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I entered the sadly paint encrusted door at the Sentient Bean which gave up the throwback tinkle of a bell. I was determined to choke down my first cup of joe for the day. The Beard served it up adding the usual dose of existential insolence I had grown to expect from Jeemarie Bingalangbang. But as one of his hero’s would so clearly respond, “Such things cannot be sufficiently despised,” so I tossed him the spondulix, grunted, snatched the brew, and retreated to my favorite hovel of the premises. I think back in the fifties the Sentient Bean had been one of those Armenian restaurants. Booths built into the wall with an onion dome frame and a decidedly casbah motif of lattice work in extended base relief. You never knew what was on this side of the wall but fortunately on the other side of the lattice. I know I did not want to know.
When I find myself looking at a young woman it is not because I have any expectation of bedding her. Often it is because they remind me of bedded or bedded wish list items from years gone by. Same holds true for checking out women my own age. Except; though still highly unlikely, hope springs almost as eternal as other parts of my nether regions.
But buying that low sodium stuff increases someones profits and makes us feel all good and proactive and like we are doing something instead of being out of control and helpless. Now cue the next batch of research so I will know what to be a'scared of now so dumb money can continue it's natural flow to smart money.
A woman I know posted a status on Facebook about married men sniffing around her “hooch”. Not being married and having had a passing interest in that “hooch” over the years I have known her I almost felt it would be acceptable to inquire just how that “hooch” is these days. Should I or shouldn't I?