Thursday, June 25, 2015

Newsletter -- Spud's Hold on Dames

Everything's going so smoothly for me and the editorial team for my newsletter, I'm amazed how blessed I am. So I've put some of the good feelings into tributes to Dashing Danny Whfrf and Stan "Tipsy" White. I wasn't planning to do the others, but since it came up in today's discussions, I know I really should, at least to stifle jealousy.

Today, Spud Tuber. About the best thing I can think about Spud, once I get past his potato-like exterior, is his reputation with dames. According to him, when he's not in prison there's constantly dames at his side, day and night. What they're doing all day, I don't know, but he's hinted enough about the night that it all sounds pretty exciting.

I look at him and, to me, there's a disconnect; I don't see him as that great. Which is obviously the difference between me and dames. But one thing I do like is the chance to study his type. I've reached one thrilling conclusion so far -- and I may be writing a book about it -- is this, Dames can't help liking him.

Here's a few hints as to how my book might go: Speaking in evolutionary terms, a guy like Spud is valuable, acting as a kind of pressure valve for the group. In nature, men want to breed for the preservation of the group, and that's it. But there's always going to be dames, and they're looking for the guy who throws caution (and prudence) to the wind and is willing to mate with anyone. So a guy like Spud keeps the dames happy and helps preserve the men's stamina for actual breeding. Spud says he has no sons.

Spud's also represents the stud in our group, then, although I have not relaxed the restriction on any of my four prison-workers to not lay a hand on our female staff member, The Lady. And at this point, evolution or no evolution, I can't see myself relaxing the restriction, not so much because of Spud, but because the other three wouldn't understand the distinction. They've been in lock-up, they'd be all over her. I wouldn't like that.

So, let's give a few minutes for a tribute to Spud Tuber. To me, yes, he has rugged looks, a little good, a little bad, depending on how the light hits him. In the shadows his crags have too many dips. In the light, the sheen keeps the eye traveling on the surface and he's not so bad. But looks aren't everything.

What about personality? I've always thought half of sex appeal has to do with your personality. In this area, I think Spud must have a different persona when he's out with dames and hoping to score. Because to me his personality tends to be on the brusque side. It's easy to rub him the wrong way, then the temptation is to throw his weight around in a bullish way. He has intelligence, though, because he always knows his work release privileges are on the line.

What's he like with the dames? I have a limited view but I see a lot of confidence. Spud is a man who's seen his share of love, lust, and the various combinations. It's easy to imagine him in a fancy nightclub, a dame on each arm, approaching the bar, calling out the bartender by name, and treating everyone. Whereas, you put me there, I'd be shy and be asking the bartender nicely for a drink, lest he get too surly for having been overworked.

What's Spud like with the dames when they're alone? I can only speculate, since this is where men generally like to be alone with their thoughts. They don't tell. Still, what's a Super Brain for if I can't guess? Spud's obviously in the relationship for himself, detached from the dame's feelings. The dames think anyone that detached has to be rich. So they're throwing themselves at him. Only to find out later, when the police show up later putting the pinch on him, that he's just a potato with a record, and out past the work release curfew to boot.

For those fleeting moments, however, Spud's the dame's dream, the dame's all. The dame is fluttering her eyelids, flexing her wiles, putting on a show, hoping to haul in, far from any other dame's hungered grasp, a male specimen to match the gods. Spud lets them dream, until that magic moment 45 minutes in when he devotes 15 minutes to blowing his top.

"Oh, baby," he coos, in that magic potato guttural tone he takes, "You got it goin' on," before emitting a satisfied, extended breath of relief. "That oughta hold me for a day."

Do I admire Spud Tuber, the Potato Man? You better believe I do. I can't see any reason now or into the distant future why he and I wouldn't be on the best of terms. I'll have him on my team as long as he'll stay. And doesn't touch The Lady.

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