Sitting on one’s arse and baring it in public

BNormal, Illinois
March 12, 2020

This morning as I stopped at the Thornton’s gas station, I happened to notice a couple of young guys walking very slowly in skinny sloppy blue jeans, a decidedly relaxed fit. The first fellow I encountered looked to have all the time in the world to lounge around and to slouch around and to vape, masturbate, and do other silly things with his body like a monkey at the municipal zoo. I personally have no time at all to do most of those silly things anymore, not that I was really any good at any of them.

Then, as I stepped up to the checkout with my purchase, I found myself face to face with another young guy’s butt crack, so to speak. His boxer shorts were about at half-mast, which exposed a good portion of the crack and it was a hairy crack at that. As one well-endowed woman said to me once, “Big boobs aren’t all they’re cracked up to be,” but I would much rather deal with any pair of them than to look at some dopey dude’s buttocks. That’s why some stores in town have signs that say “No shirt, no shoes, pants down – no service.” I finally get it – such sites might drive off the other citizens buying gas, booze, and Lotto tickets.

On another note, which doesn’t seem related but really is: I notice that a lot of people I’ve met recently did not stop working after they retired. Instead they continued to work for one major reason – to afford health care. I happen to have great health care, but I was lucky. The other day I talked with a gal who worked for Brach’s for 30 years. She had some kind of pension, but no health care. So she got a job driving a taxi in order to supplement her retirement income and to pay for health insurance for her and her husband, a disabled trucker with no retirement income at all. In fact, the guy was just useless: all he did was sit on his ass at home. (These are her words, not mine, and she was cracking wise in a wonderful way.) This is not to suggest that useless means less than useless because where there is love, there is room for all asses and arses, including horse’s asses and people who are nothing but the south end of a north-bound horse. Oh wait, they’re the same.

Just so was the situation with yet another Red Top Taxi Cab driver whom I met and enjoyed riding with and talking to. While he was away from home putting in his 12-hour-day, his wife was at home holding down the fort, sitting on her ass, watching TV, and eating. (This is exactly how the guy talked. If you need a ride, ask for Sammy.) I guess that was their retirement plan: he driving, smiling, and cracking wise about Donald Trump; and she sitting, eating, and laughing at the Tube. And thus did they coexist and love and laugh while the great American white world tumbled into flames all around them.

https://youtu.be/7PoUcknjdq4