Crave

 Crave: (v) to long for

I am very familiar with three great cravings.

They are not unique to me nor can they be labeled by the simple titles “good and evil.” But I know that all three of these have, do and funny wisdom on words that begin with a Cprobably will wiggle their way into my thinking and manifest themselves as desires.

The trouble is, each craving demands that I take on a certain responsibility. Or maybe “responsibility” is over-spoken. It’s actually more like a chore.

1. I crave orgasm.

It feels good. It’s a pleasant burst. There’s just enough unpredictable about it that each encounter possesses uniqueness. It is a few brief seconds when I no longer care that I am human, and I allow all the animal stoked deep inside me to roar.

With this craving comes a chore. It’s called sex. Although we insist that sex is pleasurable, it is actually the orgasm that brings the ecstasy, and to achieve that we go through the practice, interaction, danger and mediocrity of sexual relations with another person.

This certainly is why masturbation is so popular.

2. I crave companionship.

The chore that comes with this particular quest is people.

Yes, unless I plan on having just dogs, cats and miscellaneous domesticated animals surrounding me, unable to carry on conversations, I will have to learn, understand and tolerate the actions of other Homo Sapiens.

The payoff is great, but the process is—well, shall we say, unending.

3. I crave immortality.

The chore with this, if you will, is dealing with God.

There is no evidence that I possess any likelihood of longevity beyond a century without a belief in an eternal home.

God becomes problematic.

He is so loving that He includes fools, religionists, shysters and the most boring theologians ever conjured in a seminary.

In my craving for orgasm, companionship and immortality I must survive the chores of sex, people and God.

There are times when I wonder if it’s worth it.

There are occasions I wish to be free of the entanglements and the conditions brought on in satisfying my cravings.

But usually, a good nap, a meal or allowing my mind to be free of pressure makes me once again a willing participant in the pursuit of what I crave.


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Corduroy

Corduroy: (adj) a cotton-filling pile fabric with lengthwise cords or ridges.

As a young man–being a chubby threatening to be a tubby–I was always looking for an advantage that would open the door to girls whom my basic features had failed fail to attract.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C
I
noticed that women liked to touch soft things, so at a thrift store I found a really plush, thick turtleneck sweater. Girls loved to run their hands up and down it. My thesis was, once they got accustomed to feeling my sweater, touching me might not seem so repugnant.

I found the same thing to be true with corduroy pants—what they referred to as the wide-wale ones. The ladies loved to reach over and stoke my leg, feeling the material.

I had no objection.

I was young—a simple touch on the knee was like an express train with the destination “Ecstasy.”

Here was the problem, though, with my corduroy pants: I had plump thighs, so when I walked my legs rubbed together and wore out the corduroy on the inside. In no time at all, I had the top of my legs covered with corduroy and the inside of my thighs looking like the cheapest cotton ever picked in Dixie.

Pretty soon it became noticeable that my pants were two different textures. Even more obvious was what caused the loss of the corduroy.

So what began as a grand plan to make connection with dear women ended up only pointing out to them that my portly limbs had totally destroyed my corduroy appeal.


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