Skepticism is one of those thought progressions that takes on all forms, mates with every kind of emotion or idea and either harvests a hindrance or advancement to every last theory conceived on the face of the earth. Like a wild card of our esteemed mental stability. Ever sit down and listen to one who speaks of foreign sacrament, eagerly cracks open fortune cookies or reads horoscopes with an incredulous sneer of sarcasm? Yeah, I don’t much care for these jokers either. Especially when its some hubristic recluse washed out from the world by the graying hair on his head, and whose dead set cushy occupation and lowly place in the society have disenchanted him by the miniscule role in a world that is no longer patriarchic. He’ll slap what he is reading with a limp wrist and adamantly speak of the inaccuracy of the horoscopes found in today’s paper through the tops of his bifocals. "It says here that misunderstandings over romantic affairs could be decreasingly brief, but entertaining. There may be no difference of perceptions to deal with rather than a similarity in fact__now honey, what in the hell does that mean?"
It takes a certain kind of person to have an insatiable love for almanac burning perfectly innocent intrusions to our faiths that distract from all the rigid, cold realities we are forced to deal with on a daily basis. I say let the people have their paranormal fantasies and astrological muses, and I say that without a shaved head, or massive hoop ring sticking out of my nose or some kind of cancerous mole festering on my temple. If they want it, for Christ’s sakes, let them have it.
It says here that today I will find opportunity if I rise from whatever lackadaisical realm that I’ve previously been dwelling in. Around the time MTV finally became about everything but music and Al Roker lost all his weight, I’d gotten drunk ten nights in a row, usually starting in the afternoon time and then into the late evening hours before passing out. Perhaps if I look closely, I can find a ruse tonight from the mundane life that my job and lifestyle have fashioned for me. Today I will meet a woman. Perhaps at first I will not find her so attractive, but she will bring me free pizza to my work place and flirt with me for awhile. Her name will be Theresa and she will have curly long hair and great big thingies, but with disappointingly baggy clothes. Being single will naturally lower a young man’s standards.
If you are not careful today, you will find yourself in the claws of a higher authority.
Theresa and I were caught parking that night by the police in some closed plaza a few miles away from my workplace. No biggie. Nothing more came of it than slight humiliation when the officer tapped his flashlight into the window when we were in the backseat with my head buried in her bosom. We just blushed, giggled a little and threw away our soft drinks before she invited me to her place.
It says here that romantic fantasies bubble up in a confusing way. To hit your target only if aiming for a lasting affection.
I will be a little sketchy about the proposition before finally agreeing to it. (By then, I had almost deemed it necessary to wear a basinet and steel athletic supporter on all my dates because I had no idea what each one of these bitches were capable of. And I surely knew enough at this time to never dip my tube toboggan into a tamale too hot. I even came up with the chief bit of advice I would give my first born son someday; never bang a woman who can beat you in a fist fight.)
And it says here that things are not always as nice as they seem, proceed carefully.
The cosmic prophecies always say in some form or another to be careful what you wish for. Theresa will remove her shirt by my own request, because I will want to see them things. When these gargantuan milk sacks plunk down from the safety of her bra, I shall pause for a moment, whether in shock, or anticipation of an ear shattering sound relay. These motherfuckers would be telescopically visible on the moon. I will stand wide eyed until she asks me if I want to touch them.
“Sure.”
I am liable to sense something quite unpleasant in the form of a funky smell. Seek too far beneath her gigantic boobs and I will find these red lines glazed with sweat that will reek a combination of caramel and beershit. Big tits will suddenly seem more like dual burdens than sexy twins.
You can depend on time and tide to determine the right moment to seize an opportunity
“ Um, can I get another drink?”
In the face of disemboweling qualms from a pushy woman who breaks down a man’s self worth without so much as a chortle, forcing him to examine how well he can back up his goofy grin with his five inch dick and four hundred dollar paycheck, he must not fret. He must submit. I will continue to make out with the freakish, smelly woman with the oversized hooters before she will remove her pants with a lack of ease as her skin oozes out of every inch of denim as its drawn. She will step out of her panties and turn around slowly, showcasing her sagging ass and elephantine legs that are crinkle cut like french fries. Beware of the trenches that await. Before I can react, she will lay on the couch next to me and undock her huge slabs of cottage cheese legs apart from each other to waft another spore of putrid funk while revealing a trisected, folded over grotesquely off-colored vagina that looks more like the open mouth of an elderly person sleeping.
Practice being flexible in the face of changing tides. Do not be afraid to turn your back to one’s wishes that may vary from your own.
She will grab the back of my head by the hair and start jamming my face into her wicked looking bush. Use caution whenever you are stuck picking the lice out of Bobby Joe’s curly locks with nothing other than your own god damn teeth. It will resemble that of a tropical forest and feel as though I am trapped in a leg lock by some kind of hunchbacked mutant. I will thereafter wish that I would have made it all the way through life without a single attempt at orally pleasing a Komondor. To hell with how I had gotten myself into that awful situation, now how the fuck do I get out of it? I waited for a rescue ring, a drug raid, an audible neck injury, anything to get me out of this predicament.
Ahh fuck! I’m trapped! While she will moan and giggle when it tickles, use caution when silently damning myself for having a slap happy, down on its luck, happy-go-lucky cock, while avoiding the ruff and gliding my lips up and down the safer areas until I find an excuse as to why I cannot perform- hopefully without reaching an evil dissension that will provoke violence. Telling her that my conscience is settling in due to an involvement will not be the wise answer. Instead I will tell her that before we proceed, she should know about my Chlamydia. It will work like a charm.
Horoscopes never tell us why we behave the way we do. Why was that not enough for me for one night? Why would I dial up a chic named Luci that I was flirting with at the library a few days back to bid in favor of the latency for more self torment? Luci was a red-headed dame in her late twenties, had kids and all that. Pretty cute in her tight little face, but again, the baggy clothing. Tonight in your hapless, drunken, idiotic stage of immature hypnosis(better make it tomorrow when I’m singing into the white ovular god) I will learn that these women with cute faces in baggy clothing give me attention for a reason. That reason being, I’m young and stupid with no insight as to how a woman will look naked, and I have a penis.
Luci looked at me with an innocent curiosity and admiration, the way a baby does once it has singled out one of the adults hovered over it. You could sneeze and wipe your snot in your hair, say the words to a devil’s prayer, or do squat thrusts while counting at the top of your lungs and the look probably wouldn’t waver. It made me feel a little strange, but very attractive nevertheless.
Beware of the impoverished homes. The ants go marching in, right behind the three blind mice scampering about, chasing the itsy bitsy spider that crawls along the walls. I may encounter a moment of familiarity; Luci's ghetto crib will possibly smell just like the crevices beneath Theresa's tits. There may be a decomposing corpse lying in wait for your discovery. Nope, that is just Luci’s roommate floating around in her granny-esque night gown. Luci will braggingly tout her ability to give head as I sense her roomy behind a closed door listening in. And like the sodden kisses from an overgrown, domesticated dog, Luci will take her tongue and attack me with it.
Slurp, gobble, gulp. Yesterday was what it was and tomorrow will be what its going to be. All you should concern yourself with is the available lesson of the present.
It will no longer be a question of how I got here. We know how I got here. I was left with the simple question as to how in the hell I was going to get out of this. Then my fly went unzipped and Luci’s head began to bob up and down on my astoundingly half hardened penis. I love how God chooses moments like these to take away control of your anatomy. Fine. I will sit back and accept the headjob. It was nothing that couldn’t be denied, forgotten and showered off.
Today, you may have an unexpected visitor. The door across the room will open and out will come Luci’s roomy. God damn is she ugly. She had the face of a basilisk and kept sucking on the inside of her mouth as though she were addicted to the taste of her own filthy breath. I couldn’t take my eyes off her teeth, they were little studs that looked like candy corns rooted from gums that resembled that purpley jagged row of flesh that hangs along a dog’s jaw line. My unexpected visitor would stand there glaring at my cock in Luci’s mouth. “Goorroo *gulp* awwraaayy” Luci warded her off and continued sucking, and sucking, and sucking. Gulp, slurp. Pause. Ha, take that one God, I can’t come! Its too gross!
Strange bedfellows lie in wait. Today is a day of reflection.
“So what do you think?” Luci will have the brainchild to retreat to her room with me so that her nosy, basilisk looking roommate could no longer disturb us. Demoralized and beslobbered, I will sober just in time to consider this offer, this premature term of enslavement up to eighteen years. The reprehensible thought of cutting a check every month to a woman I despise will ensue. The thought of her using that money to go fine dining with her new beau while your very own child is locked up somewhere picking at a box of cheerios and crying for you. That very moment, when she is tugging at my shirt and ravenously depanting herself, I will experience a crucial epiphany in my life. Get that fucking dead set cushy occupation, keep my rent caught up, never rely on the system and stay the hell away from these ghetto skanks because they can become impregnated by simply looking at them funny. And for God’s sakes, fuck horoscopes.
“I should get going, I don’t want to rush things.” I will say, paying my pittance in a coded insinuation that we may soon hook up again. But that childlike curiosity in her eyes will quickly extinguish its self. She must have heard that line before. She will look at me as though I were the fifth son she drove to the airport and never saw again. She will not say “sure” or “we’ll see”. Luci will say to me;
“Goodbye.”
When I get home, I will be chopfallen with exhaustion, ready to nose dive into my sheets. I had no idea what I was doing with these women and I sure as hell didn't want them. I wanted a gorgeous girl, not a tub-o-lard with inhuman tits, or a malingering loafer who dwells in the poorer quarters with all the other insanely fertile poor folk. But letting these women grow interested in me, touch me, kiss on me, made me feel just like swine. And tonight was the pig chase at the county summer fair. In the end, I came up with my own horoscope that should repeat itself every day, just for me. Too much alcohol will put you in strange, disgusting, humiliating places. Lock yourself in today.
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Submission Name: Whorescope
