Something about a body glistening with sweat with one hand stretched out holding onto a table for dear life with the other hand stretched back looking for what might seem to be extra support seems daunting.
Wait… I’m not done yet. At the same time her bottoms are gyrating in the name of grinding… Grinding what exactly? My balls?? into powder??
This assault on the groin is carried out fervently it’s no longer erotic. I mean,what’s erotic about some ‘toned’ buttock in some thick denims, constantly bombarding your groin as you occasionally get bruised by the metal studs on her back pockets? I’ll tell you… NOTHING!
Don’t get me started on the odour… Juliani a rapper once said “wanajipaka Christian Dior ndio wasinuke ka heathens” He must have been in a situation similar to mine – Not withstanding shaggy’s church heathen is playing in the background – I wish I made this sh** up. Why me? Why my life?!
So anyway maybe sitting in a club calmly enjoying a drink will do the trick. Yes?
The music – dont even get me started. Its too loud. It invades your ears and brutally attacks your ear canal repeatedly hitting the ear drum in some form of maniacal rhythm and you can’t do a thing about it well other than try to enjoy it.
The girls… I’ll call them girls not because I am older but because no woman would wear a dress shorter than Musalis’s VP career to a club when its barely 15 degrees outside.
Clueless they rampage through the club foraging for willing (read desperate) men to sponsor their night out. Well coming to think of it those dresses do not have pockets.
They may be smart after all.
Some of you will say
“but I wear hot pants..” *insert whiny voice*
STFU take a sit call your dad and tell him you want to go back to school!
What’s hot about those pants when you’re freezing much so that goosebumps on your thighs are braille for “Only stupid people dress this way”
But maybe I’m getting too old…