But the strange thing is that we haven’t seen yours. What, exactly, are you hiding? Are you missing a nose? Or do you have two noses? Or were you dropped headfirst into a meat grinder, over and over and over? Or do you have a really bad acne problem? Or, hell, maybe you’ve just got one hell of an ugly personality and it carries over to your appearance.
Your routine is getting stale, Bossk. The process of “communication” requires more than just simple words thrown back in response to other words… communication requires thoughts. It requires ideas. Surely you are capable of formulating thoughts and idea, yes? Please, share some of these thoughts and ideas with the world at large. This whole “Fuck everyone who disagrees with me” shtick is tiresome.
Anyone in their right mind could only see Nacho4Sarah or Ginger as extremely attractive. And this guy knows it. He is just trying to yank our chains. Phooey on him.
As far as romance novels go - my sister, who is quite attractive and happily married, reads them. She’s lovely and has a full life. She also has a degree in Chemistry. And she reads silly romance novels. So what of it?
So Special K, what is your opinion of those who both enjoy reading well-done romance novels/porn/erotica and writing it? Inquiring authors want to know, and all that:)
Oh, and just a FWIW: in case you were going to insult my appearance next with one of those “Ummmmmmmmmmmm” bits, fuck off first.
Okay, I don’t read romances…I’m much more a horror story/true crime kinda gal.
But I have been known to slip into a nice hot bubble bath with a copy of Cosmo, and I don’t think you can get much trashier than that.
[sub]Well, I do have that little slinky shiny dress, and those heels, and if I add just the right accessories, it’s pretty fuckin’ trashy…but I digress.[/sub]
And I’ve seen pictures of most of these folks here, and I haven’t seen an ugly one yet.
And, ftr, I have YET to see a man in uniform who wasn’t kinda…y’know, hot.
So who stole your cookies at lunch and left you with this lifeong grumpy-boy attitude, Boss?
Your a weak little person, you hide behind your words but can’t produce us a pic. Oh and if you knew the SD well enough, you’d know where to find a picture of me and many of our fellow Dopers.
As someone else said, the is the Straight Dope not some beauty pagent(sp.) If you are so stuck on looks, go engross yourself in some porno pages while jacking off to the tune of “Good Ship Lollipop.” It makes little sense but niether do you.
You want a pic? I’m usually in the ICUII video chat rooms. I MIGHT be wearing clothes, but I make no promises. Come find me. My screen name begins with F-I-L-M.
And FYI, I only masturbate to the Final Jeopardy music. It kinda feels like I’m doing something constructive that way, ya know?
I don’t think so. In fact, I agree with that supposition exactly as you expressed it. I think those novels are the female version of porn, and I decided long ago that guys who aren’t getting any use more than their fair share of porn.
I’m not basing these opinions on nothing. My (formerly single) mother read these things all the time when I was growing up, and she didn’t so much as go out on a date for 5 years at a time.
What I don’t think is that a woman can’t get laid just because she’s “ugly.” Beauty’s in the eye of the beholder, after all.
My married sister gets plenty of “action”, yet sometimes reads these romance novels. So you have your mom, who didn’t go out, and also read these novels, and I have my sister, who gets plenty of action and also read these novels. So what exactly does these personal antecdotes prove?
A lot of people read romance novels. A lot of people watch romantic movies. A lot of people watch Westerns, or read western novels (Louis L’Amour, etc.) A lot of people read science fiction, or mystery. So - what does this mean about them and their personal lives? What does this say? Hmmmmmmm? Please. Enlighten us. :rolleyes:
Like I know or care where the hell that is. Look, what it comes down to is you insulted a lot of people. Your thread should be considered (for new people) how NOT to enter into the SDMB.
Your thread is a poor excuse to get your jollies. Get over it, go play with the uneducated teenie boppers on some other board. Go stroke your ego elsewhere. Shoo.
I much more liked ole Wildest Bill, who at least had some spark in his belly. This Bossk feller jest mopes about wearin’ a kick-me sign, offering nothin’ of what we like to call “entertainment value.”
C’mon, Boss Boy, dance! Don’t just hang about like a stale fart; start banging away with those firecrackers you have up your ugly little ass, and dance to the rhythm.
As it is, you’re just laying there like a lame snake, half run down in the middle of the road. It’s your pit thread, so go make something of it. Let’s have some “entertainment value.” Make the memory of Wildest Bill proud.
C’mon Boss Boy, dance for us! Let’s see what you have! Show us your body, show us your mind, let us all learn that you’re really a find!
{And the unruly crowd of romance readers chants to the tune of “O Come All Ye Faithful”}
Why are we wait-ing,
Wh-y are we wait-ing,
Why are we wa-it-in-g,
Why do we wait?
…Descant, girls…
Why are we wait-ing,…Oh come!
We could be mast-ur-ba-ting,…Oh come,
Oh wh-y are we wait-ing,…All ye
Oh wh-y are we wait-ing,…F-ai-
Oh wh-y are we wait-ing,…ai-aith-ful,
Oh why do we wait?..Oh we shall come!
{Tap, tap, tap. . . Boss Boy, come on out. No dentata here. . . Boss Boy? Ohhh Boss Boy?}
Sorry folks, looks like there isn’t going to be a show here tonight after all. Your tickets will be refunded at the door.
Well, since old Boss Boy won’t turn his head and cough up the goods, so to speak, (for some unkown reason doctors make us do this when they grab our balls), I offer you a pic of myself, au natural, and a story of a heroine’s wilderness adventure to go with it. Here’s the story, and for those of you who simply can’t wait, here’s the pic.
. . .
. . .
. . .
Actually, having looked at the pic, I recommend that you fine ladies (or gents) do not click on it. You might hurt your sinuses snorting with derision. In the pic I am just a middle-aged, pot bellied man, not worth giving a first glance, let alone a second.
It’s me in the buff, alright, but somehow it isn’t sexy at all, at least not compared to how I feel about myself, and how my friends feel about me. You’d have to look closely at my smile and my eyes in other pics to begin to see what I am. And regardless of my body, I assure you that I am very sexy, as I expect are all the other posters throughout this thread, with one clear exception.
But then isn’t that what this thread is really about? How one views and values one’s own sexuality? So who is Boss Boy to start making snide remarks about a person’s self-image and sexual self-worth? It’s not for him to say, and neither is it for him to comment on how people enjoy their leisure and their sexuality.
Boss boy is the only ugly person to be found here. And we don’t even need a photo of him to see it.
Why do people mock facets of others’ lives? They’re not comfortable with their own. Perhaps bossk has some issues relating to self-image that need to be resolved, and then s/he will be happier and perhaps less prone to needless, pathetic assaults on others’ appearance.
Sorry folks, but since Boss Boy won’t be dancing for you tonight, and since someone ran off with the gate before we could refund your tickets, we’ll offer to you instead “The Best of Boss Boy”:
Boss Boy on Sex:
Boss Boy on Relationships:
Boss Boy on Marriage:
Boss Boy on the Arts:
Boss Boy on Psychology:
Boss Boy on Sociology:
Boss Boy on Philosophy:
{And the audience goes wild with rage . . . Muffin dodges a chair uprooted and heaved at him from the balcony, only to be clocked in the head with a fried green tomato while scuttling into the safety of the wings. Outside the stage door he finds Boss Boy . . .}
Jeez, Boss Boy, the show must go on . . . show ‘em what you’re made of . . . and take that kick-me sign off and wipe the piss off your pant-leg . . . bird piss my ass . . . show some originality, and while you’re at it, show some backbone, Boss Boy.
{Muffin grabs Boss Boy by the collar and belt, marches him to stage centre, and deposits him there. The lights go up, the audience settles down, the tympani rolls, and all eyes turn to Boss Boy, fire-cracking ass-dancer extraordinaire . . .}
{Boss boy tremulously looks left, then looks right, then pulls out a handkerchief and wipes the piss off his leg. Then he looks up at the audience, unable to see any faces in the dark before him . . . He composes himself. A look of confidence and determination crosses his face. He takes a deep breath, and prepares to orate . . .}
Fttppppzzzzzzzz . . . drip, drip, drip.
{Oops, the long awaited fire-cracking ass-dance just fizzled . . . no more than a wet fart in public. Minutes later, the audience has left the building, but poor Boss Boy sits there, a little damp, and more than a little smelly, wondering where his fame has gone, and where he will go from here. “Lah de dah,” he says to himself, “Tomorrow is another day.” And he limps off, trolling for a job as a Bus Boy.}
