TBTE: Week 17
TELL ME, HUMAN. WHAT DO YOU THINK THE BEST THING EVER IS???
THIS WEEK'S DEATHMATCH:
You feel it. The tingle. The burn. The thrill of not knowing if you're going to publicly humiliate yourself via your urethra imploding and violently spraying urine all the way down your perfectly-pressed khaki slacks. You do the dance, the one that makes you look like a total fool, but simultaneously connects with others who have undoubtedly experienced the same thing and are silently rooting for you to get to a bathroom in time. And then you get there. You arrive at your sparkling ivory throne of porcelain. You swoop in like a bird of prey, and you nearly moan in micturating ecstasy unrivaled by other lesser, simpler carnal pleasures. But it is ephemeral, only a brief joy, whereas the relief you feel when you finally zip up and walk out of the bathroom is lasting, your confidence overwhelming as your chest swells and you glance about your immediate area with a renewed vigor and confidence that you can indeed take on the day without the bothers of lesser men (and women) -- at least until you've had your second cup of coffee and need to return. But dammit, for that duration, you are a god.
There is nothing worse than waking up suffocating in your own hair-juice, nose-grease, and stray hair. Your face is oily, your body feels like you've just run a marathon while having sex with a bear, and my god, are you wearing socks in bed, too? No relief seems to be in sight and you slowly feel your soul crushed as you try desperately to return to sleep and trick yourself into thinking you're not drowning in your body's own disgusting secretions, but your brain says no because FUCK YOU. Now imagine you could avoid all of this. Imagine sheets that have been thermodynamically calibrated to achieve the perfect temperature every single time.
Imagine you sliding in, one leg at a time, to like, 9001-count sheets made of silk and cotton and fluffy bunnies and dreams and starlight, and your body is swaddled in comfort, allowing you to slowly achieve the perfect sleeping equilibrium. This, too, is fleeting like all good -- nay, great
things are, but imagine that feeling every single night, awaiting you with more fidelity than that cheating whore of a husband/wife you have. That feeling. It can be yours. It should
be yours. You deserve it, buddy.
Last week's winner:Irresistible charm and charisma
-- because why spend on money what you can coax out of people in a suave and lovably arrogant way? You show-off!