What a Nice Guy by Phil Torcivia

Friday, April 15, 2011

That Ass


      I spent four hours Saturday night with a good friend of mine drinking Coors Light, eating killer buffalo wings, and discussing a stranger’s shapely bottom. Only man-beasts (and lawyers) can take a subject as simple as a tush in tight jeans and turn it into an all-night volley.
      NOTE: Ladies, yes, we look at your asses. Yes, every time. Don’t believe me? Walk past a group of men and after you’re two steps past them, pivot quickly and say, “Got ya!”
      Some of the points of discussion:
·         What I would do with that ass.
·         Whether that ass looks even lovelier out of the jeans.
·         Are the jeans actually causing the firmness or will there be a sausage-on-the-grill effect when peeled off?
·         What sort of undergarments are currently embellishing that ass?
·         What would be the optimal sex position in which to enjoy that ass?
·         Reasons why I deserve to be cupping that ass more than her boyfriend (AKA Douchey Doo) does.
·         Does that ass override any breast or facial flaws? (Yes, it does.)
·         What would it take for me to land that ass?
·         Have I ever enjoyed an ass so fine?
·         Was that ass created by God, genes, or lunges?

      Numerous topics were covered by my fellow swine and me. I doubt the keeper of that ass had any clue how her ass consumed us as we consumed spicy chicken wings. Hey, some people discuss art, others discuss literature; we sipped our beer with extended pinkies while discussing that ass.
      That ass remained out of reach for both of us. Actually, at one point that ass accidentally backed into my leg while making room for a drunken passerby. I swear I did not move my leg into the path of that ass. In fact, that ass’s owner said, “excuse me” after violating my space. She was forgiven, and ’twas indeed a firm ass.
      My own ass may not be as checkable. I occasionally try the pivot move after I pass a group of lasses. Rarely do my eyes meet their eyes meeting my ass. Either I have a defective ass or women are more stealth with their glances.
      Back to the ass that matters. There are some mildly disturbing urges we had regarding that ass. We pondered the social unacceptability of various acts.
·         Taking a picture of that ass on my iPhone. (Unacceptable unless it is a full-body shot. Please make sure the flash is off.)
·         Rolling a quarter over her way and picking it up to become more eye-level with that ass. (Unacceptable in 49 states.)
·         Sending a bar napkin over with the question: You have a lovely hiney. May I touch it? Please check one: Yes, Maybe, No, I’m dialing 9-1-1 if you come any closer. (Polite, but unacceptable.)
·         Asking her, “Hey, Shawty, can I buy yo’ ass a drink?” (Unacceptable unless first I spray-tan myself into LL Cool Phil.)
·         Writing an essay about that ass without giving the owner credit. (Acceptable.)
      You may find the amount of time spent pondering that ass to be unsettling. In fact, you may even think I’m an ass for lingering on that ass. Perhaps. Still, I contend when she shopped for the jeans encasing that ass, she twisted her torso, viewed her own ass, and selected the jeans based on how well they enhanced that ass. I’m simply agreeing with her.

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