Thursday, March 11, 2010

Indian, Iranian girls: gulp

Bunda-giddly, you bastards!

btw, that: bundagiddly -- is Tamil (an Indian dialect) for "hello" or "welcome" or something. I dunno. When I was a kid, living in Singapore, there was only one TV station, and they alternated programming in each of the 4 national languages: English, Tamil, Mandarin, and Malay. And the Indian programming, which consisted of musicals featuring gods that have way too many arms and legs, was always led with "bundagiddly".

I love me some Indian women. The saris, the lack of teeth--perfect. That being said, when Indian women were Indian girls -- my God, talk about some beautiful women. When Indian girls are like 18, 19, 20--total breathtakingly gorgeous. But when they're 30, all their teeth fall out, and they disintegrate, badly. They end up looking like me.

Iranian women are much the same. There is no more beautiful "race" of people in the world than Iranian teenage/young women. Hell, I'll include the MEN, who all look like Omar Sharif. Not that I'm gay or anything, and not that there's anything wrong with that.

But Iranian women are amazingly gorgeous. When I was in college (barber, or clown--guess which college?) there was an Iranian-English girl named Desiree. Oh, I desired Desiree. Pants tightening occcurred each time I saw Desiree. Stunning, sexy, long silky black hair, unbelievably gorgeous. Then came the Iranian revolution courtesy of Ayatollah Komeini, and lo and behold, all the Iranian students disappeared from the campus, immediately. Weird.

Anyhow, your Nigel has never forgotten his forbidden inter-racial thingy, and if some Indian or Iranian late-teenage (and legal, let me say) girl would like to sample the forbidden fruit that is encompassed by all things Nigelosity, I'm up for that.

In more ways than one.

Thursday, March 04, 2010

Old laundry, recycled

I'm angling for the Al Gore award of the year, and am all about going "green", but the "green" part shouldn't extend to the skidmarks in my Hanes. Agreed?

I'm tired of wearing the same dirty shit, day in and day out.

Too drunk to set up the flaming washer/dryer thing, I simply re-wear old stuff.

It's amazing how you can get away with wearing the same underwear and socks for like, three days. A quick whiff of Febreze, and all that shit-smelling stuff is good as new.

Almost.

Today, in the work elevator, I was accosted by a fellow up-traveller who apparently was olfactory-offended by my retread clothing.

I told him I worked in a funeral home and the bastard shut up.

What to do tomorrow? Laundry? Fuck that shit, I'll just dig deeper in the pile of worn clothes I have in my closet.