I was in a hot tub once, it was boring and slightly inconvenient. It was a big and tiled one, the real deal. I remember I couldn’t sit down because the jets kept making my pelvis rise. I had the same adverse reaction to sauna, skiing, tennis, haute cuisine, and wine tasting. I got scared and went to therapy for two years. Turns out these are all worthless inventions by scumbags who want to hedge their sex opportunities and steal some money along the way.
Hot motherloving tub. Another utterly wasteful contraption that simulates:
- bathing in a volcanic spring without the risk of being eaten by a bear,
- strong continuous underwater flatulence.
The only danger you can encounter in a hot tub is electrocution, heart attack, warts, champagne glass shards stuck in your butt cheeks, and drowning on a downer. The recreational medicines known as uppers and downers used to describe your mood and energy elevation. In recent years, they have been for which side of the water surface you want your nose to be.
Hot tub is a 10-thousand-dollar blue balls scam: “We throw away the clothes, but remain chaste in the eyes of God because this is a therapeutic endeavor. We both like what we’re seeing and we are already touching via the liquid medium. In fact, we’re sharing athlete’s foot and smegma. So if anyone can show a just cause why we may not be genitally joined together, let her speak now or hold peace for the next 30 minutes.” Or for the utterly impatient: “C’mon babe, don’t leave me hangin’.”
There are no blue balls. If it hurts, you are sick or a sissy. Any elaborate scheme of disingenuous attempt to gain sexual gratification is reprehensible. I don’t know how to put it more simply.
Can’t afford your own one? Don’t despair. Enthusiasts who instinctively like to fence areas and round up large groups of people have opened water parks and wellness centers. Endless railings, slippery floors, hazardous edges, curly slides on scaffolding, checkered glass roof, a gaudy mishmash of shapes, colors, and materials, the omnipresent stench of chlorine and urine, screaming children during the day and public copulators in the evening. Read more about it in their brochure:
Eco-friendly, sustainable, green, net-zero carbon paradise.
If you want to know a person, you have to talk to them and listen to their responses. Observe how they treat those who can do nothing for them. And even if they treat them well, they’re usually acting. This can take weeks to investigate, which you can save by asking if they like saunas and hot tubs. Con men, debauchers, and all kinds of wackos say yes.
Doesn’t have to be serious, just a guy who lecherously thanks a female doctor on the phone for remotely signing off his employees for height work and promises to send her a box of sweets. All those players accustomed to get their way in and out of invoices and audiences, larger-than-life characters using a very small vocabulary. No talent, no skill, just learned twaddle, platitudes, and locker room talk outside locker rooms. They are successful because normal people avoid them or surrender to make the lame mushy clackety-clack douchebaggery stop.
I’m certain there are nice, diffident boys and girls who enjoy wellness. Those are the wackos. Beware of them the most, sooner or later disturbing stuff transpires. They’ll arrive with a crossbody fanny pack, whip out an electronic cigarette, and say they like zoos.
NAUGHTY HOTTIE went to a hot tub place on Valentine’s Day 2004. Not with me, I’m not observant. I don’t know what happened there, but she came back crying. Some sort of remorse, I couldn’t understand her through the bawling.