Wednesday, 27 October 2010
The Sap
Amazing, amazing , this never/rarely/never happens, this near enough vision of female engineering has walked straight up to Michael and proceeded to acknowledge his presence with a slight corner top lip-to-same-side-eye tweak smile. She looks slightly awkwardly at him like she’s got someone else’s shoes on, there a bit small pinching at the sides making it hard to remain, exhale, natural. Michael doesn’t mind though at all , what a result, she’s pretty pretty.Not one that we’d all immedialty notice and Michaels only noticed her because she’s walked boldly up to him, looked him near enough straight in the eye and appears to be happy to begin small conversational talk topics with him. Right fuck talk topics, Michael pull one of these out the hat, something witty, non threatening, not to opinionated but show that you have an opinion and an educated one at that. No one likes a push over, you sap. The weather, perfect. I bet she didn’t see that one coming, I’m sure no one has ever tried to strike up conversation with anyone before by talking about the weather. Fuck you unoriginal fucker, can’t you think for yourself. It’s the weather, neither good nor bad, today isn’t even exceptional weather (hurricane, snow, lunar eclipse etc) it’s just fucking weather you tit, what a waste of time, all the intresting things you’ve absorbed over the years, experiences, all the wet wetness walking times. Bollocks. If there’s one thing in this world that we could do without, and that’s small mindless mouth wanking about something you can’t control. If we spent all the time the entire human race has spent talking about the weather and channelled it into, say medical research, there would be no disease at all, we’d all live for ever not talking mindlessly about whether the weather will wither us all down to nothing by causing mild inconvenience due to its irregular nature.
Haven't we met before
“Yeah, that’ s really interesting “
said Charlie Bearings as he sat opposite the girl.
He’s sat in that really openly available way, you know the one, the one that a man does and thinks he looks all cool, casual and most of all sexually potent.
If your not sure what it looks like I’ll explain it to you: you have to sort of ease back in your seat, not too much or you may fall off, Charlie’s got his vanity pants clad arse sat on the chair with one leg on the floor and the other sort of resting on the chair-the same chair, the back of his foot and Achilles tendon is perching precariously on the edge of his seat next to his thigh that is still thigh without it becoming his balls. It sure isn’t comfortable, but he knows that she’s really into it, cos she just touched her hair. (Charlie’s well read and has read that somewhere)
One arm is near his drink, because that shows her that he likes his drink, yeah he can drink, put it away, with the lads most weekends in a social stereotyped bar of some country (Cuba, Spain, America, Belgium etc) No-one in the place could point to said country on the map, let alone set foot on its soil.
Yes, the power of a hand near a drink, means you are never alone, even when more than likely you are, it shows prowess, a reassurance that you are here, a stance an affirmed stance, here I am this is me, look out those who doubt me, look at my drink see it rooted in the palm of my hand, all hale to thee who holds his drink in good stance and stature.
Defiantly sexual prowess in Charlie’s mind; that is affirmed by his drink, after a few he could go at anything.
“Even his sister had better look out,”
he once told his mates.
Well his male heart was in the right place, his mates laughed, thought it was enormously entertaining, though none of them grasped that he was more than hinting at incest.
Concrete gardens aside, yes, a drink in Charlie’s hand helps him to show that he, he Charlie Bearings really can drink, be socially accepted and has never thought about shagging his sister. Sexual prowess through alcohol is dangerous though, especially trying to prove it through large consumption of the substance, Charlie has to remember his limits otherwise his dick ends up behaving like the tongue of a dead dog.
“I’ve always thought that”
Always thought that thinks Charlie, he’s never not thought that, so he must of thought it, at least once.
Right back to this stance of his; we’ve got him sorted from the waste down, one leg on the floor, the other next to his balls his remaining genitalia hoping not to be turned into the tongue of a deceased domestic animal and his right arm and hand is firmly near his drink. His torso is fairly standard though he has developed an ever so small cancerous growth on his Pancreas but I’m sure he’ll find that before it finds him properly. His remaining arm (the left one) is roaming around the back of his head, rubbing his hair (it’ll fall out within a few years), stretching it around a bit, or using it as a visual aid to help really emphasize certain points he or she makes.
You may have noticed that so far Charlie has said very little seeing as though the conversations been going on a while. You see he’s well read (as I mentioned previously) and read in some drag paper lying on the train that if you let the girl do the talking (as they really enjoy it) then they’ll think your marvelous;
“a really good listener”
which shows he’s sensitive, caring, attentive.
Most importantly,
“not like other guys I’ve met”
As he sits there processing his strategic operation disguised social execution, he starts to consider how easy this is; he says nothing, he has to sit uncomfortably, he agrees with everything she says and has a drink in hand to confirm his identity. Who says men can’t multitask.
said Charlie Bearings as he sat opposite the girl.
He’s sat in that really openly available way, you know the one, the one that a man does and thinks he looks all cool, casual and most of all sexually potent.
If your not sure what it looks like I’ll explain it to you: you have to sort of ease back in your seat, not too much or you may fall off, Charlie’s got his vanity pants clad arse sat on the chair with one leg on the floor and the other sort of resting on the chair-the same chair, the back of his foot and Achilles tendon is perching precariously on the edge of his seat next to his thigh that is still thigh without it becoming his balls. It sure isn’t comfortable, but he knows that she’s really into it, cos she just touched her hair. (Charlie’s well read and has read that somewhere)
One arm is near his drink, because that shows her that he likes his drink, yeah he can drink, put it away, with the lads most weekends in a social stereotyped bar of some country (Cuba, Spain, America, Belgium etc) No-one in the place could point to said country on the map, let alone set foot on its soil.
Yes, the power of a hand near a drink, means you are never alone, even when more than likely you are, it shows prowess, a reassurance that you are here, a stance an affirmed stance, here I am this is me, look out those who doubt me, look at my drink see it rooted in the palm of my hand, all hale to thee who holds his drink in good stance and stature.
Defiantly sexual prowess in Charlie’s mind; that is affirmed by his drink, after a few he could go at anything.
“Even his sister had better look out,”
he once told his mates.
Well his male heart was in the right place, his mates laughed, thought it was enormously entertaining, though none of them grasped that he was more than hinting at incest.
Concrete gardens aside, yes, a drink in Charlie’s hand helps him to show that he, he Charlie Bearings really can drink, be socially accepted and has never thought about shagging his sister. Sexual prowess through alcohol is dangerous though, especially trying to prove it through large consumption of the substance, Charlie has to remember his limits otherwise his dick ends up behaving like the tongue of a dead dog.
“I’ve always thought that”
Always thought that thinks Charlie, he’s never not thought that, so he must of thought it, at least once.
Right back to this stance of his; we’ve got him sorted from the waste down, one leg on the floor, the other next to his balls his remaining genitalia hoping not to be turned into the tongue of a deceased domestic animal and his right arm and hand is firmly near his drink. His torso is fairly standard though he has developed an ever so small cancerous growth on his Pancreas but I’m sure he’ll find that before it finds him properly. His remaining arm (the left one) is roaming around the back of his head, rubbing his hair (it’ll fall out within a few years), stretching it around a bit, or using it as a visual aid to help really emphasize certain points he or she makes.
You may have noticed that so far Charlie has said very little seeing as though the conversations been going on a while. You see he’s well read (as I mentioned previously) and read in some drag paper lying on the train that if you let the girl do the talking (as they really enjoy it) then they’ll think your marvelous;
“a really good listener”
which shows he’s sensitive, caring, attentive.
Most importantly,
“not like other guys I’ve met”
As he sits there processing his strategic operation disguised social execution, he starts to consider how easy this is; he says nothing, he has to sit uncomfortably, he agrees with everything she says and has a drink in hand to confirm his identity. Who says men can’t multitask.
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