So I'm packing for my trip to Miami this weekend. One of my best friends is getting married and this is his bachelor party. I've realized a few things:
I own approximately ZERO outfits that could qualify as what a cursory Google search identifies as "clubbing" clothes. I don't go to clubs, I go to dive bars. When I was a suit, I'd go to a dive bar after work, in my suit. Since I've been unemployed, I go to dive bars in various models and makes of sweatpant/jean combinations.
I don't even remotely know how to start to look like this.
Who the Christ buys a shiny ass shirt? Or even worse, those shirts with like a crazy ass dragon all up and down one side of it with just the claw arching over the back or whatever. Ugh.
I never understood the concept of just going up and being like "I'm grinding on you." I guess I'm too old fashioned. I prefer a lengthy courtship with letters hand-written with a quill pin and lots of pining in an orchard. And I hate that about myself.
Wouldst thou care to dance to this most distinguished Lady Gaga remix?
My physical fitness is missing.
My favorite pair of flip flops broke today.
I am broke today.
Did I mention I have like, no money?
We're going to a casino one night, and I'm in charge of finding an idiot savant to come along with us. I have completely failed in this regard.
If I end up being Zack Galifinakis in this movie just because I have a beard, I'll be pissed.
I'm dicking around writing a blog post when I need to be finishing packing.
If you asked me where I came across this product I'd have an awful lot of explaining to do and you'd have to pay an awful lot for enough booze to get me to talk about it. I think you can probably gather what kinds of search terms were involved.
I am so...enlightened. Folks, let me let you in to the secret world of camel toe.
Can we, for a moment, talk about how many times this woman actually says the phrase "camel toe?" Four times in one minute and thirty seven seconds. That's four times in 97 seconds. Once every 25 seconds. On my best day, I don't say camel toe more than once a day.
First of all, is there not a more scientific term for camel toe than camel toe? I thought camel toe was what we all laughingly called it while beating off to it? No? Do women in locker rooms go "Oooh...Margaret, heads up, trousers down I can see your camel crown?"
God...I hope so.
So there's no appropriate way to talk about camel toe other than saying "Hey Madge, your vag looks like the toes of a Middle Eastern beast of burden." Great. Neat.
I guess I always thought that camel toes were like vadges (hahaha get it?) of courage. Like clearly if you're out and about you're going to notice...somehow....that your vagina is literally protruding through your pants. I don't have a vagina, but I've encountered a few, and it's my general understanding that it's not exactly a completely nerve-deprived area. I think the solution is just...be cool with your vag. I know I am.
If the photos for the SmoothGroove leave anything to the imagination it's that...well the phrase...."NOTHING" comes to mind.
I put my hand up on your hip, when two lips are lips one lip.
So I'm to understand putting a big hard (heh) polymer maxi-pad is somehow comfortable enough to do some super hot sexy yoga in? Plus...homegirl there has some SERIOUS labia. It might just be time for basketball shorts?
Ladies? I need some input. Would you buy a SmoothGroove? In fact, I'm giving away a SmoothGroove to a randomly selected commenter on this post. Use it however you want to. Some alternative uses that I can think of:
1) Jai Alai equipment
2) Shoe horns
3) Grossing your friends out when you pull this out of your fucking pants.
If you do wanna purchase a SmoothGroove, they are currently selling for 15 pounds sterling. God save the queen. And the camel toe.
