My imagination gets all the chicks. I hate it. Even if I have a woman my imagination goes out and gets a better one. I can't compete.
The other thing I hate about my imagination is that it conspires with my memory recall to bring up weird nudity that I've seen over the years, and places it right in the silver screen of my mind at the most inappropriate times. For example, I am talking to a woman about her new grand kid and Tara Reid's Frankennipple pops into my mind. Things resembling sea monsters eating nachos, shaved voles, and rude vegetables compete for my attention constantly in crucial times. This is why I am not the CEO of Dairy Queen right now. The real kicker is that in times of loneliness and arousal my imagination leaves me and can only think about stuff like how good an actor George C. Scott was. I mean, Patton...are you kidding me? That guy is a national treasure.
The thing about nudity and my imagination is that it can only do one body part at a time accurately. If my imagination tries to create a whole composite, then things start to get a bit strange. Let's try this for example, if I were to imagine a whole nude woman and then bring that creation to life in the real world, she would resemble Salvador Dali's "The Bather". The cruelty of my imagination is unending.
This is not totally about my imagination, but I was at my friend's house this Saturday. It was sad because they got a replacement pet for their elderly blue healer: a cute black lab puppy. Nothing says "You're gonna make great mulch for the rose garden" to your old dog like having it train the replacement. I could tell that old Blue was pretty depressed about it all because she didn't even bother telling the pup where to go bathroom--it just peed all over the floor inside. I mean, how can you do your job when your morale is low? The bonus part of training your replacement is that you can train them wrong. Take that, master's shoe! Okay, that part involved imagination.
I'm tired now. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
3 years ago