Riding the Slipstream

Have you ever felt really pumped up and wanted to share what can only be described as THE GREATEST NEWS with another person, yet when you do, the words fail you and you cannot fully do justice to the emotions you are experiencing? Well, it happened to me last night. I wanted to share what seemed to me the “muvver” of all news with the gf. Since being made aware of this SPECTACULAR event yesterday morning , it was the only thing I could think about the entire and I literally had to pinch myself to stop me from calling her and spilling the beans on the phone. So finally last night, after what seemed to be the longest day of the year, I go over to her place to “surprise” her with me wonderful news and guess what? After breaking it to her, she looks at me with that painful “uh-is-that-it-!" expression on her face! She could not have been less enthusiastic had I told her my penis had fallen off and that I would have to undergo a sex change. I know now what it feels like to be hit in the face with a cannonball. Still not fazed by her somewhat modest enthusiasm, I tried to coax a more spirited response outta her. I only wanted ONE tiny little squeal of delight, dammit… only one!! It only made things worse… end result… a major argument ensued and now she is not speaking to me. And yours truly is nursing a bruised ego right about the size of the Titanic. Oy… take me away from all the drama! It got me thinking though. Why the hell was it so difficult to adequately express and put into words the intense and overwhelming excitement streaming through the veins of my body? Last night, the ideas and the richness of my thoughts were broken and obliterated through language. Why can’t the verbal do justice to the fullness and richness of the thoughts that swirls around our brains? All the emotion and energy that builds up inside of us are lost when our thoughts are translated into language. Sometimes I think our ancestors were better off grunting, moaning, yelling and using the occasional “nnngh!” when speaking to one another. How much is there to misinterpret when language consists of a dozen different grunts and moans pitched in as many tones and nuances? On the rare occasion someone could not understand you, there was always the old faithful club. When you did not get the desired response, all you had to do was take out your club, smack him on the head and “voila!” the point got across. Whack!… take that be-atch! Now go home and nurse that big lump on your head and see me back here in tomorrow morning. And if you still don’t see my point, well there’s plenty more where that came from. I read somewhere that women are linguistically superior to men and that is why we men prefer to settle our differences with our fists. Women prefer to talk about things which can explain why they are always yelling and are able to make us do things we don't really want to do. I know I should prolly apologise for what happened afterwards, but I am still a little “tender” from last night’s lashing so I guess I’ll let it simmer for a little while longer. I still think she could have faked it… if only to keep me happy. Women do it all the time, which is why men are always happy after they've had sex. Yeah… I know… I am such a baby… ww-a-a-a-a-h!