<<Not that lust is a bad thing, you understand.>> No, we don't understand. Did anyone? :o)
I just woke up. Dr's got me on new narcotics. Penni, will you let me be grouchy? Thanks. I don't really feel grouchy, just like being cantankerous or something.
Oh, and that phrase "well-endowed."
<<(She is not terribly well-endowed but soooo beautiful).>>
It's well-silly. I don't like it.
Born with bigguns.
Well-endowed. Silly. Silly, silly, stupid, it is.
USC is well-endowed.
Who the hell is running the Tits and Dick Endowment? There's no such thing. No such Board. No funds; no warehouse full of fleshy parts to distribute. "Here. You can have this." "I want the next one." "Nope! Wait ~ got any cash?" This endowment thingy is not a lunchline.
Well-endowed HAS to be a term "made up" by a woman. It so cheesey-sly, to "skirt" the subject. It's soooo silly. Dorky. (Did I tell you a "dork" is the actual biological name for a whale's dick? So. You may use that. "He's really dorky.")
It's Fate. Well fated. "He was well fated."
Gwynneth was beautiful. But I think you women are far too focused on size. All I noticed was I wished I was an actor. And that I was panting on the woman in front of me's hair, as I saw it parting like fern fronds. I was ready to shout "Oh Gwynneth; Oh Gwynneth!!"
Speaking as a man, with a mandible, "...not terribly well-endowed..." does not make any sense when describing a woman's chest. You know? It's not what I look for in a hope chest. Maybe women look at other women the way they think men do, like, how big; but men really don't. Well, me, I, don't. I know I'm a Rennaisance man, so that could be the difference. I like small chests. They're graceful. Porportioned. Apportioned. Well-endowed.
They're oooh nummy. They speak to me. Like, uhm, rolling hills of wheat. The Wine Country. Warm, foot-printed beach sand. Femininity. The Orient. Maturity. Comfortable realism. Wealth. Preciousness. Golden glow. Profiles. Sleekness. Nicole Kidman.
Yum yum yum.
Okay. Gotta get my dorky ass in gear.
Well-endowed. Jeez, it's stupid. Don't use it anymore. Kay? Think of something better for us. Okay?
When I woke up, MJ said my feet were wiggling. It's odd - I was dreaming I was dancing, as part of a theatre show. The show was really good. I wish I could remember the parts. My part. Too. Hmmm. The whole play was colorful and fascinating, a series of "entertainers" of sorts.
It had some connection to the Heard Museum in Phoenix, speaking of endowments. And I was coordinating with the Museum Board. I kept trying to describe the stlye of some graphics and pieces I had acquired, and I couldn't remember the names. Natch. Typical crap. It would be nice to dream a role and remember all the words and stuff I know. |
