hyper crazy critique

on the one hand, i readily acknowledge that i'm a slut. and not just when it comes to sex - i want all pleasures, all the time. if i was the man of [p]liesure i'd really like to be, perhaps i'd spend my daze tripping on a cocktail of illegal drugs, sipping on a cocktail of legal ones, immersed in audio-visual pyrotechnic entertainment, while i and a selection of delictable dishes take turns devouring each other - i guess i'm dreaming of a life-long, full-sensory orgasm.

but on the other hand, i'm very picky, critical, even snobbish. i'm not very tolerant of inadequacy or imperfection. i hold others to very high standards, which those around me must realise i don't always apply to myself. but that's easy to explain, because just like you i'm that thing we all hate: a hyopcrite. and in a kind of post-modern, self-psychoanalytical kind of way, hypocrisy is just another thing that i revel in myself, yet revile in others.

good old fashioned romance

people are often quite cynical when i tell them i'm in love. some even go as far as to suggest that i'm incapable of love. if only they knew the truth - i fall in love sometimes as often as several times a day.

i was walking to lunch with a couple of friends from work, relating how i'd met my most recent one and only true love - a radio dj i met in the park over the weekend - when a genuine miracle of nature came walking in the other direction, and turned my whole world on its head.

she was r33t petite, with perfect olive skin, and a pair of small, firm, unsupported breasts which were clearly visible through her thin cotton blouse.now i don't know who i'm in love with anymore.

no, i'm not an old-fashioned romantic. i'm much more old-fashioned than romantic. more like club her on the head and drag her back to the cave.