Tuesday, August 11, 2015

Battle of the Sexes: Round III

Finca Don Gabriel is part coffee plantation and part enchanted tourist kingdom. No doubt the honeymoon ambience contributed some to my curvaceous partner's increasing apprehension that she'd be expected to put out. My drooling may not have helped either.

(Feminists of the bat-shit-crazy variety can now add obscene natural beauty to the list of things that conspire to create rape culture. Sensitivity police can now be offended by the preceding rape jest, refusing to accept that people often choose laughter as the best medicine for a sick world, even though they care deeply about humanity's spiritual maladies.)

The hacienda's festive rustic restaurant and pristine comfy rooms sit atop a lofty ridge with coffee-studded forest descending steeply on all sides. The horizon is an ocean of lush blue mountain ranges. Our plush fragrant linens and bamboo-frame bed overlooked a 20-foot-wide window displaying a hammock on a red-tile patio, pine trees full of songbirds, and an endless alpine panorama. The lady was delighted.

Okay, I'll admit it. The prospect of exploring the mountains, valleys, forests, and rivers of this plush fragrant young woman with some equally-glorious geography falling away before our eyes didn't seem too horrible in my estimation. (I'm sure there's a support group somewhere for twisted bastards like me, but the fine ladies provide all the support I need.)

As my princess shed her clothing, turned on a steamy cascade, and stepped in to bathe, I tapped my fingers in a futile effort to maintain mental control of the other plumbing fixtures she'd turned on simultaneously. 

(Woman-hating readers who rival feminists in their bitterness and insanity can now feel free to pinch my friend's ass on the street, since she has undressed and bathed in front of the online global community, thus is obviously asking for it. [When will normal people with deep respect for both genders take a stand against machismo and feminist lunatics who destroy the next generation's spiritual capacity to find true love as nature intended?])

With a fiery sundown on the horizon, she emerged from her bath fresh and moist at 7:00 then lay next to me on the bed. Remembering that Mexican girls only go to sleep at 7:00 when they plan to wake up at 1:00 and go dancing, I assumed this was my cue to express my undying affection.

I curled around her, tenderly kissing the hairline behind her ear. In one seamless motion, she sprayed an entire bottle of mosquito repellent over every part of her body, kissed me on the forehead, whispered “I'm sleepy love, good night,” and rolled over into a fetal position. Both the abruptness and gentleness with which she slammed the garage door of love down on my middle leg astonished me.

While American girls claim they've been “psychologically raped” because a politically-incorrect speaker was allowed to voice an opinion on their campus and American guys whine they've been “helplessly emasculated” by their feminized culture, a Mexican chick half my height, half my muscle mass, half my education, and half my age sweetly and firmly explained to me who's boss in a secluded room in a remote wilderness with no self-defense weapons but her wits, her guts, and an aerosol can she purchased without money simply by fluttering her eyelashes at me.

Yes, I paid far more than market price for the cow, while she made me await another day for a sip of the cream. Still, this hopeless romantic wouldn't want her any other way. I salute all the gorgeous powerful women out there who give ape-like men a vision of something beautiful in a lost world. I hope that all readers will consider buying my forthcoming book Chocolate, Vanilla, Tortillas & Salsa: trekking the birthplace of food, so I can continue buying food in said birthplace, despite being constantly robbed of all my money by dangerous female natives with cruel primitive weapons that I can barely understand much less resist.

P.S. For those feeling sympathy that I lost this battle of the sexes (both of you), I should mention that there was a rematch. I'm a somewhat seasoned combatant, who can abandon my gentlemanly fighting stance to hit below the belt when things get scrappy. I only had to go out on one date with her cousin before that little heifer delivered hot fresh milk to my doorstep. I encourage all the men and women out there to stay in the ring, but let's have a good clean fight!

Friday, August 7, 2015

Battle of the Sexes: Round II

Our journey to the coffee-growing village of Pluma, Oaxaca should have been short and simple. Yet, the best laid plans of mice and men who want to get laid oft go astray. (And you thought Steinbeck corrupted Shakespeare to illustrate the plight of the common man.)

We took a taxi to the bustling crossroads of Santa Maria Huatulco. Our driver urged us to jump into a collectivo (shared taxi) just leaving. Halfway thru our winding ascent into the mountains, we realized our backpacks were still in the trunk of the previous taxi.

Wednesday, August 5, 2015

Battle of the Sexes: Round I

Your author once asked a barista, “Which is better: coffee or women?”

She responded without hesitation, “Both are delicious, but the coffee won't cause you much trouble.”

This sage wisdom more or less captures the essence of my recent trip to a Mexican coffee plantation with a Mexican hippie girl. Join me as we relive the sensual passion (and the sexual frustration).

Thursday, July 16, 2015

My First Love Connects After Many Years

My first love sent a Facebook invitation this week after many years incommunicado. Then, she sent me a letter. I had just left home at 17 when I encountered her in the lobby of my university. Her raven black hair, sparkling blue eyes, and gently swelling cardigan would distract almost any idiotic boy from noticing the enormous compassionate heart that lay underneath the sweater. Yet, boy did this boy ever notice.

Wednesday, July 8, 2015

Hillary Clinton Reveals America's Moral I.Q.

My parents voted for John F. Kennedy and Richard Nixon but wouldn't have done so had they known jack or dick about Jack's and Dick's character. My parents weren't perfect, but they did have some scruples. People who read and can handle the truth now know that Nixon was a negative paranoid liar and Kennedy plied underage girls with booze, manhandled and screwed them without sentiment, then discarded them without remorse. Good people don't relish association with such types.

Friday, June 26, 2015

Mahatma Gandhi Was Not A Pacifist

People who think violence is inherently evil and avoiding it in all situations makes you a better person often tout Gandhi as a patron saint. This is not accurate. Gandhi was not a pacifist, and those who respect his conviction that life is a quest for truth should be interested in the reality of his views on violence. I will briefly summarize the facts here.

While promoting the civil rights of Indian residents of South Africa, Gandhi urged his fellow "coolies" to peacefully disobey British laws giving them a second-class status. He endured personal attacks without aggression. He believed peaceful resistance to injustice without retaliation or even self-defense would eventually win British respect. This was successful. However, when British South Africans fought Dutch South Africans in the Boer War, Gandhi maintained that Indians fighting with their British masters to defend their neighbors would also win respect and accomplish good. Not the Deepak Chopra mindset.

Friday, June 5, 2015

A Guided Tour of Lyn's Paradise

This beach is four blocks from my house. Would you believe it was totally deserted last Friday night, when I had a candlelit dinner on the sand with a charming and captivating woman? There was no sound but the waves. The boulevard from Chahue beach to my residence is dotted with palm trees in the middle plus cumbia and bachata dance clubs along the side. There's a supermarket next to my home. Here you find the freshest and most delicious Mexican cuisine beside a global selection of cold beer. Damn near paradise!

Wednesday, May 13, 2015

Meditate On Author Raji Lukkoor's Butt

That's right people: you can meditate on Raji Lukkoor's butt. I don't mean focus your inner eye above her inner thigh. I mean borrow her butt for a climactic metaphysical experience. No wait, that's not right. I mean benefit from the ten days she spent with her tush on a hard floor without moving yours off a soft couch.

Why sit on your white or black ass doing Buddhist meditation till you cramp, when you can have Raji Lukkoor sit on her fine brown authentically-Indian ass then write a book about her meditation retreat for you to experience vicariously? Inner Pilgrimage is the cramp-free intro to meditation we've all been waiting for.

Tuesday, May 5, 2015

Pacquiao Loses Match / Mayweather Loses Honor

The rules of boxing allow a fighter to avoid engagement with his opponent by clinging or running, but returning some fire simply looks better. Last Saturday, Floyd Mayweather's fight or flight instinct appeared to have completely evolved into a hug or flight instinct. Manny Pacquiao dominated this contest in the eyes of most boxing-uninformed but manliness-conscious viewers by engaging his opponent relentlessly and confidently. Despite Barney the Dinosaur levels of cheeriness, a Filipino clearly came to fight, while an American came to cash a check and protect a title.