mental. Conversation is not necessary. It's not spiritual, it's not emotional, it's not soul-searching. The best sex is all about...sex. Without the other stuff.
Having SAID that, I am firmly convinced that women are the DUMBEST creatures God ever put on this planet. So...if you are dealing with a female who thinks that introducing YOUR primary physical part into HER primary physical part equals: True Love. Lifetime Bonding. Intimacy. Soul Melding.
I give you:
From a Steven Seagal movie...I would leave you for a man who bought me beehives.
It was just another beat 'em up, mess 'em up movie. But the gist was that the bad guys were ruining the ecostructure and the bees were dying. (Which, actually, is happening here in lovely rural North Alabama.) And so, at the end of the movie when Steven Seagal had beat up all the bad guys and blown up their factories and saved the universe and the bees, all in the course of one movie and 700 commercials...he replaced the girl's beehives. And she walked out of her house and there, on the cliff overlooking all those beautiful mountains, was a line of beehives.
Honey, that guy got blow jobs in his CASKET.
Sharpen her knives. OMG. I have GOOD knives. I keep them on a metallic strip above my stovetop but...I used to date a guy who was a hunter. He didn't talk a lot but then...he didn't have to. Genetically gifted. And when he was at my house and I was cooking and he was there he would sharpen my knives. Sitting in the kitchen, the smell of good food wafting through the air and us laughing and talking...he'd sit there and stroke my knives. This isn't brain surgery. It's metal and honing. Get it. If you are NOT a country boy and don't sharpen knives for a past-time...that's okay. Take them to a professional. And then bring them home, shiny and oiled and honey...
...you'll get blow jobs in your casket.
And then finally, because this isn't brain surgery?
If you are getting ready to go to bed and you're running the channels and you'd like to get laid? DON'T pass over Country Music's 100 Greatest Romantic Songs of All Times...
...for beach volleyball.
You think those BEACH BALLS are blue?
I realized a long time ago that the smartest thing I could ever do was to realize that...sex ain't love. They are not even in the same SPORT, much less the same ballpark. As a result, it doesn't matter if you are speaking to the person you are intimate with or not, physical ain't mental. Conversation is not necessary. It's not spiritual, it's not emotional, it's not soul-searching. The best sex is all about...sex. Without the other stuff.
Having SAID that, I am firmly convinced that women are the DUMBEST creatures God ever put on this planet. So...if you are dealing with a female who thinks that introducing YOUR primary physical part into HER primary physical part equals: True Love. Lifetime Bonding. Intimacy. Soul Melding.
I give you:
From a Steven Seagal movie...I would leave you for a man who bought me beehives.
It was just another beat 'em up, mess 'em up movie. But the gist was that the bad guys were ruining the ecostructure and the bees were dying. (Which, actually, is happening here in lovely rural North Alabama.) And so, at the end of the movie when Steven Seagal had beat up all the bad guys and blown up their factories and saved the universe and the bees, all in the course of one movie and 700 commercials...he replaced the girl's beehives. And she walked out of her house and there, on the cliff overlooking all those beautiful mountains, was a line of beehives.
Honey, that guy got blow jobs in his CASKET.
Sharpen her knives. OMG. I have GOOD knives. I keep them on a metallic strip above my stovetop but...I used to date a guy who was a hunter. He didn't talk a lot but then...he didn't have to. Genetically gifted. And when he was at my house and I was cooking and he was there he would sharpen my knives. Sitting in the kitchen, the smell of good food wafting through the air and us laughing and talking...he'd sit there and stroke my knives. This isn't brain surgery. It's metal and honing. Get it. If you are NOT a country boy and don't sharpen knives for a past-time...that's okay. Take them to a professional. And then bring them home, shiny and oiled and honey...
...you'll get blow jobs in your casket.
And then finally, because this isn't brain surgery?
If you are getting ready to go to bed and you're running the channels and you'd like to get laid? DON'T pass over Country Music's 100 Greatest Romantic Songs of All Times...
...for beach volleyball.
You think those BEACH BALLS are blue?
Comments
1. Asking for a back rub and going to sleep is not the way to get a man to... buy you a candy bar, let alone diamonds. Or beehives.
2. My casket is not where I want to be getting blow jobs, unless I'm just planning ahead.
(Heh heh heh I said a head)
More fodder for Tom's thesis. MLA has a format for siting blogs, right?