Quote:
Originally posted by sebastian_dangerfield
Its the pain of realizing that you'll never have enough of those asses... its the realization that you were built to screw as many of those perfect asses as you can, careen through the first forty years of your life gobbling every pleasure you can and explode like a vase hitting a tile floor just when you get too old for the game... when your seed has been sown, when all the ya yas worth getting out have been gotteen out...
but...
Medical advances and societal strictures have instead flipped the game on you. You somehow turned from Bob Guccione into Ned Fester, professional waiting-to-die guy...
"Did you put enough away for junior's college fund?" "Love the Audi, Ned!"
Those asses represent you living like tomorrow was a rumor, instead of wondering while you clip ear hair whether you have enough life insurance. Keith Richaards to Willie Loman in less time than the average white collar crime sentence.
You always want those asses. When you don't, check your pulse.
|
1) I never thought I was Bob Guccione.
2) I think you mean Les Nester?
3) I miss the link in the chain that gets us from cellulite free asses to audis and haircuts.
