The Native American young man had asked the father of a woman in the tribe for his daughter’s hand in marriage. As was the custom in this tribe, the father of the bride would assign a certain dowry that the suitor needed to give him in order to be accepted to marry his daughter. Because his daughter was not considered “a great catch,” not excelling in any particular skill and not endowed with what one would call “standard beauty,” the assigned dowry was for a single horse, which really wasn’t considered much.
That night the young man snuck into a rivaling tribe’s encampment and stole twenty-four horses. The next day, in front of the whole tribe, he presented all twenty-four horses to the father. The father was surprised by the gift and said to the suitor, “I told you that the dowry was for just one horse. Why did you give me twenty-four horses?”
The young man responded, “I only had one day. If I had more time I would have gotten more. I want my future wife to know that I value her more than all the horses in the world. ”
Ninja came over and brought me a chocolate bar called “The Chocolate Conspiracy,” probably because she knows I like chocolate and am a conspiracy realist. Coincidentally, I had met the young man who was the founder of the company at the last couple of raw food festivals at which I had presented. It cost $6.99 for a 2 oz. bar of chocolate. I asked Ninja incredulously, clearly still tainted by my Jewish past, “You spent $6.99 for a chocolate bar??”
She said, “You are worth it.” And suddenly I felt like an ugly Indian fiancé with no talent whose father had just been given twenty-four horses.
So then you “like” someone based on what, an act of consideration? And if I wrote an act of inconsideration, which there are many from he– like the fact that I haven’t heard from her in six days despite me texting and calling and emailing that I am worried about her–would you not “like” her?
If I write something funny or “deep” do you then “like” me? If I write a piece that is lame, do you not? That kind of “like” is fair-weathered and doesn’t survive the storms. I have experienced COUNTLESS times, which doesn’t say much as I can’t count above my ten fingers, ten toes and two penises (or is it penii?) people who claim to “like” me and when I stop speaking words that feed their ego’s identification, they no longer “like” me. Some fag fitness coordinator told me, “I really like your energy. I would like for us to be friends,” during my interview. He later fired me because he was a pussy who saw that I wasn’t going to kneel down before his fishy smell. “Gee, still like my energy? Wanna hang out as friends now, bitch?”
Why don’t we all just take the people out of the equation and just react to the situation at hand.
“Your words made me smile.” Great.
“Your words pissed me off.” Better.
But don’t “like” me based on words. That’s just being a word whore.
“I felt really happy when you did that.” Fantastik.
“I like you because you did that.” Clorox.
“I don’t like you because you wrote a stupid comment.” Flakey.
“I like you because you voiced your approval.” Ego.
What a disposable society we live in. Your comment treats my words and characters like a used condom. At least have the decency to rub my clit as you fuck me in the ass.
And for the record, this comment was much “meaner” than anything I wrote to Dizzy about her cult of Cross-tianity. But I know that, unlike Dizzy, Kitty won’t write me off because I slapped her; Kitty Kat’s an S&M bitch and likes a little beating.
Good points.
(Except the S&M part. I really prefer a tickle to a slap. But I do like the taste of vinegar and salt, occasionally.)