I just want to go to a club and find the man of my dreams, the kind of man with a bedazzled behind. He is the highest pick of them all. He is communicating to you that he can take care of you for your life that’s why he’s showing off his riches in the form of rhinestones on either his flared jeans or affliction fallen angel shirt. Think of it like a peacock. I want his arm to be as big as my thigh, just because. Protein! Protein! Protein! I want to hear him walk by, sort of like a cat collar with a bell on it, so his shoes must have a heel and extra pointy. I always look when I hear that manly clicking sound. His smell must fill my nostrils with a powerful odor that can out odor any others. The smell needs to go inside my brain so I am not thinking of anything else but his smell. I have to taste it, that’s how powerful it must be. His hair must be so full of product that smoking is a hazard because it may be flammable. I need to know that my man’s hair will not move no matter how strong the wind; it must be able to withstand tornado weather.
The man for me knows how to dance. Body rolls for days and days. And you can’t forget about the all-important fist pump. You know he is sparking the romance with that fist. I really enjoy when he, without permission (because I don’t really know what I want), starts to grind all up on me. I love it. I can’t get enough of it. It turns me onto love like blood to sharks. I know he is asking me to be his future wife. I especially enjoy the dry humping it’s so romantic it makes my heart shiver in a good way.
When he’s buying me endless drinks to the point of forgetting where I am I know it’s out of love. He cares so much about me he wants to be my guide for the night, and eventually life. Where else does love come from other than the club?
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