I got to thinking the other day about a peculiar dynamic of life. There comes a time when you give way to the fact that some girls are good just for one part of their body; as I have come to experience, her bottom. You will see the dame in public or at some class, and for some reason no doubt birthed inside the insatiable depression of ugliness native to American womenfolk she turns you on. Not for any specific feminine quality, dazzling face, or wondrous eyes, but the seemingly toned (if behind a pair of spandex tights) fat deposits of her backside. That alone is what motivates you to muck through the mental gymnastics and emotional head-spinning exhibited by her psyche. The sheer desire to squeeze, slap, and drill the living glory out of that thing. A couple blobs of fat makes the saber-toothed lion take over.
It’s both saddening and wonderful at the same time.