In a dead-end world, in an érthetetlen town... West End Girls.

So for our day of rest we... went to the mall. Because nobody gets to fucking rest EVER, what the fuck bullshit is this rest thing anyway. They'll rest in their graves!

Therefore above depicted, Hannah in Vegas strip gedup and a wistful Nicole on pleasers taking in the melancholy mists of distances afar.

Also this new camera has a serious perspective shenanigan going, look at them, it's making normal people look like cartoon characters, elongated legs and compressed middle with really really large heads, Ima have to do some studies to figure it all out but I think it's because I'm shooting from too on high.

Meanwhile below, schatz feeding kitten or however you say cunt in German. You'll have to excuse the pointless vanity shots, the little hussy's now an instagrammer ; and as she's not permitted to publish any original material there, but only republish stuff from the blogs, well... I gotta thereby publish stuff on the blog. I suppose I could also have her publish on her own, but then I'd have to send her the pictures anyway, seeing how they're on my camera, seeing how... well, I took 'em. Anyways, we'll eventually figure something out.

"Will either of you fing me a blouse to try this skirt on with ?"
"Eh, just come out without."

Just as she was thus coming out, a herd of girlies came into the store ; they turned and left immediately thereafter. Why are girlies of all ages so very threatened by female nudity, anyways ?

We sat for a cup of coffee / checking out the passerbys at a Costa Coffee, across the amusingly named Leroy Sushi. Not much worth the mention, this 15yo in a glaring "look at my tits" outfit, with her mother and sister, a really shapely, butt ugly mother-of-three latina-like, a few odds and ends... can you imagine the gent in a suit with his two henchsluts cracking wise & heckling random civillians going by their table, by the way ? It's fun! And besides, I daresay pretty much everything that's today wrong with the world comes from the absence of exactly that kinda pushback. If more vain, self-impressed, low effort precious cuntlets were confronted with derogatory catcalling on a daily basis, if every time they went for yet-another-inept selfie all they heard was "take it off, you'll look better" and "where's the heels", "what shoes are those", "try it with a skirt on" etcetera, there'd be a lot less dysfunctional systems all about. It starts with little things -- namely, "you're perfect the way you are", "don't ever change", "self esteem is the most important thing" etcetera. Snip these in the bud, the whole edifice of militant idiocy collapses like suddenly refrigerated souffle.

All the while, this overweight (100kgs or so) blondy was having an evident first date with this utterly obese (200kgs or so) dude. He evidently catfished her, probably made some obnoxiously vague remarks about being "slightly overweight" or whatnot -- stuff she felt compelled to pass over because, well... she had a good fifty or so extra lbs of her own ; then it turned out she's carrying a spare wheelbarrow while he's carrying a spare dumptruck. Total average guy with a great sense of humour material, that's for damn sure.

His conversation was otherworldy also. At one juncture, he asked her if she knows what the secret services do (I'm sure so as to then proceed to explain some batshit insanity, but we were otherwise occupied and missed the discoursive glories) ; then later whether she can lift heavy things. I'm not even kidding, nor is this some sorta disadvantageous summary. His exact words were "can you lift heavy things ? you look like you can". I am sure in his gameworld this was a very edgy and effectual negcompliment, neuroleptically programming her brain or whatever the fuck inane nonsense in that vein.

Eventually the chick had enough, twenty five or so minutes in. I didn't specifically hear, but I expect she was refusing to set a second date, at which point the dude loudly proclaimed that she reminds him of his boss, who do you know what he said to him ? He said, "don't ever plan". But fatso then told him, he said, "you're wrong", because you gotta always plan every moment of your life, always plan everything ahead. At this juncture she simply walked away (living proof for the theory that the fat are not necessarily also stupid), leaving him to look around like an idiot who just fell down a flight of stairs, trying his best to pretend like nothing in particular happened.

I'm not even fucking kidding : meeting some landwhale on the first date and failing to pepper them with the well deserved mockery forthwith is ruining civilisation.

Chick evidently an' proudly taking it in both holes, an' simultaneously at that, just about every night ; an' more power to her.

Budapest cvasi-ruins, some better than others.

The statue with very nice tits guarding the entrance to our favourite Indian restaurant in Budapest.

On the way over, some chick seated at one of the sidewalk bistros & cafes dotting the surroundings of the Octogon hailed us as we approached, then, eyeing the (doubtlessly fetching) ensemble offered a "I wish I were there too". Entirely unexpectedly to her, my response was "So come along then", and well...

It's funny, by the way, how evidently and unmistakably carring a riding crop splits the female population. You can't possibly confuse a girl who knows what it is and what it's for and how it's used and my oh my from a civillian -- because the latter simply doesn't notice it, not anymore than your fifth shirt button ; whereas the former simply can't take her eyes away from it, except to dart at you, and back at it, and at the girls, and back at it, and...

It never fucking fails, irrespective of anything, balabustish Arab women in the hijab, fourteen year olds with their parents in tow, businesswear clad "careerwomen" of great outward seriosity, fucking Carmelite nuns... the riding crop, the mares' great equalizer, suddenly there's only two kinds. As in all other ways, the crop also in this way separates the women from the girls.

Yes, we seriously ate all that. Because we can, what.

The entrance fee's about ten bux (a head). The content's... well, let me put it this way : the entire Budapest Erotic & Sex museum contains less erotic & sexual paraphenalia than my travelling kit. I kid you not ; in particular their selection of half a dozen buttplugs was shockingly dainty. Leaving aside how I actually carry more (not even counting the anal hook), I'm pretty sure I have a couple that together outweigh their entire fucking collection, nfi what they were supposed to be, buttplugs for a literal bitch maybe ?

And in other bemoanings of my fate : a naked slut just came in with a cup of fresh coffee, which I took a sip of, it's fucking great, and then I went to set it down ; but because I sat my ass down in the middle of the bed (because earlier the sluts were on either side of me as we went through the picture collection, selecting what to publish), I find that I can't reach either side nightstand comfortably enough to set the damn thing down. My bed's too wide, to the point of actual inconvenience. What shall I do!

The socks are supposedly stockings ; I have no fucking idea what to say, we just hit Calzedonia for about five or six kilogram's worth, so you can imagine. I did briefly consider bidding them take their clothes off, but... I mean... how's this different from any other dungeon I publicly fuck / use them, other than because this has ropes over the machinery blocking access and such ? I understand the matter depicted (or rather, mostly hinted at) might be the stuff of legendary imaginarium for rando walkers... but for us... well ? If someone showed you a museum exhibit of your set of laptops, would you feel much impetuus to jump right on them and... carry on everyday's normalia, banalia, unremarkablia ? No ?

Me either.

I did say "alright, now show me your cunts" just as a couple was trying to cross, two dorks in their 30s, she very "excitedly" noticing "oh, look, an erotics museum" as fucking if that'd be you know, the exciting and openminded kinda cunt she is, all ready in principle to consider things and matters (at a very frozenly slow rate, of course, but what sort of man would be unchivalrous enough to put her "in principle" to the test ?!). Her noises froze in her throat as actual obedience, submission and therefore existence washed her pretense to presence entirely off the floor, and well... there they stood frozen, unbreathing, while I photographed my women in the street.

Mayhap they learned something from the experience ; and hopefully so has everyone else. Parts gratia partis, or how did that go.