The Palette of the Long Island Hott
I’ve always had a thing for Long Island Hotts.
I’m not sure why. Maybe that late 80s ‘Island hair explosion thing got to me. Or maybe it was Janet from Great Neck, the ridiculously curved 17 year old C.I.T. at my summer camp in 1988.
Something about the gum smacking, the loudness and annoying laughs sort of turn me on in that exotic proletariat-hooker 1984 Orwellian way.
I liken it to the class consciousness of different types of food.
Some days you desire refined, high class food. A fancy restaurant. Good wine. Sauteed fowl that isn’t chicken (duck, quail, etc.).
Other times you want to chow down on the greasy goodness of, say, a bucket of KFC. Or Twinkies and a Mr. Pibb.
Long Island Hotts are the junk food category within the rainbow of choice that makes up my hott palette. Sure you need a touch of ginger and wasabi to clear the after-taste. But sometimes it’s worth it for the greasy goodness.
And then there’s this leopard shaved head douche-tool. Whom I’d liken to a bad case of salmonella.
