Sluts

October 4, 2009


My bf and I took a vacation to Brazil a couple years ago. It was amazing. We visited the Carmen Miranda museum in Rio which, if you’re planning a pilgrimage, is a total disappointment. We saw the Iguazu Falls on the border between Brazil and Argentina where I got myself involved in a multi-national argument with some smelly Argentinean for cutting in front of me at the concession stand. We witnessed the architectural glory that is Brasilia, by Oscar Niemeyer and even spent some sunny beach time in the southern town of Sao Paulo. BTW, if you’re ever on the beach in Sao Paulo, make sure and buy some fried cheese from the beach vendors. It will change your life. But, the most memorable and enjoyable part of the vacation was our week long stay at a resort on one of the tributaries of the Amazon river. About ninety miles from the town of Manaus, is an out of the way tourist destination called the Juma Lounge. It’s like Swiss Family Robinson with a Portuguese twist. We stayed in these amazingly primitive cabins with minimal electricity, no hot water and only rickety wood floor boards to separate us from the piranha in the river below.

Guiding us during our stay was Reuben. He was a local from Manaus who had spent considerable time in the United States and whose claim to fame was that he had impregnated two girls in two different countries in the same month. Though unimpressed with his sexual conquests, we befriended him any way and mostly enjoyed his company. One afternoon, on a fishing expedition for piranha, Reuben started talking about the sloits of Brazil. How he liked them so much and how they were like nothing else in the world. We thought he has talking about some indigenous fish to the Amazon or some Brazilian social movement. Upon further investigation, we found out that he was talking about sluts. The bf and I took this back to the states and now, whenever we see a trampy looking chic walking into some bar or a cracked out prostitute trying to cross four lanes of heavy traffic, we have a laugh and remember our gigolo friend, Reuben. But not all sloits are funny. Some of them are actually sluts.

I was at a thirtieth birthday party for a good friend a few weeks ago sans bf. He had a cold and wasn’t in the mood to mingle with a bunch of people he didn’t know. Inevitably, the birthday girl had too much to drink and ended up making out with some hillbilly from an exurb of a suburb of the city in which we were celebrating. Most of us watched in amazement as the birthday girl, after several hours of drinking, was able to maintain the motor skills to make out with this guy and not spill her beer. Wanting her to have a fun birthday we mostly just stood around, ensuring that she didn’t make any really bad decisions and mocked the hillbilly’s faux-mo and his lack of mastery over the English language. But there were two girls, let’s call them Slutty-di and Slutty-dum who, for some reason, saw the birthday girls make out session as a challenge to their ability to attract stupid, drunk, unattractive men. But, instead of turning around and choosing from any number of inebriated stupid straight guys, they both unbuttoned a button on their blouses and went after the birthday girls man candy.

It was like watching the perfect execution from an NFL team’s playbook. Slutty-di asked the birthday girl to accompany her to the bathroom while Slutty-dum moved in for the kill. She slid up next to the hillbilly and whipped out her i-phone. They spent the next couple minutes laughing, looking at what I could only imagine was her debut on “Girls Gone Wild“. With every chuckle, she slid closer the him, eventually rubbing up against him with enough force to catch her TJ Maxx mini skirt on fire. Right before she made her move, Slutty-di returned with the birthday girl for round two of Operation: Sluts Take Over.

Slutty-dum took the birthday girl to the bar for another buttery-nipple, or sex on the beach, or whatever sluts drink these days. As soon as they were out of sight, Slutty-di checked her fiery red lipstick in her compact and slithered up next to the hillbilly. My sight left them for a split second and when I turned back around they were arm wrestling. I know it sounds unbelievable, but I sweat its true. This dumb slut was kneeling down on the floor of this gross, dank bar on her bare knees, which I’m sure wasn’t too far from what she had done the weekend before, arm wrestling some guy that could have picked her up and snapped her in two if he wanted. Did she actually think she was going to win? Was this some new hetero mating ritual that hadn’t hit the mainstream yet? I watched in astonishment as Slutty-di used both her arms to defeat the hillbilly and win her prize. And what was the prize? A kiss on the mouth. But not just an innocent “you’re already making out with my friend so let’s be friends” kiss. It was open-mouthed, sloppy and, I’m sure, STD infecting for both of them.

I just couldn’t understand it. Well, I understood why the birthday girl was doing what she was doing. She was drunk and it was her birthday. You’re allowed a drunk hook up with someone totally undesirable on your birthday. We’ve all done it. But why would Slutty-di and Slutty-dum mack on their friend’s boyfriend-du-juor when there were tons of guys around that were much more desirable?

So, a couple more hours go by without incident. But at the end of the night, when the birthday girl wanted to go with the hillbilly, the sluts showed just how slutty a slut can be. They tried to convince the birthday girl that the hillbilly wasn’t worth her time and that she should just leave. They said they would handle him.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. This stuff was reserved for Melrose Place, not reality. But there I was, watching these two complete whores trying to convince their good friend, on her birthday, not to go home with some loser so they could have a chance with him. But the birthday girl prevailed. Against the sluts advice, she grabbed the hillbilly and walked out the door. Defeated, they ordered another beer and looked for other guys that were already hooking up with girls to pursue.

Concerned with my friends safety, I walked up to them and asked if the birthday girl had a condom. We all need to practice safe sex in these omnipresent days of teenage pregnancy and sexually transmitted diseases. They both looked at me as if I had asked them to explain the theory of relativity. Slutty-di said “I’m not sure. I don’t really like condoms.” To that, Slutty-dum replied “She can do what she wants. I’m more of a live and let live person.”

“Interesting.” I said. “Do you guys know a guy named Reuben from Brazil?”

My advice to sluts:

– stop being sluts. If you’re not sure if you’re a slut, here are a few tell tale signs:

1. If the number of notches on your bed post is greater than your IQ, then you’re a slut.

2. If you’ve ever lost a friend for hooking up with, stealing or flirting with a their boyfriend or girlfriend, then
you’re a slut.

3. If you’re dream vacation is Cancun during Spring Break, then you’re a slut.

4. If Paris Hilton is a heroine of yours, then you’re a slut.

5. And, if you’ve ever read something about yourself on the wall of the women’s bathroom, then you’re a slut.

My advice to everyone else:

– The next time you see a slut in some bar, making moves on another girls/boys man, slap her across the face. If you’re not the confrontational type, introduce her to a someone that you know has an active break out of genital herpes. That might teach her a lesson.

Advertisements

One Response to “Sluts”

  1. marsha Says:

    In my day you were a slut if you teased your hair. I have been married for 40 yrs to my first love and tease my hair daily,and it makes me feel guilty every time xoxo mom


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: