I\u2019ve come to appreciate girl\u2019s butts.
\n<\/p>\n
I used to be a fan of the beanpoles. The tall, lanky, athletic types or, of course, the tiny porn star types who look like someone\u2019s little sister and get carded at the liquor store well into their 30\u2019s. <\/p>\n
But, as I get older, I find myself enjoying the shapelier girls, and admiring a nice, juicy ass bound by a tight skirt. There\u2019s been a slow shift, through my 30\u2019s, from beanpole to hourglass.<\/p>\n
I assume that this is biological in origin. Some reptilian mating command settling in and telling me to impregnate every bitch I see for the glory of the clan. More sons means more warriors which means more victories which means more bitches which means more sons\u2026<\/p>\n
Of course, the veneer of civilization that\u2019s been applied to my reptilian cortex knows that children are a sin. A selfish and greedy indulgence. The last thing the Human race needs is an increase in population. In fact, I\u2019m an advocate of exterminating at least 25% of the Human race and, if you all are too afraid to do it, then I\u2019ll gladly spearhead the program. I have no qualms about killing a couple billion people. It would be for the greater good. We can all get together and pick who we\u2019re going to kill. Criminals, conservatives, Mormons, pencilnecks who smell like shit and spray on Right Guard who sit next to you on the Metro\u2026<\/p>\n
But let\u2019s not dwell on genocide! Let\u2019s return to the subject at hand \u2013 girlbutt. I used to be pretty strict about what I found attractive. The foolishness of youth, I suppose. Instead of fucking everything in sight, I allowed myself to be selective and critical. I wanted the whole package. With maturity has come the realization that, where women are concerned, it\u2019s not about the completed package. With women, it\u2019s about the journey (appreciating their bodies) and not the destination (the pussies they don\u2019t know how to use and the subsequent post-coital emotional mania). What I\u2019ve come to notice is that the package comes with infinite variations. Each woman has a unique assembly that probably makes IKEA jealous. It\u2019s particularly thrilling when the not-exactly-beautiful women have a certain oh-my-god-the-room-just-lit-up quality, and when the shorties with a mom butt walk by and you fall down to your knees in near religious hysteria. <\/p>\n
Hand-in-hand with this new appreciation for beauty, and for women in general, is a more clear understanding of their inherent evil. I see, now, that beauty isn\u2019t all about looks. It\u2019s some sort of power generated deep in their black hearts. Here, I\u2019ll say it \u2013 It\u2019s witchcraft. And I don\u2019t mean the cuddly reimaging of witchcraft we have today, I mean old school witchcraft. I mean that, everytime I fall in love \u2013 which is, distressingly, fairly often \u2013 I just know that I\u2019m going to end up inside an oven in a house made of gingerbread. <\/p>\n
It\u2019s the pursuit, I suppose. The need to pursue. Back to that reptilian cortex that\u2019s not at all silenced by a few thousand years of lawgivers. I distrust women, I may even despise them, but I must have them. I must explore every inch of their lovely flesh, lose myself in their shiny hair, and wake up to them on a beautiful, lazy spring morning. Hold them close as songbirds fuck rigorously on top of the window unit AC.<\/p>\n
I feel compelled to make even the one night stands breakfast in bed. Wake them with a mimosa and a kiss. Welcome to the new day, you fucking witch, if you don\u2019t have anything to do let\u2019s stay in bed and fuck like those songbirds and drink champagne. Then, tonight, we can marathon Stargate<\/em> and move on to bourbon and get in a fist fight with one of the neighbor\u2019s children.<\/p>\n Ah\u2026to be in love.<\/p>\n When you start to see the beauty in non-traditional women, the one night stand is a bit more relaxed. The porn starlets and true beauty queens are, by nature, soulless demons. They know to leave in the night, or escape quickly the next morning while I lie in bed and ignore them. But get the underdog in bed with you and it\u2019s all fun and games. (Until\u2026someone loses an eye.) <\/p>\n Disconcertingly, though, I\u2019m encountering underdogs who don\u2019t know that they\u2019re underdogs. They\u2019ve come to either believe in their own propaganda, or have been polluted by a strange vein of media rebellion. The billboards, TV, and ads all demand that women clock in at six foot and 100 pounds and slink around in silk. This, in recent years, has become the anti-woman. A challenge. A sub-conscious sort of social statement about how women should not look. Where once models were revered and imitated, they\u2019re now (correctly) viewed as freaks of nature and simply instruments of the media \u2013 not human beings or personalities, but a tool as mundane as the ink and the paper that make up the ads. <\/p>\n This Great Liberation has resulted in two camps of women \u2013 the ridiculous clowns who still admire models and the underdogs who have convinced themselves that they\u2019re the standard of beauty because they\u2019re unique, cool, different, and\/or human. <\/p>\n Both are wrong. The standard of beauty comes from that deeper, darker place. That nefarious witchcraft that assaults more than just the penis. It\u2019s in the air. A scent, impossible to place or follow. It\u2019s in the eyes, where vision becomes crisply focused when you look at the whole being and not just the smoke and mirrors of the body. It\u2019s in the feel. That strange warmth that all women have, and the way they hold themselves against you. There are no standards. All these things are on an animal level that surpasses civilization. We become beasts of the field, rutting in a hollow with tall grass all around. We become denizens of the night, loping along together. There\u2019s no Humanity there. There\u2019s no understanding of what the billboards tell you to do, or what Oprah wants you to read. <\/p>\n Just put that ass in the air and forget everything, girly-girl, because here comes Nacho\u2026<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" I\u2019ve come to appreciate girl\u2019s butts.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[5],"tags":[160],"class_list":["post-2395","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-rants","tag-women"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2395","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=2395"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2395\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2402,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2395\/revisions\/2402"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=2395"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=2395"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=2395"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}