Am o pula

So we're in the ocean, which is particularly superb because the tide's at the lowest, which means there's a wide surface of very fine sand out of the water that normally wouldn't be, and then an even wider band of very shallow, crystal clear ocean where the waves are sweetly still and the depth increase insensibly gradual.

What this all practically means is difficult to unpack without the repeated experience of the wonder, but let's nevertheless try. First and foremost, fishing, right ? You can discover all sorts and manner of sea creature you wouldn't normally see. Like this big fat slug I chased the girls around with, threatening to have its slimy tongue lick them and things. They ran and squaled and rolled around in the shallow, which directly leads us to the second grandeur : the water's just perfect to pleasantly wallow in, and the interplay between the very hotⁱ streams coming from the beach and the delightfully cool currents flowing in from out at sea literally constitutes a massage of its own. So we rolled around in the quarter mile band of foot tall water, and they kissed my asshole and taint and ballsac and foreskin and glans and everything else (though the enumeration'd seem exhaustive -- nothing's exhaustive besides the Ocean).

We spent above three hours there in the birthing pools, and in the process tanned about six shades without burning in the slightest ; and I explained to them why exactly tidal pools figure so markedly in the evolution of life on Earth from marine to land dwelling, and then also demonstrated some parts of it, and so following. There's really a lot of fun to be had with girls in the primordial waters, what can I tell you, especially if you have no compunction drowning them and they utterly love you to death.

I usually pay about two bucks for anal (when I feel like it), but in this case we apparently did such a great job the Ocean itself picked up the tab :

Ever seen a live sand dollar before ? Neither have I.

Apparently not that many people ever do.

These festivities completed, we proceeded to dig the car out of the sandpit it had sunk into (which took half hour of butts up in the air and hard sweaty work on hands and knees -- in retrospect not even regrettable) and then I took the sluts, still in their bathing suits, for a Jaco walk.

The idle rentacop at the mall where we park intercepted me to insistently if stutteringlyⁱⁱ warn that the girls can't be without pants. And why the fuck not ?! It's a beach town, after all ; and if you ask any of the local mule they'll tell you it's "unfrequentable" because "it's so dirty" and "full of prostitutes". As fucking if! So then what's the problem ?

*mumble* *mumble* *mumble* *mumble*, he'd have been perfectly happy to spam at me his entirely substanceless airs, warmed as they were by passage through an overweight if spurious biosac, supposedly of the same species but utterly not of the same kind. I told him we're getting out anyway, and so there we were, on the street.

The mile or so we walked one way, and then back, and the half hour or so we spent with coffee and icecream at the one decent desserts shop to be found in the entire town permitted us to enjoy the full spectrum of threat the harem poses to the outside world.

There was the local girly, sitting in the road trying to sell gullible tourists / Miller lite morons various "guided tours" and whatnot nonsense, all smiles and besides herself with joy because some local yokel was courting herⁱⁱⁱ, who turned, took in the walking sluts and her face just crashed into a sad desperate frown. Yet... what could I say besides "bitch... try not wearing the stupid ass pants^iv sometime ?!"

There were the tourist girls, looking around to see "what the joke is". Because the gringa retard has a different coping mechanism, you know, "irony", right. She's not really what she is, she's what she wants to be, and all that jazz.

There were the all sort and manner of reactions, one more pathological than the next. There was not a single girl that did the only sane, and actually only possible, not to mention utterly required thing in the circumstance : take off your stupid fucking pants, and come say "Hi!".

Yes, that's exactly what you fucking do. When you run into something interesting, you imitate and salutate, what the fuck, a three year old knows as much. A fucking hedgehog has this much sense, that when it encounters an interesting new smell it chews it into a froth and pastes it on its face. It's called "anointing behaviour", perhaps in memory of the simple fact that anything else -- anything else -- is the annoying behaviour.

So then we went to the third and last casino in this little town. It's called Am O Pula^v, no doubt to go with the Cocal. I played a little poker, the girls played a little slots (except for they philosophically opposed to it). Various local dorks tried to pick them up, without much success. We sat at the bar, where the bimbo you all know and love tried for a Margarita. The drink was advertised on the cutsey whiteboard thing they have for no reason other than to pretend like they're cool and creative and whatnot, 2000s Apple-could-buy-Russia fashions. The bartender floor washer that lured the actual bartender out back, shot him in the head, buried him in a shallow grave and then pretends to be the bartender whenever no-one else is around was most excited about making the drink, notwithstanding she had no idea how it goes. But you can look it up online! And so she did, resulting in about what you'd expect, Earl from route 66 fixin' you a caukteel jus' as good as in dem big cities!

Above, you can admire a piece of art. It'd better be.

And below... well... what better place to take a coupla Ocean-dipped sluts than the local roadside fruteria stand ? Cum on the breath and straps up the ass, go pick some mangos and papayas, babies.

Ain't they cute, tho ?

After this I took them in the same get-up to the Supermarket (I don't know why, but we had to start it somewhere). Various kids in uniform struggled to get my attention from the sideline for a while there, until eventually halfway in they reached critical mass and finally gathered the courage to advance against the gathering darkness : "caballero *mumble* *mumble* " and so following. They explained (not without effort) that the store policies require all sluts be dressed like boring women at all times lest the boring women are made to stand out unflatteringly ; I explained with no difficulty whatsoever that we're almost done anyway -- to which they grinned happily and dissolved. They didn't want anything specific, you see, above and beyond registering their exception with someone. You know, someone, a white man in charge, a representative of ye olde patriarchy. Which they did, and once done... carried on with their day.

Meanwhile people honked and hooted and hollered in the parking lot while the dollies loaded up my trunk. I slapped their butts now and again, because why the hell not. Besides -- if I don't do it, nobody the fuck will ; ten trillion honks an' hoots an' hollers won't, in the end, coalesce into anything besides.

And then we were home and then so on and so following.

1. I kid you not, hot, as in 30 degrees Celsius sort of hot. [↩]
2. And very carefully avoiding any kind of eye contact with anything whatsoever -- understandably, I guess, what if he gets the eye cooties ??? [↩]
3. They perceive this as a sort of tax obligation here, every single female's ALWAYS going to find herself with some dood attached making smalltalk for the entire interval she's out, no matter what.

   It's not even that they're trying to get laid or anything, there's no closing, there's no touching, there's no anything. They just sit within ear range and yak, that's the whole behaviour, as if they have all the time in the world and absolutely nothing whatsoever to ever do. Which... [↩]

4. They're all in fucking jeans. All of them. If anyone ever needed a concise icon of how fundamentally stupid women are, of how utterly not human in any meaningful sense women are, of how female skulls are made of oak and pinewood... how about this behaviour where they all dress the exact same way ? It's like cunt armor, all females aged 9 to 90 will have carefully locked their oh-so-precious cuntlet inside the safety of jeans.

   And don't even try telling me "it wasn't like that in other times". It was exactly like that in all other times. It's always like that. The jeans may be changed for corsets or those ridiculous floor mops or whatever else, but the stupid cunts aim for naught else and enjoy naught else than all doing the same thing. It's like the fish in the Scania sound, the female idea of life on Earth is "what if we all dressed the same and then let's see who the men pick".

   Worst fucking habit ever, in the very simple sense that it's what animals do. It's not what people do. "Building consensus" is what animals do. [↩]

5. I have one dick, in Romanian. [↩]