Damn, what a move! And then we act all disappointed… lol
- Search for the self-cleaning male.
- Spray test of the perfume in mm².
- Waiting 15 minutes while loudly singing “Peep-peep little chick” and filing my nails.
- Rinsing the first dabbed layer
- A second later, a burst of high-pitched squawks punctuated by “No way, what an idiot!”
- The firm and final decision to never again rinse while believing in it. And to shut the doors tightly “so no others come back, right?”
- The next day, we'll do a debrief, you know. Yes, yes. Including point 6.
16 relevant lines (give or take 2–3)
What is more human?
The emotional path leading to the rental of a feeling is strewn with documents to be provided, like so many suspicious checkpoints to be crossed.
The interlocutors then display a seriousness bordering on hysterical paranoia; they hunt for the slightest hesitant signature with the anxious zeal of an expert inspecting a new Carmencita discovered "by chance" in an attic; they leer at the sweet bulletins with the eye of an old lecherous pervert leaving a girls' school; they check our sureties the way the Marseille SRPJ verifies alibis.
In short, they make it clear that your frank gaze and confident voice are not enough for them to build a relationship of trust.
"What ferocity, what relentless toil. Do they have no respite in their struggle against the unscrupulous and rebellious dark side, do they feel no weariness in their investigations, buried as they are under cartloads of doubts? Do they never feel the red of shame rise to their cheeks when they unflinchingly demand the love notes of our domestic capital up to the twelfth generation?" I asked myself after yet another post-nothing, nothing-of-a-male reflection.
In a way, a suspicion began to rise within me: “Are we dealing with human beings here?”
My dark side was just waiting for the formulation of this anguishing question to go off wandering in delirious daydreams close to science fiction. I imagined newspaper front pages with headlines in large type: “An extraterrestrial plot thwarted by two aspiring profiteers of cheap hedonistic trinkets,” “The impostor agents of love came from Alpha of the Liar,” “Their goal was to undermine the morale of the Carmencita in my person.”
I could already see myself, not on the top of the bill, but hesitating over the right outfit to wear to the date! The right one this time, and finally know bliss, as for my next summer vacation spot, sheltered from the paparazzi who sleep with someone for a night, as for the relevance of going to the Stade de France to procreate with a jerk at a mass blessing over a teeming crowd eager to gaze upon their excess baggage, as a bunch of tailbone-slouchers. It will be called the nectar of the good, I have come to this, haha, with the approval of Miss Obscure Lilith, yes yes
Then I received a phone call informing me that the signature, already postponed twice, was being rescheduled to a later date simply because the gentleman did not really believe in it.
Yes, yes, I was blocked for a weekend for no reason, they could have thought to let me know earlier, but rest assured, I am twice as good as you.
From that moment on, I am reassured, and a lightness tinged with insolent nonchalance comes over me.
Who is the resultant and tangible proof of a very human mind.
It is mainly about us and you not dispersing our efforts. No matter how powerful your will may be, it does not allow you to spread your beneficial aura over such a wide range of emotional scammers for such a long time.
As you know, winter is a harsh season in which one is primarily occupied with battling the cold, colds, sore throats, bronchitis, the flu, gastroenteritis, rheumatism, sinusitis, rhinitis, pharyngitis, rhinopharyngitis, laryngitis, tracheitis, and other bodily ailments, warming up soups, but also preparing the bed for love…
Unanimity has ruled in favor of a final sentence: that does not suit me well.
All right.
Secondly, you then need to choose a new look.
If my vision isn't deceiving me, it seems the current trend is an exuberant fusion of the worst hair trends of the past twenty years, namely: a lot of gel, punk-style frizz afflicted with serious Parkinson’s, a poorly concealed semblance of a mohawk since the shaved sides have been forgotten, a tribute to Polish footballers of the 1980s with a few long, wispy strands at the nape, and a sort of Wham revival with bleached streaks to complete the picture.
I can hardly imagine myself spending hours at the hair salon to end up with such a bizarre ornament.
Moreover, a self-respecting decadent never follows the fashion. Or only from a great distance, a few decades if possible.
However decadent I may declare myself to be, I am not a fan of visual aggression either. I firmly believe that the world is not ready for a return to the perfectly straight parting line as it was practiced from the postwar period until the mid-1960s. The shock would be too harsh. There are surely a few people who delight in perfectly straight parting lines, but that topic is off the point.
In the end, the light comes from a session of introspection.
- Damn you, fleeting time! Could you not have spared me, could you not have averted your aggressive gaze from me? Monster of greed, you must have them all! To attack me so relentlessly, tender and innocent lamb, when I have barely reached the prime of life. Do you never feel remorse or pity?
She turns around, all smiles:
For me, it's rep, rep, rep
I see, I see, I see very well
Best regards
Lolly top, I'm telling you, it sounds like a double, and he laughs, he lives, and he doesn't overthink things.
It’s normal that he’ll get up early, and you’ll even get to enjoy it, so what’s the big deal?
