Nine bottles and some food for thought

After the first beer, I began to think about what has led me to this point. Maybe it was my own jealous greed or some self-satisfaction that I deserve for the credit to which I am due towards the process of getting business done. After the second beer those thoughts turned into a self-indulgence; a pride that I lacked from previous works that I were sure to gloat about for future endeavors. After the third beer my mind began to dumb down a bit and come face to face with reality itself. The sheer might of it all must have transcended me to a land of overwhelming gratitude towards my peers and close others. By the fourth beer, I lusted for the sweet scent of a woman. That familiar scent that just sparks up every vibe in my body and every emotion in my soul. Her scent is that of a lust that I want not need, it isn't a necessity only just a pleasure that I cannot put into view. By the fifth beer I was totally lost in my own thoughts. Why was she there? Why did she ask me such things? Was I wrong for not telling her? Just what have you felt for me? A spiral of my own madness took its toll on me and as I dug deeper and deeper into it, I thought to myself: why don't you just tell her?

My sixth beer brought with me some sort of a delighted drunkenness, a more whimsical mind-set driven by the unparallelled nature of happiness. I was punch-drunk infatuated with this woman and I never realized it. But what was the reasoning for such a strange liking of said female? Was it her looks? No. Was it her personality. No. Was it that intoxicating scent? Perhaps, but scents to not travel that fast to the heart. The seventh beer brought with me a sort of uncanny vibe, maybe my synapses were working throughout my entire body trying to figure out the puzzle with my thoughts. I tried to piece her together: a woman young of age, hair of a slightly auburn tint, eyes that looked as if shooting stars had fell into them, lips as thin as paper and a smile that blossomed from the inside and out. Smarts were in that brain of her's, a more sophisticated and enlightened intelligence learned from past mistakes and future problems. Her physique was of a rather petite kind; slender in all the right places, curves where there needed be some and legs of incredible athleticism. I would honestly say that this is the Greek god Athena in human form. But there was something missing from that puzzle, something that felt like an annoyance rather than a solution.

After the eighth beer, I began to abandon this silly charade and get right back to my drunken state. But here is where old thoughts come trickling in and where I cannot stand by and just let these thoughts get the better of me. I stare for a minute or two, you could actually see the cogs turning ever so slowly to solve this great riddle of mine. Have I become deranged, confused...misguided? No. For the first time I am dead sure certain that I have found the perfect woman, and for the life of me: I know this will never work. Cheers to the open-minded, I raise this ninth beer for the night in your honor....or was that ten?

Women Love (Insert Muscular Body Part Here)

   I haven't the slightest clue on what makes a woman purr at the very sight of a nice body. Do they look from head to toe or just make a pin-point look at one particular area? I just don't understand why women love their men for their physiques rather than for anything else. You could be as dumb as rocks, but heaven help you have a 12-pack of abs and a steel jaw worthy of Superman and you will have panties thrown at you. Is it necessary for a man to trade all of his intelligence, his ambitions and his own self-being just to impress a woman with the ability to crush an apple with just one hand? Fuck all that noise, for real.

I could never look like this, like the epitome of douchebaggery

   The way I see it, more than anything a woman looks for aside from a general nice (or normal) dude is someone with the physique of an Olympian athlete. They want the speed and stamina of Hermes, they want the body and strength of Hercules and the courage of David or some super heroic shit like that. A woman's perfect 10 in a male is all of that and then some, but honestly who is that perfect? I have seen men go to extreme lengths (myself included) just to impress a woman with abs of steel or attempting to lose all of their body weight just to get a woman to notice you. Why go through all that stress to lose like fifty pounds when you could just put that extra effort into someone who appreciates you for what you are? I know of a friend who is a a tad bit chubby....in all honesty, he's a fat bastard but he works out on a daily basis just to get in shape. But I know why he does this: to make sure a woman notices the man beyond that mountain of fat. It's a tragedy that he must live with because he rarely gets looks or even twice as many girls as most of his friends get and that's what pains me the most about women these days.

This is a once and I mean ONCE in a lifetime thing

   For fat men, it's either you are rich and powerful or are a championship stallion in the sheets. Through word of mouth, sure that fat guy has a chance...but where is the love in all of that? Why make a dollar or harsh commands makes that attraction towards said fat person? Me personally I have the physique of a swimmer. Slightly athletic, tall and slender with just enough meat to cover most of my rib cage up. I have these abnormally skinny long fingers and a bit to a limp as I walk. I wear glasses that are crooked only cause I fall asleep in them from time to time and I have a big head both in my boxers and attached to my neck. Do I get looks on by women? Sometimes, but not as much as I have seen with someone that looks ten times better than me on any given day. I don't envy those men, they workout cause they want to look good and they want their pussy rate to increase exponentially. But for those, all that they attract are either whores or generally confused women.

At first glance....would you date this dude?

   Case in point: say for instance you are this chick; good looking in your own right, highly intelligent, broken heart and confused on who to date next coming from a harsh relationship. She doesn't want to head for average Joe anymore so she gets the notion that maybe slightly buff and deteriorating intelligence Bill would be a much better fit for her. Why are you women so frightened with a man who actually knows more than one SAT word? She would rather just ignore the men who are actually genuinely interested in her rather than just settle for what worked for her in the first place, just with a more decent man and not some piece of shit asshole. It's just a matter of what's important to the female mind than what us men could do. All we have to do is either make that one first impression and it's hook, line and sinker from there. We could either woo a woman with our words or just let our bodies do the talking. Whether fat, skinny, buff, Mr. Universe or just plain average; women go for the body of the man rather than the character almost every time and in every situation.

Music bumped while writing this:

• True by Spandau Ballet
• People Make The World Go Round by The Stylistics
• Changeling/ Transmission 1 by DJ Shadow
• Trouble by Coldplay

I cannot stand Mad Men

I can't stress this enough on how much I just don't like Mad Men. I don't think I will ever come to reality on this being a great series. It's too fucking boring man, seriously. I have never fell asleep this much watching TV since CSPAN's occasional political banter. IT'S SO DAMN SLOW. Like I get what the point is of the first season: Don Draper is an unfaithful husband and the weight of it is starting to take its toll. But all the rest of the filler and the other plot points are just not as appeasing as the rest. I was shocked when he randomly fired Peter in episode four, but that quickly ended for no apparent reason instead of just booting his ass out and creating a better plot for that scenario.

I'd rather watch this sweet innocent old lady do this than Mad Men

It's just too much of a drama for me. Like other series, they blend their drama with thought provoking greatness. A little intensity could go a LONG way trust me, it works for all of my favorite series. There is a time to do serious work and a time to just let loose and have a bit of fun with your series. There was ZERO fun to be had from Mad Men. From the very first episode till about midway through episode five, I just threw in the towel and said fuck this shit. I can't do it anymore, I just can't. Five times? Honestly, I can't remember when the last time I had to sit through just the first season alone of a series just to get hooked on it, let alone five times.

Great actors, handsome faces, terrible series.

 It's the slow burn of it all, and I am just about at the ashes of my mental state to keep up with this series much longer. I can fully understand why it wins Emmy's and Golden Globes and all that jazz, just I can't understand what makes it an addiction that keeps the viewer fully interested on it. It's like my beef with The Sopranos; I know its a great series, but in the same vein I could only watch episodes sparingly. Like Breaking Bad is to The Wire (aka the true superior show of the network they air on), I just can't catch the buzz of the overall lead contender for the network. Don't hate me reader for not showing the same love as you all have for this series. I know great television, I watch great entertainment, just Mad Men truly isn't my cup of tea. I can't get into it and I don't think there is anything remotely interesting for me to just jump at it with the gusto of the average television viewer. Let me know when Betty Draper bangs Roger Sterling and we can finally talk.

Mad Men

  Now I know this is supposed to be the best damn piece of television since god knows when. I know this is like every modern adults best piece of entertainment with it's well developed script and fantastic cast. But for myself and in my own humble opinion, I think Mad Men is the slowest television series I have ever seen. Like honestly, this will be my fifth time attempting to watch the very first season and getting past the third episode without saying fuck it and moving along. It's just too damn slow for me, it's like the smokes in the show; just slowing burning throughout an entire conversation and when it finally gets towards the end it just dies and there is nothing left to interest in it till the next one.

Like I want to like him, but I can't

  I mean I get the characters, I get what the motive is for the series; it's just give me something to entice me a bit more. Give me a cliffhanger, give me someone getting sent to the hospital for no apparent reason, give me Don Draper in a drunken mad rage with six shooters in the air while wearing a top hat. But that isn't Mad Men, the show is too smart for its own good and that's what cripples my interest in it. Sure a miniseries of this series would be PITCH PERFECT for my tastes but do I really have to sit through four seasons of long drawn out drama? Well here's goes that fifth attempt at enduring this series. I am going to sit here, sip my peppermint tea and attempt to love this series like every other normal sane human being is doing now. If I post again, it'll either be for my love or absolute hatred for the series. Wish me luck?

THE MOST EPIC DREAM EVER!

So I fall asleep roughly about four hours ago and to my knowledge after waking up, I woke up from quite possibly the greatest dream ever. So the dream starts off where six of my good friends and I are all in chains riding in the back of some random horse carriage to god knows where. I guess everyone else was blindfolded but me, must have been my sub-conscious wanting me to recall every random detail. So the carriage stops and just spontaneously falls apart and I am treated to a visual of a coliseum made of pure glass. Like the entire thing looked like a giant mausoleum of glass and everything was see through. Automatically, this loud ass announcer tells us this straight up "YOU MOTHERFUCKERS LIVE THROUGH THIS SHIT, YOU GET NOTHING BUT BITCHES AND ALL THE GOLD YOU COULD EVER HAVE"  and a giant fucking rubber glove pointing the opposite direction shows the mountain of gold and scantily clad females. So some loud horn blares out of nowhere and this is when all hell broke loose. Did I forgot to mention that I was carrying nothing but my boxer shorts and two very long whips? Think of Indiana Jones but without the hat, outfit, gun and beard (not to mention, African-American) and you have me in a nutshell.

This was what my other friends were and I bullshit you not this was exactly what they were the entire match:

• Chris B: A gay cyborg that had a super sonic voice and chest hairs that spew acid
• Manny: Drank a golden liquid that made him the most sober man on the planet which gave him unparalleled speed and awareness of everything.
• Luis: A 1940's gangster that sang songs of sweet nothings into the ears of every combatant causing their heads to explode into a million waves of emotion
• Gregory: A black zombie wearing a monocle that used his eyes like helicopters and flew away out of sheer terror of what happened
• Sara: Turned into one of those parade big ass balloon things and dropped atomic bombs 
• Joseph Atlas: like a modern version of Frankenstein just instead of slowly moving around, he had the speed of a fucking jaguar and the strength of ten thousand men.

What we fought were: Warewolves, vampires, mud men, rock stars, comic book characters, gladiators, men made of sand, fairies, large goats, eagles, zombies, dinosaurs, lightbulbs, pure darkness, radio personalities, the essence of time itself, some dude wearing suspenders, hipsters, wacky inflatable armed tube men, clowns, reggae artists, my computer, the announcer guy, the entire fucking alphabet, windows, random explosions, the horse that brought us there.

SO we after fighting all of that, we soon realize that we had to fight each other in order to get the gold and random bitches. These are how the fights went down:

• Greg and Chris fought to the death, it prob lasted about twenty hard core minutes. Greg just would not die, he kept on going using his zombified powers of pure uppity. Chris kept yelling and yelling and yelling till eventually his head and entire body exploded into a shower of glitter and gayness.
• Greg then went after Joseph, who then ate Greg whole (pause) and proceeded to fight Sara.
• Sara got deflated but smothered herself around Joseph who then died of lack of oxygen and Sara just laid there, still alive by the way, but deflated.
• Manny fought with Luis and it was a rather spectacular event. It felt like a live PBS special that airs for some charity or Stevie Wonder foundation. Nothing but singing and soberness. I quickly put an end to that and cut both their heads off with my whips of mass destruction. 
• So in the end it was just me and Sara (deflated on the ground), I used her deflated self as some kind of a kite and for some odd reason a lightning storm came out of the wood work and electrocuted her and sent me skyrocketing onto the mountain of gold and bitches.

I wake up, and instant holy shit reaction follows. The moral of this dream? Don't fall asleep watching Game Of Thrones hopped up on cookie dough ice cream and the battles this show has. Now I lie in my bed, pondering on what may follow from said dream.....I'm still pretty creeped out. Fuck this, where's my wine?