Sunday, November 20, 2005


(Editor's Note: This was first written for my first blog, I Hate Myself and You Love Me for It, sometime in the summer of 2003. But I can't find it in the archives. Much of that has to do with the fact that I'm exceptionally lazy. There you have it.

To me, this may be one of the most special pieces I've ever written. This one little - what I thought to be throwaway - article managed to piss off not only my girlfriend at the time, but a subsequent one at that. Given that history, you'd think that I'd leave it lost to the ages, lest it annoy subsequent sexual partners. But that just wouldn't be me, now would it?)

-skippystalin, Sunday November 20, 2005

The two most beautiful women I saw today spoke no English. All right, that’s not entirely true, one of them speaks a little. But as with most things in my life, I used the experience to learn a little bit about myself. And learn I did.

I’ve never really thought of myself as having a “type” of woman that I prefer. If you look at the long, sad gallery of women who’ve had the misfortune of having me attracted to them, you’d see a virtual United Nations. All shapes and sizes, all colours and creeds are represented there; white girls, black girls, Asians, Indians. Skinny girls, overweight girls. Large breasts small breasts. Blondes, brunettes, redheads. Tall, short. Christian, Jew, Mennonite and, believe it or not, Jehovah’s Witness. You name it; I’ve fallen in love with it, at one point or another. Many men qualify their preference in a crude objectification of a body type. “Ass man”, “tit man”…. Everyone has their preference. Including me, I’m a “vagina man”. If you have one of those, Apparently we’ll get along just fine.

Today I came to the realisation that I’ve always searched for a type. And I found one.

Girls who don’t speak English.

Firstly, there’s Unnamed Hot Dog Girl. She works at the hot dog stand just outside of one of my buildings every so often. She’s Lithuanian, maybe 5’4”, a tiny girl with a very pretty smile and tits so out of proportion with the rest of her body that they’re just…beautiful. To say she doesn’t speak English isn’t exactly fair. In fact, her English is by far superior to my Lithuanian. But you get my point. With her accent and her tiny, high pitched voiced Unnamed Hot Dog Girl sounds approximately three years old, which for some reason is unreally appealing to a dirty old man like me. The idea of hearing THAT voice come out of THAT body is so right on so many terribly, terribly wrong levels that I know that I’ll never be truly innocent again.

Then comes Unspeakably Beautiful Cleaner. She just started working in one of my buildings and first came across her when she went into a stairwell during her break and didn’t realise that the door locked behind her. So she did what most people would do, she went down a flight a banged really loudly on the door. What she didn’t know was that the floor below her was that that floor belonged to the Executive Suite of the Most Powerful Phone Company on Earth. And of course, representative of Most Powerful Phone Company on Earth…. opened the door. Said representative found the most breathtakingly beautiful girl with the wrong person’s security pass. And she spoke NO English. This is where I come in.

I come up to the Halls of Valhalla and see this…. Goddess, and mange to speak coherently enough to straighten the situation out. Impressive when you consider my heart was in my throat. Granted, I had to call her supervisor up to translate, but I worked it out. I’m a wonderful guy that way.

So, we get Unspeakably Beautiful Cleaner back on her proper floor and her supervisor turns to me and says “Ahhhhhh Skippy, we (her and her assistant) were wondering how long it would take you to notice her!” Okay, I’m not as smooth as I’d like to be, but you need to know that I’m a busy man at work, surrounded by disloyalty and incompetence…kinda like Hitler was in the bunker. I’m usually far too preoccupied with contempt to notice anything else. Would you notice a rose growing in Hell? Not with a red-hot poker in your ass, you wouldn’t. Said supervisor said that Unspeakably Beautiful Cleaner had just moved from Brazil, where she was a lawyer. I asked if this was a step up; y’know, going from lawyer to office cleaner. Apparently it is. Lawyers make NO money in Brazil, I’m told. I learned also that justice actually does live somewhere.

Then I saw Unspeakably Beautiful Cleaner out of her uniform, just being her. And Holy Fucking Christ, she’s even MORE unspeakably perfect. She has the most incredible features one can expect from Brazil, long, almost black hair, deeply tanned skin and these eyes that you can see inside of and see that she’s as beautiful inside as she is out. Plus she has an ass I can imagine eating my wedding cake off of, and to anyone whose read this blog awhile, you KNOW how I feel about marriage And that’s when I knew.

I instinctively realised that the language barrier was my only hope. If she can’t speak English then she can’t know what swine I am…. not for a good long time, anyway. I had finally realised my own darkest secret; I LIKE the idea of someone only knowing how repulsive I am on the outside (and for those of you who absolutely know click here, but don’t say I didn’t warn you). Let the inner ugliness, immediately familiar to women who aren’t ESL wait awhile.

I knew for the first time that foreigners were the way to go.

I should write for Harlequin.

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