Now that I live in the bucolic Gram Ponante Towers, Aviary, Helipad, and Lobster Hatchery, the women who come and go from my Porn Supremacist Compound never return with tales that construction workers or passersby of a certain nationality in various eastern seaboard megalopolises in which we’ve lived demanded they “smile”.
I will try to reconstruct an exchange from several years ago.
“I walked by these guys selling fruit and they were all like ‘Smile!'”
“Well did you?”
“I told them to fuck off.”
I side with the ladies on this one, but with reservation. Unless she was playing guitar in the subway and her dour expression prevented her from getting the tips that would furnish our family’s MD 20/20, no one should tell her to smile, Further, I believe in America more than allowing for a man’s only recourse in troubled times to come from telling an attractive woman what to do.
But then I think: Jesus Christ. They were selling oranges in the Bowery. Would it have killed you?
It is a puzzlement. NB: No one needs to tell me to smile, because I have jazz hands.
Thus we have Platinum Blue’s Black in Business, starring Vida Valentine. What is Valentine doing? Not smiling. Some day I might approach someone at an event (probably a Stop & Shop opening) and say, “I am going to fuck that sour expression off your face” but if I wanted a movie about sex with the Sullen, I’d watch Corruption again.
Previously: Perfectly Cruel to be kind; Diver Down; Fleshy obstacles in the workplace
See also: Platinum Blue
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