I live in a GLBT nexus here in the Pioneer Valley and I love the diversity. 🏳️🌈
Public same sex kissing and afffection is an abundant eye candy, you don’t find most places.
If it wasn’t for my repressive Catholic upbringing I may have even been bisexual, by now.
I love freedom of expression and I embrace diversity.
That said, one thing I hate is when your freedom of expression interferes with my freedom to breathe.
You granola-earthy-crunchy-pot-smokin-bitches deciding to make an art project and braid your armpit hair into some sort of macramé thing, needs to stop.
Can you not smell yourself?
I mean when you have a colony of circus fleas taking up residence on you, there’s something very wrong.
Get acquainted with a razor and cut that bush back.
And while you’re at it, get a bar of soap and bathe, ’cause ya smell, and it’s not good.
I’m not sure if it’s your diet of tofu and garlic. Are you trying to ward off vampires? ’cause girl your warding off everyone around you. Hell it’s causing a gag reflex when I even sit near you. Honestly, one would have to be in such a dope induced haze, not to be close to you and not notice the smell.
And it’s not just the garlic, that smell….its intermingled with sweat , sex , and a pot cloud that hasn’t been washed off in weeks.
The patchouli oil you wear does it no justice. It only adds a dirt smell into the mix. It can’t cover the buds you’ve been smokin’ and the smegma in yer panties.
Remember. Soap. It’s does the body good.