I know you're feeling one with god as we sing Kumbaya in the dark stillness of the sauna, but that still is no excuse for you to forget that the towel you twirl in the air to move the hot air around happens to be soaked with your crotch sweat. As we received your juices upon our singing faces, I was the only one to stand up and tell you no. I was desperate and have probably never done it with so much passion pointing my finger at somebody. It didn’t surprise me the other hippies had no clue what was going on or more likely didn't want to cause a scene. After stopping you I swear you had a slight grin that I wanted to punch off your face. Not approving of naked violence, I decided that leaving you in the Kumbaya-less silent darkness of passive agressive hippy death stares would eat away at your fragile soul. I don’t believe in karma, but since you do just know that you will one day catch lice in your dreads so you have to shave them off and cry.
The Dreaded Sauna Sweat Slinger
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