Monday, September 18, 2006

Little thoughts

A man in his thirties sits alone in a relatively quiet bar. It was his first time here and all he can think of is how to start a conversation with people who doesn’t seem to pay any attention to him whatsoever. At this point, while playing with the bar match sticks and tossing peanuts to his mouth (missing so far that it is best if he were to play toss the nuts on your neighbor’s drink and annoy him). He started to think, loudly and in an unwelcome manner.
“I would go out on occasions and realize the need of a drink. The only thing that sucks would be an invite to drink tequila, which I would consider nasty. Who actually enjoys tequila anyways? I prefer a nice smooth and calming descent of a good vodka mix, but Tequila crashes you. You’re gone in no time.”
At this point no one does care about what he has to say, being that they are annoyed with the peanuts in their drink, he continues.
“Women apparently have this passion for Tequila, now that they have all their designated drivers and all they can just go crazy. The strange thing is they go hyper and dance around like crazy, and do crazy things, like inviting me to the dance floor, where I know, by previous traumatizing experience, that I would suck in.”
Still alone and desperate, he increased his tone while shifting his legs as one of them fell asleep.
“Women do get drunk apparently, but find a very convenient location to “release the evil” a.k.a. puke, and that would be the car, and this could be a problem. You see, at one point, I thought women passed out or ended up puking because of my perfume, which made me think twice into changing from Hugo Boss to something more pleasant, like Glade. No one gets pissed off at Glade scents. But a man smelling like Glade Apple is not a good plan. You could be looked at as a sissy or someone very questionable “what in the world is that on you? Be a man! Even gays don’t put that shit on their armpits”, would be the usual tagline.
No, men need manly fragrances, they need the rough woodsy smell or some musk. Men have to smell like they came from the woods hunting or so, but in a cultured manner. It has to be “James Bondish” wherein a guy would go to the woods, hunt a bear for dinner, lay it on his Victorian dining table at camp and use the appropriate forks and knives in eating his dinner.”
Now he has gotten the attention of the barman, who also finds him annoying.
“Women want rough men, well built and masculine, which I am very much the opposite of. I just do not see the point torturing myself and paying for it (the gym). I do not see the purpose of having large muscles. Given the opportunity that things would go violent, I would get a gun, or a nuclear weapon, and point it at my muscular opponent, who, I would enjoy watching trying to catch the bullet. Who is the man now? I would ask.”
“But once in the bar all these largely built men flaunt themselves and their “ruggedness”, some a little too much you would expect that he would have a hat with horns in the house, waiting for his next pillaging event. I would prefer to just sit in the corner and have my drink, quizzing the opponent on which animal on heat smells like him. Listening to a band I have no choice of listening too, a band still going through puberty, not being able to appreciate the greatest classics of all time, U2, Depeche Mode, and the other bands of our era who make songs that are comprehendable, and not just a repetition of some song we have heard before.”
Done and impressed at his speech of intellect, he was given a rather fair treatment of being booted out of the bar by irate muscular men and pop-song singers.

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