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Notes05/28/2021
FioreMarina
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FioreMarina
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106
Live from the poison cabinet: a policy critique.
*Preliminary note: This text could be perceived by sensitive readers as not politically correct in parts. This is a stylistic device of satire and not intended to hurt feelings. Who feels endangered: just click away!*
"For real, yo. Guys, I do not want to offend you. But - are you actually serious? So: do you stand by what you are doing? Is that all you have to offer? I mean, let's be honest: You use stuff that has names like "Not A Perfume", and you know what? It's even true! Because half of you don't smell it. And the other half, well, they are proud as hell because they only smell something for a quarter of an hour, that's all it lasts. You spray this imposition on yourself in homeopathic doses and that's elegant. But I always say: what's the use of all that understatement if no one notices?
And then your funny political correctness: rejoice like children, because you can artificially produce oud, while the original already smells like the underpants of my old man. And because the whole thing is just not beautiful, you quickly declare it art and discuss it here as if it were a Picasso. Man man.
The strongest thing you have in store is your stupid Baccarat Rouge, sorry, I can't remember the numbers behind it. You comment on it three times a week. It's got a kick, hasn't it? He's got balls, you say. Really? He's got balls?
I'll tell you something: I've got a kick. If a three-ingredient scent is going to knock you off your feet, you'd better buckle up. And I'll tell you something else: if you're planning to take me apart now, like you like to do here: just leave it. Seriously, I don't want to hear about "spice box" "sweet pea dipped in honey". I mean, hello? Are you okay? Would you listen to the sound of that? I mean, sure, it's true, I'm a freakin' cutie... but hey! You don't say that out loud if you have any decency. And to the smart people who think this is tuberose..: What the hell else am I supposed to smell like? I fucking smell like tuberose because it's the strongest flower you can get. All right? While I'm at it, I'll say something about my base: It's as wide as a horse's ass. And that thing that's bringing tears to your eyes is called sandalwood. From real sandalwood trees or whatever they're called, at least not like the synthetic shit you put on it. Where my amber comes from, I'd rather not tell you - otherwise you'll have bad dreams.
So, that's how it is with me. But as I said: I don't like it when you mess with me. I am what I am, namely a total work of art. All you need to know about me is..: I make sure you get noticed in the club. From the bouncer to the guys in the back room, they'll all know you're there. I'll party with you all night. I'll be there till the bitter end. And when you're hanging over the toilet bowl puking the next noon, guess what: Yeah, baby - then I'll still be there.
Girlz or Boyz? That's another dumb question. Where I come from, it looks like this: there Jon Bon Jovi and Tina Turner shared the wardrobe. They had the same hairdresser anyway. They wear the rosary around their neck and the Russian cross is tattooed from shoulder blade to shoulder blade, the rouge is also used as song shadow and if the mini goes more than four centimeters over the butt cheek, you're just a square. The Rocky-Horror-Picture-Show is not a cult. It's a daily routine. Dude, is that sexy? Yes, it is. And if you can't take it, then buy a knitting kit and sign up for a support group.
It's just, I'm fucking strong stuff. But something better than me has not yet come under your nose. And it ain't gonna come again, I'll tell you that. Some jokers call it slimming me down. That's an outrage. Only the original is the original and don't say you don't have the guts. Meet me, get to know me while you still can. And if you can't, let's meet in the perfume hall of fame. That's where I have a permanent seat End of announcement
PS: Many thanks to Sebà, who reminded me of this treasure and to TinkiB, who sold me your Vintage Poison. I can't get out of flashbacks ever since.
And thanks to the brave for reading!
"For real, yo. Guys, I do not want to offend you. But - are you actually serious? So: do you stand by what you are doing? Is that all you have to offer? I mean, let's be honest: You use stuff that has names like "Not A Perfume", and you know what? It's even true! Because half of you don't smell it. And the other half, well, they are proud as hell because they only smell something for a quarter of an hour, that's all it lasts. You spray this imposition on yourself in homeopathic doses and that's elegant. But I always say: what's the use of all that understatement if no one notices?
And then your funny political correctness: rejoice like children, because you can artificially produce oud, while the original already smells like the underpants of my old man. And because the whole thing is just not beautiful, you quickly declare it art and discuss it here as if it were a Picasso. Man man.
The strongest thing you have in store is your stupid Baccarat Rouge, sorry, I can't remember the numbers behind it. You comment on it three times a week. It's got a kick, hasn't it? He's got balls, you say. Really? He's got balls?
I'll tell you something: I've got a kick. If a three-ingredient scent is going to knock you off your feet, you'd better buckle up. And I'll tell you something else: if you're planning to take me apart now, like you like to do here: just leave it. Seriously, I don't want to hear about "spice box" "sweet pea dipped in honey". I mean, hello? Are you okay? Would you listen to the sound of that? I mean, sure, it's true, I'm a freakin' cutie... but hey! You don't say that out loud if you have any decency. And to the smart people who think this is tuberose..: What the hell else am I supposed to smell like? I fucking smell like tuberose because it's the strongest flower you can get. All right? While I'm at it, I'll say something about my base: It's as wide as a horse's ass. And that thing that's bringing tears to your eyes is called sandalwood. From real sandalwood trees or whatever they're called, at least not like the synthetic shit you put on it. Where my amber comes from, I'd rather not tell you - otherwise you'll have bad dreams.
So, that's how it is with me. But as I said: I don't like it when you mess with me. I am what I am, namely a total work of art. All you need to know about me is..: I make sure you get noticed in the club. From the bouncer to the guys in the back room, they'll all know you're there. I'll party with you all night. I'll be there till the bitter end. And when you're hanging over the toilet bowl puking the next noon, guess what: Yeah, baby - then I'll still be there.
Girlz or Boyz? That's another dumb question. Where I come from, it looks like this: there Jon Bon Jovi and Tina Turner shared the wardrobe. They had the same hairdresser anyway. They wear the rosary around their neck and the Russian cross is tattooed from shoulder blade to shoulder blade, the rouge is also used as song shadow and if the mini goes more than four centimeters over the butt cheek, you're just a square. The Rocky-Horror-Picture-Show is not a cult. It's a daily routine. Dude, is that sexy? Yes, it is. And if you can't take it, then buy a knitting kit and sign up for a support group.
It's just, I'm fucking strong stuff. But something better than me has not yet come under your nose. And it ain't gonna come again, I'll tell you that. Some jokers call it slimming me down. That's an outrage. Only the original is the original and don't say you don't have the guts. Meet me, get to know me while you still can. And if you can't, let's meet in the perfume hall of fame. That's where I have a permanent seat End of announcement
PS: Many thanks to Sebà, who reminded me of this treasure and to TinkiB, who sold me your Vintage Poison. I can't get out of flashbacks ever since.
And thanks to the brave for reading!
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