Wednesday, February 20, 2008
30-somethings with cat's bottom mouths
They are spreading like wildfire through 'burbs like Khandallah in Welly. Probably Remmers too.
30-somethings, who look at you down their aqualine noses, disapprovingly, with mouths that resemble cat's bottoms - because your Softail Heritage or '79 SLC Merc Coupe is too loud. Or your piercings and tattoos are somehow offensive. Or your 2 German Shepherds should not sniff the bums of their toy dogs.
Or whatever. Cat's Bottom Mouths. It's their look. They are the New Right.
You know the ones - they hold hands while wheeling $22,000 4WD prams down the street and complain about everything - always 30-somethings - always with Cat's Bottom Mouths.
They wear beige baggy shorts, matching. And stupid just-off-white tops and stupid brown sandals and their kids are perfect. Anyone elses kids, well they just look at them with Cat's Bottom Mouths.
And they call noise control on road workers at 10.30 am, they join committees and boards of trustees and moan to the council about new marinas. Always, with Cat's Bottom Mouths.
And they write to the Letters to the Editor in the local rag - moaning about the most tedious things, like the height of supermarket trolleys, or how fishing is cruel, and in their words you can almost see.. you guessed - their Cat's Bottom Mouths.
And what's more, they are useless at sex. They do it all sort of clean and tidily, no raunch. And when she sees the map of India on her high thread count sheets in the morning - she turns away disdainfully, bundling up the bedding with extra-extended arms and above-the elbow rubber gloves, sporting a big Cat's Bottom Mouth. I did one last week - what a fucking bore. I may as well have been fucking a tree tomato. Or a dead fish. (She was a fisherman's daughter and she gave me Plaice for my Cod).
And she didn't even use her Cat's Bottom Mouth for the one good thing it could have been used for.
Nah, fuck it, 20-somethings from now on. Or 40-somethings. Fit 40-somethings are great. They get it.
So right now, it is time to stop the proliferation. It is up to you (dwindling numbered) 30-somethings who are cool - without Cat's Bottom Mouths - to set an example for the other 30-somethings - we need you to bring 'em back into line.
Otherwise I reckon we'll need a sort of Logan's Run thing. The day anyone turns 30, they get put to sleep, induced coma for 10 years. Then wake 'em up again at 40.
So we can live life without the sheer misery of Cat's Bottom Mouths.
30-somethings, who look at you down their aqualine noses, disapprovingly, with mouths that resemble cat's bottoms - because your Softail Heritage or '79 SLC Merc Coupe is too loud. Or your piercings and tattoos are somehow offensive. Or your 2 German Shepherds should not sniff the bums of their toy dogs.
Or whatever. Cat's Bottom Mouths. It's their look. They are the New Right.
You know the ones - they hold hands while wheeling $22,000 4WD prams down the street and complain about everything - always 30-somethings - always with Cat's Bottom Mouths.
They wear beige baggy shorts, matching. And stupid just-off-white tops and stupid brown sandals and their kids are perfect. Anyone elses kids, well they just look at them with Cat's Bottom Mouths.
And they call noise control on road workers at 10.30 am, they join committees and boards of trustees and moan to the council about new marinas. Always, with Cat's Bottom Mouths.
And they write to the Letters to the Editor in the local rag - moaning about the most tedious things, like the height of supermarket trolleys, or how fishing is cruel, and in their words you can almost see.. you guessed - their Cat's Bottom Mouths.
And what's more, they are useless at sex. They do it all sort of clean and tidily, no raunch. And when she sees the map of India on her high thread count sheets in the morning - she turns away disdainfully, bundling up the bedding with extra-extended arms and above-the elbow rubber gloves, sporting a big Cat's Bottom Mouth. I did one last week - what a fucking bore. I may as well have been fucking a tree tomato. Or a dead fish. (She was a fisherman's daughter and she gave me Plaice for my Cod).
And she didn't even use her Cat's Bottom Mouth for the one good thing it could have been used for.
Nah, fuck it, 20-somethings from now on. Or 40-somethings. Fit 40-somethings are great. They get it.
So right now, it is time to stop the proliferation. It is up to you (dwindling numbered) 30-somethings who are cool - without Cat's Bottom Mouths - to set an example for the other 30-somethings - we need you to bring 'em back into line.
Otherwise I reckon we'll need a sort of Logan's Run thing. The day anyone turns 30, they get put to sleep, induced coma for 10 years. Then wake 'em up again at 40.
So we can live life without the sheer misery of Cat's Bottom Mouths.
