Rising Moons

Back in the good old days, when men were men, women were women, and the sheep were scared………Oh wait a minute,………. wrong story line……

Anyway, back in my younger years, it seemed that there was more order in this world. Everyone had their place and their role in life. Men worked at jobs, women were mothers at home, kids were playing carefree out in the backyard, and the milkman made several visits a day to Mrs. Murphy’s house……… All was well.

Things have changed nowadays, and that was brought home to me last week. I was driving along the street, stopped for a light, when a bicyclist passed me on the left. As she passed, my eyes did the obligatory check. She had nice long brown hair, average upper body size, and a nice firm pair of jeans. As my eyes slid down toward them, I got the shock of my life………


Yes, Venus One and Venus Two were both surging out above the jeans, seeking a little light and exposure.

While at first I thought maybe it was either a bad nightmare, or a one time aberration, my worst fears were confirmed later in the week when I looked over at a young lady bending down to get something out of her car, and saw this nightmare shot again. Seared into my brain, Iā€™m not when this haunting vision will go away.

Over the years, I have come to expect this view from the local plumber or refrigerator repairman. The cheeks, the hairy moons, the crack……..it is indeed an awful sight. However, you knew ahead of their visit to prepare yourself, and as they worked you could avert your eyes and gaze elsewhere in the kitchen. You paid by check, so as not to risk the chance of a stray coin disappearing down the Crevice of the Creature, and you having to fish it out. Plumbers Butt is a terrible sight for the eyes and should be contained in isolated areas, sort of like hazardous waste.

It would be one thing if the pants showed a sliver of decorative derriere. It is a far, far different thing when you see massive angry moons threatening to explode to the sky. If the young women of the world have appropriated this dangerous weapon for their own use, I fear for society. An innocent appreciative glance will run flat smack into Nightmare on Main Street, and Trauma on Aisle 5. No amount of therapy or counseling will be able to repair the psychological damage. Will hairy chests and beer guts be next?

5 thoughts on “Rising Moons”

  1. I refer you to the Cole Porter song (written in the 1930s): “In olden days a glimpse of stocking / was looked on as something shocking / now heaven knows / anything goes.” Inspired wordplay (“when every night the set that’s smart is / intruding in nudist parties/ in studios / anything goes”) and proof that we never do stop shocking ourselves.

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