Thursday, December 08, 2011

I ain't lord of the rings, my flagpole ain't a shovel

"My friend wants to talk with you" said the second blondie. The friend, I talked to before, but communicating with her turned out to be difficult, even though she claimed her English was good. After the failure to communicate, I spotted the ring on the left hand.

"She has a ring" I say
"She only wants to talk"
"That ain't my job" I said
"I understand"

Few moments later, second blondie says
"You got competition."
"What have I got?"
Pointing behind me, "Competition"
I turn around, there is a middle easterner, of the vibrant enriching kind, who also happens to have a wifey somewhere. Me, competition? Pfft.

"I'm in no competition when there's a ring"

I don't do girlfriends, I don't do wives.

There is no guarantee that the single girl did not pick up a guy from the bar last night, met another for brunch, had a afternoon coffee date with another at his place, and then a preparty romp in her place before going out, the night I meet her.

But, since committed women tend to sex strangers when they are ovulating, and possibly have at least the partner's semen swimming in them, to enable some sperm competition, the risks that my dick will be substituted for a shovel is higher.

I got no interest in that.

Guys loving to sex other men's women, what is so special about using another man's semen as lubricant?

Kissing lips that are more likely to taste salty?

On that note, what the hell is the obsession with strippers?

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