I am officially torn on camel toe. On the one hand, it can be super awesome to get a look under the hood without renting the car. I can think of many poems inspired by overly aggressive spandex. Conversely, even I can get grossed out when the balance of good and bad gets tipped toward mayhem. Specifically, when sweat pants are involved, I have a problem.
Uncertainty is not a part of my world man!!! It's in or out!! Love or hate!! The blink test!
This was all made worse yesterday when I went for my first colonic. My shrink tells me it helps in kicking opiates, so fuck you and your judgments. The lady worked the nozzle with a gentle touch. She pitched me for like a half hour on positivity, aura and why I should become a "raw foodist", whatever the fuck that means.
Anyhow, that's when I saw it. She was smuggling a fist. It was epic. I reached for my iPhone but was still tethered by her tube. I became emotional. Was it the nozzle or the camel?? I don't know what to make of it all, man.
Certainty, please wash me over once more.
Anxious,
J-Stache.
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