Things I Hate Installation 3: Guys Who Pretend They're Not Pervs

This one really gets The Baron's ire stirred into a thick slurry and shot from the end of a massive hose. Guys who pretend they're not perverts.

Let me present a vignette for your consideration:

You, an uninhibited male, your "wingman" and several lady friends are discussing topics of mutual interest such as shows that suck, how much traffic blows donkey nuts and what men are really thinking about. The final topic comes up so often it ought to be a fundamental constant of nature.

The conversation moves along at an interesting clip, the girls giggle and sometimes blush. Then, the one with the most dominant tits asks:

"So what are you really looking at when you see an attractive woman?"

Your buddy tents his fingers and looks at you, obviously he's not going to speak first.

You are heard to reply:

"Well that really on depends on whether she's walking forwards or backwards."

"What d'ya mean?" She asks, coyly. You're picturing your penis plowing into and out of every hole on her body that would accommodate it and even some that wouldn't.

"Well if she's walking forwards the first thing I'll check is whether there's any MK."

"MK?"

"Moose knuckle. Then I'll check to see if the nips are at attention, then back to the CT, then the thighs, hamdogs again, neck, thighs, ankles, face and back to the milk bar."

"CT?" She's teetering between extreme attraction at your blunt delivery, and courageous vocabulary and revulsion from socio-religious brain washing endured earlier in life. Her snooter is at Defcon 4 (imminent penis bombardment).

"Camel toe. Then if she's walking backwards I throw a quick glance down to check for a PBGS, check the crack, then the cheeks, see if those lucious dimples on a her back are showing, try to get a whiff of her hair, check the ass again and then rearrange my bone so the hole doesn't keep poking the zipper of my jeans."

"PBGS?"

"Peak-a-boo-Growler-Surprise."

At this point her primal reproductive urges are becoming nearly overpowering. Your buddy looks you in the eye. In the first flash you see intense approval, then his demeanor changes and a look of disgust crosses his face. Your blood goes cold, this cock-bag is going to sell you down the river like a common donkey with an uncommon wang-dang-doodle.

"God you're such a pervert. Can you believe what comes out of his mouth." Indicating by pointing the most homosexual part of his thumb at you.

"I...I know, you're such a perv." Confusion flashes across her lickable face and then her prude programming kicks back in. Her clam claps shut like a steel snap dragon and your battleship become flaccid and sinks back into the vinegary nether regions of your loins.

That mother fucker sold your ass out. As if he wasn't thinking the exact same thing. Now nobody gets to whitewash the inside of her back. Nobody gets to explore the geometry of elastic orbs under the influence of gravity and nobody gets to see if the media propaganda is true and the verdant crotch basin really has been deforested.

Because of this PC, treacherous assmaster the purpose of life is obscured behind the spiny branches of prudism and world peace remains a greasy, shaved stoat, forever slipping from the firm, western grip of the brave.