Yeah sure, there's a consoling hand on my shoulder, but that doesn't help the fact that I am just dripping with sweat over every inch of my tan, hot body. No matter what I do I end up all sweaty like this and my clothes soak through from all of my hot sweaty sweat that oozes out of my pores that are located all over my sweaty body. My hair gets stringy from the dripping sweat and it clings to my scalp like a dead animal skin but its actually just real sweaty and not dead like it looks. Whenever I get like this dudes come up and try to comfort me and they sometimes even try to listen to my heart with their cellphones pushed against my sweat soaked and tan stomach area. The problem with being this sweaty is how totally lubricated my skin is all the time. My shirts just slip off and land behind me on railings for me to lean against, which I guess isn't all bad. Also the girls like the sweat because so much of it comes off me during the sex they think they're getting a free salty shower that stinks a little but when they realize its just my body sweating so much all over them they usually finish really quick. That's pretty hot too, which makes me even hotter and sweatier than anyone could even imagine. Just picture someone so hot and sweaty that you just start to sweat looking at them. That's knowing me. I start big sweaty moshpits of hot bodies sweating on each other with a cloud of stink that's kind of like being at a heavy metal concert because of the B.O. except there's more girls near me.
Sunday, December 09, 2007
Santa's got a fat setup in the North Pole with all those midget slaves and electronics and shit, but it wasn't always like that. Santa actually grew up in the Coney Island area of Brooklyn and got his first big break shooting hoops in the rough-and-tumble Carey Gardens housing project. St. Nick's skills on the playground earned him the respect to get out of the gang life that engrossed so many of his peers, but the experience scarred his fragile mind. Beneath his outwardly jolly demeanor, a hard understanding of the ugliness of man exists.
Obviously Santa has since moved on to a better place up North, but legend has it in Carey Gardens that Santa still maintains an apartment in the building, and through extensive philandering has fathered a large proportion of its residents.
Think this is a joke, do you? Why is it that you never hear poems about Santa as a young man? Ever consider that, smartass?