I have NO doubt that anyone who walks this path must bow their head and silently vow something, anything . . . . but a vow must be made.
If I ever hit the lotto . . . I’m talking major F-you money . . . . this wondrous place will be mine! I found the picture here. I briefly worried about the possibility of rolling off the bed into the water. I am blonde after all, so that didn’t seem out of the realm of possibilities for me.
I think I could handle it though. I’d damn sure like to give it a try.
What is it about beaches when photographed in black and white? It instantly invites hot sex. Don’t believe me?
I found this photo here:
Clearly this is where this happened:
It’s a wondrous place, but just thinking about it makes my crack feel sandy.
Supposedly this is Wildflower Field at Sunset, Emmons Glacier, Mount Rainier:
I think this is where silence grows. Just lay there, and bask in it.
This is what happens . . . . :
When this guy . . . . :
Drinks too much of this . . . . :
And passes out, allowing this kid. . . . :
To play with these . . . . :
I found this image here where they’ll have you believe this is some National Park in Colombia. Riiiiiiight. That’s just what they tell Gargamel to protect the Smurfs.
Not really. They don’t stalk me, waiting for the moment when I’m alone and have my guard down so that they can jump on me, chewing away at my achilles heel until I collapse and hit my head on the curb, knocking myself out. Which would be a merciful thing because they’d probably chew my face off. How else would a chipmunk kill me?
No, what I mean is that they really KILL me. They’re so cute. And cuddly. And tiny. And innocent. And their cheeks puff out. Check it out:
What?! WHAT?! You don’t even know. I don’t care who you are, if you were in front of me right now I would slap the crap out of you. MY head is seriously twitching right now. Did you HEAR me?! I said my HEAD is TWITCHING. That’s what heads do just prior to EXPLODING.
Those little fuckers would like for me to believe that’s a fairy home. But that’s a chipmunk home if I’ve ever seen one. No, I’ve never seen one. But I still know that’s a chipmunk home. How can I be so sure?
Because my fucking head. Is. Twitching.
Have you ever browsed the card aisle in your local pharmacy or stationary store? Of course you have. Most cards these days are funny, gimmicky even. Nowadays they sing, tell jokes, or even allow you to record your own message. But if you browse long enough, you’ll find a section of old-school, sentimental Hallmark cards. The cards that still have poems in them. The cards that have no mercy. The cards that drop kick your emotions in the balls, leaving them in a fetal position gasping for air in the pit of your stomach while you try not to cry in public.
The people who write those cards? They live here.
Infinity pool. Aptly named . . . . . since I like it times infinity.