4ajbukoshka
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Today we mourn Booktok Draco and wasted potential
When Tshajbukoshka wonders where in life he took a wrong turn and simultaneously realizes that the number of his moves corresponds to the number of his years lived, with half of the former occurring before his tenth birthday, he turns 30 tomorrow and seriously thought one could trust the QVC of the 21st century for recommendations, thaaaaaaen he must whine and rant, and that’s what he does here.
Enemies of meta-descriptions and digressions, beware, because Tshajbukoshka is still let loose on the public:
Oud for Happiness approached Tshajbukoshka in the form of a fanciful encounter, specifically: Dracotok 2020. Hands down, you were there too. And if you weren’t, at some point you had a crush that you’re ashamed of today - or maybe not. Salem clicks his tongue and puts the kettle on. So, Tshajbukoshka and Draco Malfoy, thanks to Alfonso Cuaron - or damn it, depending on your perspective.
How Draco Malfoy is supposed to smell: sophisticated, elegant, skillful, without trying too hard, hashtag Old Money, a bit of a Bad Boy, morally gray and (sorrynotsorry) uuuuunbelievably good-looking, at least in the universes of AO3/Fanfiction and Booktok.
Someone probably came up with this who secretly worked in marketing at Initio or has some unresolved issues with the Draco Malfoys of this world, because
Draco would NEVER use a sledgehammer as perfume, what is going on? Ginger hits you like foster mother number four (too bad, we would have loved to sing a round of Mambo No. 5 right now, more on that shortly), roaring in your face after you’ve eaten her favorite pudding, so that you know exactly what she had for lunch today and when she last brushed her teeth. Tshajbukoshka also claims that he can narrow down a person’s age by their bad breath - is that true? Or is it more about counting wrinkles?
Waaaaruuum like this? Um, yeah. We briefly speculate: deterrence, demonstration of dominance… vaffanculo, Mister DLM doesn’t need that at all? Why so unfriendly, sharp, and… straw-dry?
He shows that he’s not to be trifled with and presents himself from a striking side. Not for the faint of heart, who would have thought! Since when is Oud so dry, so close to bursting into flames on a hot day? Huh? Is this still Oud or can it be used as firewood? Sparks are literally flying here, but neither in insight nor enlightenment.
Confusion spreads in the Tshajbuverse. Salem is not amused. Even the impression of licorice (we love it, we agree with Cimi) doesn’t save us.
Mambo No. 5 sounds like a not too far-fetched reference, because apparently one must bring a lot of self-confidence and a corresponding presence to not drown in Oud for Happiness and to attract a few Jessicas, Ericas, or just people who don’t want to hit you over the head with a frying pan and impose an endless ban on you - because you always get what you radiate. Or something like that.
Mister OFH (!= DLM) has a stuffy, almost suffocating presence, so we remain curious about what kind of resonance will come our way.
The only thing that fits here with Draco Malfoy is the design of the bottle, and even this reference is so clumsy and cliché that Salem and I have unanimously decided that Draco Malfoy doesn’t use perfume to avoid confusing the migratory birds (save the planet), since he’s always flying around on his broom and all. Nevertheless, the bottle is practically Grande Amore, looks good, is heavy and pretty and all that, and Salem...? He has always said that only Nivea is sold on TikTok and Tshajbukoshka takes them all.
At this point, a toast to the souk, which spared us the shame of a blind buy.
Enemies of meta-descriptions and digressions, beware, because Tshajbukoshka is still let loose on the public:
Oud for Happiness approached Tshajbukoshka in the form of a fanciful encounter, specifically: Dracotok 2020. Hands down, you were there too. And if you weren’t, at some point you had a crush that you’re ashamed of today - or maybe not. Salem clicks his tongue and puts the kettle on. So, Tshajbukoshka and Draco Malfoy, thanks to Alfonso Cuaron - or damn it, depending on your perspective.
How Draco Malfoy is supposed to smell: sophisticated, elegant, skillful, without trying too hard, hashtag Old Money, a bit of a Bad Boy, morally gray and (sorrynotsorry) uuuuunbelievably good-looking, at least in the universes of AO3/Fanfiction and Booktok.
Someone probably came up with this who secretly worked in marketing at Initio or has some unresolved issues with the Draco Malfoys of this world, because
Draco would NEVER use a sledgehammer as perfume, what is going on? Ginger hits you like foster mother number four (too bad, we would have loved to sing a round of Mambo No. 5 right now, more on that shortly), roaring in your face after you’ve eaten her favorite pudding, so that you know exactly what she had for lunch today and when she last brushed her teeth. Tshajbukoshka also claims that he can narrow down a person’s age by their bad breath - is that true? Or is it more about counting wrinkles?
Waaaaruuum like this? Um, yeah. We briefly speculate: deterrence, demonstration of dominance… vaffanculo, Mister DLM doesn’t need that at all? Why so unfriendly, sharp, and… straw-dry?
He shows that he’s not to be trifled with and presents himself from a striking side. Not for the faint of heart, who would have thought! Since when is Oud so dry, so close to bursting into flames on a hot day? Huh? Is this still Oud or can it be used as firewood? Sparks are literally flying here, but neither in insight nor enlightenment.
Confusion spreads in the Tshajbuverse. Salem is not amused. Even the impression of licorice (we love it, we agree with Cimi) doesn’t save us.
Mambo No. 5 sounds like a not too far-fetched reference, because apparently one must bring a lot of self-confidence and a corresponding presence to not drown in Oud for Happiness and to attract a few Jessicas, Ericas, or just people who don’t want to hit you over the head with a frying pan and impose an endless ban on you - because you always get what you radiate. Or something like that.
Mister OFH (!= DLM) has a stuffy, almost suffocating presence, so we remain curious about what kind of resonance will come our way.
The only thing that fits here with Draco Malfoy is the design of the bottle, and even this reference is so clumsy and cliché that Salem and I have unanimously decided that Draco Malfoy doesn’t use perfume to avoid confusing the migratory birds (save the planet), since he’s always flying around on his broom and all. Nevertheless, the bottle is practically Grande Amore, looks good, is heavy and pretty and all that, and Salem...? He has always said that only Nivea is sold on TikTok and Tshajbukoshka takes them all.
At this point, a toast to the souk, which spared us the shame of a blind buy.
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Translated · Show original
Eloise Midgen. Expectation vs. Reality or why it’s actually unnecessary.
Eloise Midgeon. Eloise Midgen? All the same. Not even a consistent name could be given to her throughout the book series. In Russian, by the way, she is called Eloisa. She was certainly the one with the severe acne. The one Ron didn’t want to go to the Yule Ball with, even though she was supposed to be sweet and pleasant company, according to others at least.
You can only attend the Yule Ball starting in fourth grade, unless someone from the Fourth or Fifth invites a younger person.
As a fourth grader and probably at the age of 15, which is how old Tshajbukoshka would have been in fourth grade at Hogwarts, she would have probably liked ‘Passion’.
But after all this time? - Get out of here with that stuff.
Eloise Midgeon accidentally hexed her nose off while trying to get rid of her acne. The acne was apparently made up just like her role by a very loving actress.
And for what?
To be briefly seen in the background and mentioned with a nasty implication regarding her appearance.
Not inviting girls or generally people to prestigious events because of skin issues seems almost prepubescent, and it is. And here we are again with ‘Passion’, this time even quite directly. The transition from baby shampoo to independence, to one’s own perfume. Yes: baby shampoo - or cream. There’s a scent in the background that is reminiscent of one of those baby care lines with light blue packaging (there are many, we know).
If you want aquatic, you have to jump into the Great Lake yourself, which isn’t even a problem for Tshajbukoshka, because they don’t like aquatic scents in the Tshajbu household anyway. It smells sweet. Sickly sweet, but somehow without concept, without transformation. Without magic, without passion. Even the cats on TikTok that once danced to ‘More passion, more energy, more footwork’ understood the principle that seems to have not reached the self-proclaimed ‘parfum lovers’, maybe they escaped the marketing department of Zara and are now playing the mischief-makers here, just without the solemn swearing. Here, you can only celebrate the bottle and the packaging.
By the way (addendum): The bottle looks SUSPICIOUSLY like the one from a scene in the first few minutes of ‘Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince’, when Albus Dumbledore stands in front of an advertisement for the Muggle perfume ‘Magic Divine’. At least someone did their homework on the bottle design, but unfortunately only there.
So one can be disappointed by the rest, by Ron, who behaves like a superficial jerk, by Eloise Midgen and her acne of doom, because she wasn’t allowed to pay anyone back for it - and by whatever has been produced here. Maybe Ron would have given Lavender ‘Passion’ for Valentine’s Day, then at least there would be a legitimizing reference. Maybe Umbridge would have used it as a room fragrance. Maybe.
Not only maybe are the OG Potterheads no longer 14, 15, or eleven years old. They might want to get empty bottles and fill them with something pleasant (or design both themselves or directly look for something where BOTH is true). Or imitate Eloise Midgen and accidentally hex their noses off while performing ‘Passions’.
Tshajbukoshka is disappointed. So deeply disappointed. Maybe it could be read between the lines, maybe it needed to be explicitly mentioned again. This stuff is shallow and light and yet so unpleasant that one wouldn’t want to endure it permanently. It annoys with its undefinable, seemingly vomited-up flower water from a drunken mountain troll and this unpleasant, ostentatiously sweet scent.
Something new has been thrown onto the market and of course, the target audience, which has already purchased waffle irons, cooking spoons, keychains, hair ties, and all other practical everyday items - to which Tshajbukoshka also counts a huge Hogwarts castle made from famous building blocks - that can be acquired under the license of the ‘Wizarding World’, JKR’s in-house brand, immediately let their credit cards burn, only to plummet to the ground like a feather (or literally any other object and person) that Neville levitated into the air and then forgot for a moment.
Sorry Neville, we actually love you. But we do not love ‘Passion’. Then we’d rather take Eloise Midgen, of whom we know hardly anything and who didn’t even appear in the film credits, let alone as an actress in this role, to the next party or straight to the honeymoon.
-------------
Source for the perfume bottle from the poster in the 6th film: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/wiki/Divine_Magic?file=Magic_Sign.jpg
You can only attend the Yule Ball starting in fourth grade, unless someone from the Fourth or Fifth invites a younger person.
As a fourth grader and probably at the age of 15, which is how old Tshajbukoshka would have been in fourth grade at Hogwarts, she would have probably liked ‘Passion’.
But after all this time? - Get out of here with that stuff.
Eloise Midgeon accidentally hexed her nose off while trying to get rid of her acne. The acne was apparently made up just like her role by a very loving actress.
And for what?
To be briefly seen in the background and mentioned with a nasty implication regarding her appearance.
Not inviting girls or generally people to prestigious events because of skin issues seems almost prepubescent, and it is. And here we are again with ‘Passion’, this time even quite directly. The transition from baby shampoo to independence, to one’s own perfume. Yes: baby shampoo - or cream. There’s a scent in the background that is reminiscent of one of those baby care lines with light blue packaging (there are many, we know).
If you want aquatic, you have to jump into the Great Lake yourself, which isn’t even a problem for Tshajbukoshka, because they don’t like aquatic scents in the Tshajbu household anyway. It smells sweet. Sickly sweet, but somehow without concept, without transformation. Without magic, without passion. Even the cats on TikTok that once danced to ‘More passion, more energy, more footwork’ understood the principle that seems to have not reached the self-proclaimed ‘parfum lovers’, maybe they escaped the marketing department of Zara and are now playing the mischief-makers here, just without the solemn swearing. Here, you can only celebrate the bottle and the packaging.
By the way (addendum): The bottle looks SUSPICIOUSLY like the one from a scene in the first few minutes of ‘Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince’, when Albus Dumbledore stands in front of an advertisement for the Muggle perfume ‘Magic Divine’. At least someone did their homework on the bottle design, but unfortunately only there.
So one can be disappointed by the rest, by Ron, who behaves like a superficial jerk, by Eloise Midgen and her acne of doom, because she wasn’t allowed to pay anyone back for it - and by whatever has been produced here. Maybe Ron would have given Lavender ‘Passion’ for Valentine’s Day, then at least there would be a legitimizing reference. Maybe Umbridge would have used it as a room fragrance. Maybe.
Not only maybe are the OG Potterheads no longer 14, 15, or eleven years old. They might want to get empty bottles and fill them with something pleasant (or design both themselves or directly look for something where BOTH is true). Or imitate Eloise Midgen and accidentally hex their noses off while performing ‘Passions’.
Tshajbukoshka is disappointed. So deeply disappointed. Maybe it could be read between the lines, maybe it needed to be explicitly mentioned again. This stuff is shallow and light and yet so unpleasant that one wouldn’t want to endure it permanently. It annoys with its undefinable, seemingly vomited-up flower water from a drunken mountain troll and this unpleasant, ostentatiously sweet scent.
Something new has been thrown onto the market and of course, the target audience, which has already purchased waffle irons, cooking spoons, keychains, hair ties, and all other practical everyday items - to which Tshajbukoshka also counts a huge Hogwarts castle made from famous building blocks - that can be acquired under the license of the ‘Wizarding World’, JKR’s in-house brand, immediately let their credit cards burn, only to plummet to the ground like a feather (or literally any other object and person) that Neville levitated into the air and then forgot for a moment.
Sorry Neville, we actually love you. But we do not love ‘Passion’. Then we’d rather take Eloise Midgen, of whom we know hardly anything and who didn’t even appear in the film credits, let alone as an actress in this role, to the next party or straight to the honeymoon.
-------------
Source for the perfume bottle from the poster in the 6th film: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/wiki/Divine_Magic?file=Magic_Sign.jpg
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Translated · Show original
Uninspired floral-fruity something
If you expect Dramione and get film-Hinny:
Blood-red packaging, made of velvet, not so fine
Courage promises you to be something strong
Under the surface - please forgive -
There is hardly more than superficiality
Go to the basement and get a jar of pickled berries
You might want to consume it sweetened right away
Uneven notes of red sour fruits waft around you
The tea is cold
You leave the house
Magic is a kingdom where no one dies
Pick a few roses by the roadside
They prick you lightly in your hand
You smell well-groomed, you smell quite pleasant
Uninspired
Neither the wizard nor the show
The magic in between
Gryffindor goes elsewhere
The magic is an illusion
Doesn't get you to your goal
And yet magic is a kingdom where no one dies.
Top tier will probably not come from this work, yet the cash cow No. 7695431 of the Wizarding World makes its friendly tones known. If it didn't say Harry Potter on it, one would expect the red velvet packaging among the discount items of German drugstores, but no. Harry Potter fans have money - and are willing to spend it.
Bravery is sought in vain here, they rely on an all-around popular fruity-floral with corresponding sweetness, following the motto 'if it doesn't taste good, it just hasn't been sweetened enough.' The first impression of pricking disharmony fades quite quickly - by the way, it fleetingly reminds one of the pink one from Bruno Banani
Pure Woman Eau de Parfum - and what remains is a well-groomed hint of generic something. A little rose here, a bit more sugar there. Vanilla? Pah, who needs vanilla, tralalalala.
Here, mainly the name is paid for - and for the packaging, because it is indeed quite elaborate and sweetly done, like a bro from Felix Felicis (with a different cap) and its coloring screams Gryffindor's princess, Manacled-Hermione with a dragon as a Patronus.
By the way (addendum): The bottle looks SUSPICIOUSLY like the one from a scene in the first few minutes of 'Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince,' when Albus Dumbledore stands in front of an advertisement for the Muggle perfume 'Magic Divine.' At least someone did their homework on the bottle design, but unfortunately only there.
And in the end, you get Ginny, who tries to stuff cookies into her crush's mouth while her brother sits next to her, or ties his shoes. Because the Chosen One is perhaps more of a Velcro type.
At least this relationship lasts. In this case, a whole day.
Inspiration and references today came from SenLinYu (Mancled) and Edna St. Vincent Millay (Childhood is the Kingdom where nobody dies) - because if Tshajbukoshka were really honest, she would admit that Tom Felton will probably be over Harry Potter long before her, if we ever see that day.
…………………………………………
Source for the comparison of the bottle with the one from the 6th Harry Potter film:
https://harrypotter.fandom.com/wiki/Divine_Magic?file=Magic_Sign.jpg
Blood-red packaging, made of velvet, not so fine
Courage promises you to be something strong
Under the surface - please forgive -
There is hardly more than superficiality
Go to the basement and get a jar of pickled berries
You might want to consume it sweetened right away
Uneven notes of red sour fruits waft around you
The tea is cold
You leave the house
Magic is a kingdom where no one dies
Pick a few roses by the roadside
They prick you lightly in your hand
You smell well-groomed, you smell quite pleasant
Uninspired
Neither the wizard nor the show
The magic in between
Gryffindor goes elsewhere
The magic is an illusion
Doesn't get you to your goal
And yet magic is a kingdom where no one dies.
Top tier will probably not come from this work, yet the cash cow No. 7695431 of the Wizarding World makes its friendly tones known. If it didn't say Harry Potter on it, one would expect the red velvet packaging among the discount items of German drugstores, but no. Harry Potter fans have money - and are willing to spend it.
Bravery is sought in vain here, they rely on an all-around popular fruity-floral with corresponding sweetness, following the motto 'if it doesn't taste good, it just hasn't been sweetened enough.' The first impression of pricking disharmony fades quite quickly - by the way, it fleetingly reminds one of the pink one from Bruno Banani
Pure Woman Eau de Parfum - and what remains is a well-groomed hint of generic something. A little rose here, a bit more sugar there. Vanilla? Pah, who needs vanilla, tralalalala. Here, mainly the name is paid for - and for the packaging, because it is indeed quite elaborate and sweetly done, like a bro from Felix Felicis (with a different cap) and its coloring screams Gryffindor's princess, Manacled-Hermione with a dragon as a Patronus.
By the way (addendum): The bottle looks SUSPICIOUSLY like the one from a scene in the first few minutes of 'Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince,' when Albus Dumbledore stands in front of an advertisement for the Muggle perfume 'Magic Divine.' At least someone did their homework on the bottle design, but unfortunately only there.
And in the end, you get Ginny, who tries to stuff cookies into her crush's mouth while her brother sits next to her, or ties his shoes. Because the Chosen One is perhaps more of a Velcro type.
At least this relationship lasts. In this case, a whole day.
Inspiration and references today came from SenLinYu (Mancled) and Edna St. Vincent Millay (Childhood is the Kingdom where nobody dies) - because if Tshajbukoshka were really honest, she would admit that Tom Felton will probably be over Harry Potter long before her, if we ever see that day.
…………………………………………
Source for the comparison of the bottle with the one from the 6th Harry Potter film:
https://harrypotter.fandom.com/wiki/Divine_Magic?file=Magic_Sign.jpg
11 Comments
Translated · Show original
Under the Disco Ball // TW: meta
„There is so much that I remember,
like a seed I never sowed.
Eyes I have yet to meet,
Hands that wrap around my wrists,
and arms that feel like a home.
I wonder how I can miss it all
- all these things I have never known.“
The wind rattled against the window panes. Howling. Luna looked up from her desk and gazed at the sky. Gray. It would probably snow today. But she didn’t care. She wouldn’t leave the house. Not today. And not tomorrow. She tried to focus on the task at hand, the blank sheet in front of her, the screen that switched to standby mode every five minutes and turned black. Then she would continue to stare into the void until it became bright again, then dark, then bright. Should she eat something? Shower? Why? No, first and foremost she should get her work done. Eventually. Something was missing, but she couldn’t say what it was. In the distance, the doorbell rang - not hers. She heard voices, indistinct like through a diving bell or a glass dome, a goldfish in a bowl. What difference did it make? Resting her head on the table, she inhaled and continued to listen to the wind.
…
“Helloooo?! What’s going on here?”
She lifted her head and let herself fall back onto the desk. Pain. When had she fallen asleep? Why was it so uncomfortable here? Can’t they over there be a little quieter? Had she forgotten to turn off the TV? Rattling.
“What happened to you? How long have you been sitting here?”
The voice sounded familiar. She knew it, just less muffled. Whatever. Whoever it was, wasn’t invited. Clinking.
“What a mess!”
She must be dreaming. None of this was real. So nothing she would do or say was real. Luna lifted her head: “The shards of my dreams.”
A sparkle pulled her out of the melancholy of her last. Someone had spoken to her, but whoever it was, was gone and had left only darkness behind. Gray. Or? No. There was something else. Luna really tried, but she could barely open her eyes. Someone tugged at her wrist and resisting was futile.
Lili.
“You couldn’t even stand here, so many shards!” Huh? She looked around. The room was large and where everything had been gray before, now all the colors of the rainbow flickered in turn.
“I made a disco ball out of it!” And she danced beneath it. Colors. Light. “In these shards, I can reflect better.” It was hypnotic. Loud. Wrong and yet just right. It was paradoxical. Bittersweet. If she thought about it more closely, perhaps the blooms of this world were poisoned. So she didn’t.
…
How much time had passed? A glance out the window confirmed that winter was finally over.
“Let me hug you, my dear. I’m here for you. Nothing will happen to you.”
--------
Salem: is not thrilled
Salem: “Could it be a bit more meta? I almost understood everything.”
Oh, Salem. Sometimes it just takes imagination, good spirits, and the realization that something good can arise from something bad and make the world a little bit more colorful.
--------
PS: I join the associations of forest master jelly and top it with vanilla sauce, candied orange peel, a bit of orange blossom, and the same sweetener that is also in Prada’s ‘Paradox(e)’.
--------
PPS: Another trigger warning goes out for the enormous longevity (though a whole season might be a bit exaggerated). By the way, if anyone ignored the first one and wants their time back: Sorrynotsorry :‘).
--------
Grande Amore *.*
--------
For today’s inspiration: Lang Leav - Love and Misadventure; Capital Bra - Disco Ball; Animus - Distance
like a seed I never sowed.
Eyes I have yet to meet,
Hands that wrap around my wrists,
and arms that feel like a home.
I wonder how I can miss it all
- all these things I have never known.“
The wind rattled against the window panes. Howling. Luna looked up from her desk and gazed at the sky. Gray. It would probably snow today. But she didn’t care. She wouldn’t leave the house. Not today. And not tomorrow. She tried to focus on the task at hand, the blank sheet in front of her, the screen that switched to standby mode every five minutes and turned black. Then she would continue to stare into the void until it became bright again, then dark, then bright. Should she eat something? Shower? Why? No, first and foremost she should get her work done. Eventually. Something was missing, but she couldn’t say what it was. In the distance, the doorbell rang - not hers. She heard voices, indistinct like through a diving bell or a glass dome, a goldfish in a bowl. What difference did it make? Resting her head on the table, she inhaled and continued to listen to the wind.
…
“Helloooo?! What’s going on here?”
She lifted her head and let herself fall back onto the desk. Pain. When had she fallen asleep? Why was it so uncomfortable here? Can’t they over there be a little quieter? Had she forgotten to turn off the TV? Rattling.
“What happened to you? How long have you been sitting here?”
The voice sounded familiar. She knew it, just less muffled. Whatever. Whoever it was, wasn’t invited. Clinking.
“What a mess!”
She must be dreaming. None of this was real. So nothing she would do or say was real. Luna lifted her head: “The shards of my dreams.”
A sparkle pulled her out of the melancholy of her last. Someone had spoken to her, but whoever it was, was gone and had left only darkness behind. Gray. Or? No. There was something else. Luna really tried, but she could barely open her eyes. Someone tugged at her wrist and resisting was futile.
Lili.
“You couldn’t even stand here, so many shards!” Huh? She looked around. The room was large and where everything had been gray before, now all the colors of the rainbow flickered in turn.
“I made a disco ball out of it!” And she danced beneath it. Colors. Light. “In these shards, I can reflect better.” It was hypnotic. Loud. Wrong and yet just right. It was paradoxical. Bittersweet. If she thought about it more closely, perhaps the blooms of this world were poisoned. So she didn’t.
…
How much time had passed? A glance out the window confirmed that winter was finally over.
“Let me hug you, my dear. I’m here for you. Nothing will happen to you.”
--------
Salem: is not thrilled
Salem: “Could it be a bit more meta? I almost understood everything.”
Oh, Salem. Sometimes it just takes imagination, good spirits, and the realization that something good can arise from something bad and make the world a little bit more colorful.
--------
PS: I join the associations of forest master jelly and top it with vanilla sauce, candied orange peel, a bit of orange blossom, and the same sweetener that is also in Prada’s ‘Paradox(e)’.
--------
PPS: Another trigger warning goes out for the enormous longevity (though a whole season might be a bit exaggerated). By the way, if anyone ignored the first one and wants their time back: Sorrynotsorry :‘).
--------
Grande Amore *.*
--------
For today’s inspiration: Lang Leav - Love and Misadventure; Capital Bra - Disco Ball; Animus - Distance
11 Comments
Translated · Show original
Lila - the color of dissatisfied women?!
If my worst nightmares had a color, it would be purple.
“Purple is what comes out when you subtract from blue and red what defines them. It’s already unsatisfying in terms of its origin,” my physics teacher once whispered, perhaps the wisest words of his career and possibly also an approach to explaining the meaning transfer of this color into a sexual context.
Before the purple lovers call the police, Salem is already provocatively purring “I’ve got the police” to himself...
I kick him in the extended back and send him towards Mars, where maybe someone would like to listen to him.
I can explain everything!
Hahahaha. It hurts, doesn’t it?
It hurts me too. The shocking thing when someone calls the police isn’t even the purple bottle, which achieves an effect similar to treating yourself to the first biker jacket of your life at forty, running away with the secretary or assistant, and going on a fasting retreat in a monastery, only to order the Happy Meal at McDonald's in Rome afterward. It’s not the fact that the thing pricks your hand when you open it, preparing you for the contents, warningly.
It’s the contents!
It rants like Brigitte when her son left his favorite Tupperware at his ex-girlfriend's, like the ads inviting us to look forever young by bathing in snake skin, sprinkling grated crocodile teeth over our muesli, which we try to sip with freshly injected lips.
Just as naturally as the hairline whispers after fifteen minutes of hydrogen peroxide exposure, the purple Salem bro shouts at a volume that rivals the speakers at a techno festival, telling me his tales until my next heart attack and dangling noodles on me.
And what can I say?
I’m a bit smitten, not by the volume, but by the overall package, the slightly smoky honey note, the flower overload of the ‘chemistry set’ type.
Next time my Ukrainian friend points out that a diet would do me good because otherwise no one would marry me before I turn 30, I’ll spray this bro in her face and then wait two days for her to awaken from the coma of being overwhelmed.
For anyone who doesn’t want to be reported for bodily harm, it is NOT recommended for use in enclosed spaces.
Ka-bauz, ka-bääähmmm!
Sometimes it just has to be about ranting.
In that sense, I leave a recommendation for everyone who finds the direction that
Black Opium Eau de Parfum and 
Girl of Now take more appealing than “GET OUT OF HERE!”
Like good borscht, the police in the purple robe gets better over time... as long as under NO circumstances more than one spray is used.
We can also be satisfied with ourselves, welcoming the signs of the times with open arms and still working on ourselves.
So if you want to call the police now, go ahead and remember that I am armed.
Afterward, feel free to tell me what you think purple is THE signal color for.
“Purple is what comes out when you subtract from blue and red what defines them. It’s already unsatisfying in terms of its origin,” my physics teacher once whispered, perhaps the wisest words of his career and possibly also an approach to explaining the meaning transfer of this color into a sexual context.
Before the purple lovers call the police, Salem is already provocatively purring “I’ve got the police” to himself...
I kick him in the extended back and send him towards Mars, where maybe someone would like to listen to him.
I can explain everything!
Hahahaha. It hurts, doesn’t it?
It hurts me too. The shocking thing when someone calls the police isn’t even the purple bottle, which achieves an effect similar to treating yourself to the first biker jacket of your life at forty, running away with the secretary or assistant, and going on a fasting retreat in a monastery, only to order the Happy Meal at McDonald's in Rome afterward. It’s not the fact that the thing pricks your hand when you open it, preparing you for the contents, warningly.
It’s the contents!
It rants like Brigitte when her son left his favorite Tupperware at his ex-girlfriend's, like the ads inviting us to look forever young by bathing in snake skin, sprinkling grated crocodile teeth over our muesli, which we try to sip with freshly injected lips.
Just as naturally as the hairline whispers after fifteen minutes of hydrogen peroxide exposure, the purple Salem bro shouts at a volume that rivals the speakers at a techno festival, telling me his tales until my next heart attack and dangling noodles on me.
And what can I say?
I’m a bit smitten, not by the volume, but by the overall package, the slightly smoky honey note, the flower overload of the ‘chemistry set’ type.
Next time my Ukrainian friend points out that a diet would do me good because otherwise no one would marry me before I turn 30, I’ll spray this bro in her face and then wait two days for her to awaken from the coma of being overwhelmed.
For anyone who doesn’t want to be reported for bodily harm, it is NOT recommended for use in enclosed spaces.
Ka-bauz, ka-bääähmmm!
Sometimes it just has to be about ranting.
In that sense, I leave a recommendation for everyone who finds the direction that
Black Opium Eau de Parfum and Girl of Now take more appealing than “GET OUT OF HERE!” Like good borscht, the police in the purple robe gets better over time... as long as under NO circumstances more than one spray is used.
We can also be satisfied with ourselves, welcoming the signs of the times with open arms and still working on ourselves.
So if you want to call the police now, go ahead and remember that I am armed.
Afterward, feel free to tell me what you think purple is THE signal color for.
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