Without sluts, some folks would never get laid.

One of my favorite reads, Murphy has a roomate that she defines as a slut. As someone that has had the Roomate(s) from Hell, I can commiserate with her on how having a roomie who's personality is contrary to her own can wear on you, but sluttery (sluttitude...slutality?) is not necessarily a bad thing.

Take for instance, Mr. Combover. You know him. You see him in the coffee room every morning. He looks sloppy, is unclear on which end of the anti-perspirant/deodorant actually works on B.O., and couldn't dress worse if he tried. Some night, he'll be sitting at a bar, getting drunk because he hates his life, and is convinced that he's going to die before he ever gets laid again, and along will come a slut.

She'll be hammered, of course; stumbling, slurring her words, and just horny enough to strike up a conversation with said loser. He'll be charming (in his mind), and will eventually win her over (again, in his mind). They'll go back to his place...Never hers....She knows how that will turn out, and have sweaty, greasy sex.

He'll awake in the morning, feeling better about himself, and perhaps the world in general. She'll awake with a tounge that tastes like a litter box, a head throbbing like a sump pump, and wondering where the HELL she is. She'll have no regrets, and blame it on the booze....which is what she always does, and the world will move on.

Two people, one given a new lease on life, another just cruising through. But, the affirmation is there. Of course, there are male sluts too, and the circumstances are pretty much the same.

Now, I have no idea about the quality of Murphy's roomates lovers (nor the quantity for that matter), but perhaps she's just spreading love in her own way. Helping out those that might never get laid, but for the sluts.

Anyhow, that's what's been on my mind all day, and I thought I'd share.

Fuego y queso,

T.