Wednesday, April 18, 2012

Where have all the good men gone?

She will ask in less than five years...

She will hear crickets chirping.

She came in with her friend, walked towards the two Americans sitting on the table beside mine, in a bar where the atmosphere is cozy, the sound level low, number of drunks little, and the time yet early.

With her full voice, she bellows in a satisfied excitement:

"Hellou, assholes...!... You again? :)  "

Since everybody in the coffee bar was in hearing distance, and since the venue was packed, it is clear that a number of men took note on what worked on this party girl.

Being a good man to her would be sheer stupidity,

And her asking where the good men are, would be like looking for men who happily, knowingly shoot themselves in the foot...

You love assholes, you ride assholes, there may not be a decent mechanic around when Little Red Corvette is falling apart after a million miles. Miles that were loved fast, and left fast.

....says an occasional asshole.

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