Underpants On The Outside

Hey there, long time no see!  It’s been a while since I posted.  Me and Wonder Woman just went on a trip to Miami, where I didn’t have easy access to a computer or my bitter sarcasm.

We went to South Beach.  If you haven’t been and you’re single, you should go.  Actually, let me amend that.  You should go, as long as you’re really really attractive.  I definitely got the sense that the Miami Board of Tourism has not done a good job of making that clear, seeing as how they let me in.

That’s not to say you can’t go to South Beach if you’re in a relationship.  I just wouldn’t advise it.  At least, not to celebrate your anniversary, honeymoon, your girlfriend/wife’s birthday, or anything that involves honoring her or your relationship.  Because if it’s true what they say and it’s the thought that counts, then I cheated on Wonder Woman.  A lot.

I grew up in Los Angeles, I live in New York, and I watch a lot of TV.  I am highly experienced in the field of looking at hot, unobtainable ass from afar.    So I believe I am qualified to say that South Beach has the most incredible collection of the human aesthetic that I have ever HOLY FUCK DID YOU SEE THE TITS ON THAT ONE????

Actually, I would need eight or nine more puberties to handle another trip to South Beach with composure or dignity.  Even the mannequins there have breasts the size of hoagies.  I telepathically dry-humped eighteen women on our ride from the airport.   They were so hot I couldn’t even imagine having actual sex with them; anything beyond a drunken handjob because they owed me money was too far outside of plausibility.  I had to punch myself in the nads just so I could think clearly enough to decide where to eat.  It got so bad I’d be halfway through psychically plowing one lady when some new chick would show up.  (Luckily South Beach women tend to be very open-minded about that sort of thing, and are always game for some old fashioned multiple-partner intercourse.  At least, that’s how they are in my head.)

Even the guys were insanely good-looking.  I can admit that from an intellectual, I-sure-don’t-look-like-that standpoint.  Going to South Beach is like going to the gym on Olympus: if you’re not Hercules, you’re probably supposed to be picking up towels.

I don’t even have a point to any of this (other than that I probably owe Wonder Woman an apology or two.  Or eighty.)  I just feel the need to say something.

Oh yeah; I also saw a nurse shark.  I can only assume that it was incredibly hot (as nurse sharks go), with very big versions of whatever body parts nurse sharks find attractive.