Sex and the Grocery store, or My creativity explodes whenever I am away from you

I felt dead at work yesterday. I went through the motions of scanning your groceries only because I need money and because this blog costs a fortune to run. I use all my spare income to make sure I have access to the internet so you can get your 13 seconds worth of entertainment out of this blog every day.

I was in the shower and I came up with a 15 minute rant about how I hate my life, but I can't remember a word of it.

I can't remember the idea I had for a new character for this blog either.

I came up with the character yesterday at work after I finally stopped feeling sorry for myself. I know it had something to do with customers walking up to me and whispering things to me like how they have fake tits, or how the itch cream they buy is not really for themselves, but I can't remember much of that either, so I guess you will just have to put up with what you are getting creatively from this blog which may not be that great, but it sure beats thinking about your life.

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MEET EMMA THE GREETER!

One of the greeters at my store got very excited yesterday. It is her job to open the pharmacy for all the sluts people who want to buy condoms when the pharmacy closes at 7 pm. After opening the sliding glass door she rushed over to tell me that the, "black guy who just bought condoms bought the LARGE condoms!"

I told her it was no surprise as black men have larger genitals than the Italian men she has known her whole life. Despite what Italian men say, most Italians are short, and any guy under 5 foot 9 has a small dick. That's why women love tall men. They are betting that what is below matches how high they are on top.

I also told her it was no use crying over spilled milk and the 60 years she spent bedding small dicked men probably made her incapable of taking a young black buck like the boy she brought the condoms to.

That's when she changed the subject and asked me about my penis and wondered if my readers knew about my size. She made a joke about me having a pencil dick and I told her I drew the line at 60 year old women using the term "pencil dick" in front of me. I also told her that I had a wide ribcage and that while I might be heavy, none of the fat collects around my ribs so she could trust that I was thick where it counted.

She wondered whether I chatted dirty online.  I told her I talked dirty all the time and she cracked a joke that she was actually my long time internet girl friend.

She also wanted to know if there were any laws against talking dirty online.  I told her that the only law against talking dirty online is talking to under aged girls, or the cops who pretend to be underage to get you arrested.   Which pretty much dries up all the possibilities of dirty talk on the Internet.

You can't talk to teen girls about sex because you will go to jail, even though teen girls are the your first choice, and the only girls confident enough in their sexuality to do so. And by confident in their sexuality, I mean they have low self esteem and enough daddy issues that you can take advantage of them.

Older women are super horny too, but they always want to send you pics of their saggy tits for you to jack off on. And the furious masturbation it takes for me to ejaculate on a printout of your saggy tits rips the skin off my dick.

All that furious masturbation, just so I can send you a still picture of the white goo that I have dribbled onto your face pic, so that you can post it (along with all the other ones) to your RedPorn profile. Which I guess somehow confirms for you that men still find you attractive, and I guess enables you to have your middle aged orgasm, which sounds a lot more like a dying mule than the sexy purr of a women with a functioning uterus.

My review of the Sex and the City Movie should be read by men too

I had no plans to talk about what I wrote today.

Today's post was supposed to be another "I feel sad and lonely because the world acts indifferent* to me."

I was depressed all day yesterday, but then I watched The Sex and the City movie and I felt better. Not because a good cry gets rid of bad hormones, but because I knew there were millions of women waiting around to see this movie, and I could feel sorry for them.



I don't know if a woman wrote Sex and the City, but I do know that the movie could only appeal to a woman.

Whenever I doubt my masculinity I watch movies like Sex and the City to reconnect with my manhood.


I don't understand women. 

I don't know how you connect to these lame fantasies of BIG romantic love. I just don't see exactly what Carrie Bradshaw sees in Mr. Big. Other than the obvious inference that is so subtly hinted at. He is rich, tall, and I guess "big" for a white guy.

Mr. Big is emotionally unavailable. He dumps Carrie at the alter (though in his defense he said it was 'his bad' and he would still go ahead with the ceremony where upon Carrie then proceeds to have a melt down and refuses to go walk down the aisle with Big which makes the whole thing her fault in my opinion.)

The best thing about the movie was how Big and Carrie decided to get married.

Carrie was trolling for security, or at least a part of ownership in the condo they just bought. Mr. Big wanted to keep his little sex toy, and the hundred pairs of shoes he bought her. They decide to get married rather than Big just offering to let Carrie live in the apartment if they break up. I though the offer was realistic, but stupid on Mr. Big's part.

The writers have an obvious contempt for Mr. Big because he never gets any good lines. He has the 'smoothness' of a dull razor blade dragged across a hairy pimpled ass. He never says anything witty. He was not profound or deep like some of Carrie's other suitors. I don't see why Carrie would leave Aiden for this guy. I guess women like their men Cave man like. All action and no talky. That's probably because they get all the 'talky' they need from their friends.

The most annoying thing about this movie was the number of times the screen had to show the "fab 4" throwing up their hands and screaming at each other like a bunch of 12 year olds because it had been 3 days since they had last seen each other.

I suppose you could make a case for them screaming every time they saw "Samantha" because ostensibly she had moved to California. Despite the move, Samantha was in every scene of the movie and every scene of the movie began with her "surprise" visit and the girls throwing their hands in the air and screaming for the thousandth time, "aOH my gosh I can't believe you are back in New York!"

The movie ends with Big and Carrie getting married at a small justice of the peace ceremony and with more arm waving screaming by the girls and the silent puking of Carrie and Samantha after they noticed that the producers had them eating at a KFC in the final scene to show how "real" the girls are and how they are totally not stuck up fahionistas who only care about the "scene" of a wedding and want nothing to do with living up to the vows of making the coffee in the morning because it is cold and serving me beer when the game is on.

The other sound you heard was me puking on my t-shirt a little because I just gave 2 hours and 28 minutes of my life to this movie. I guess I was overcome with the knowledge that The Sex and the City movie was the number one movie on my NetFlix queue.

Snuggles,
Romius T.

*Don't worry that post is coming. I call it The world as Will and Indifference. I think I might play off the whole The World as Will and Representation. You should probably read a little Schopenhauer to bone up.