July 25, 2011

  • Why All Girls Are Super Gorgeous

    Fat girls are super gorgeous.  They’re like squishy pink balloons all shiny and glimmering, soft and delicate and adorable.  Your only desire is to protect and squeeze her gently; hoping that she never gets hurt with a pop.  And when she cries, all you want is to kiss her yummy tummy and look up at her to say, “Baby, you’ll always be my meatball, for now and evermore.”

    Then again, skinny girls are also super gorgeous.  They’re like a melodic waltz of colourful sparklers, intricately designed to twinkle in their exquisite abode.  Your only desire is to embrace her with fingertip dabs and protect her darling flame so you might wish upon her star forever.  And when she smiles, a twirl of rainbow glitter appears, inspiring you to kiss her on the forehead and say, “Sweete, you’ll always be my spaghetti noodle, for now and evermore.”

    But average girls, neither fat nor skinny, are super gorgeous too.  They’re like silky white sheets, fresh from the dryer, sincere and honest, yet warm and inviting within; a reminder that women should be appreciated for their individual selves.  Even the sunlight glows in her radiance, while your only wish is to wrap her around until the end of time.  Her gentleness inspires you to show how beautiful she is, for everything she is, and say, “Darling, you’ll always be my cheesecake, healthy and nutritious, yet fattening just a bit, for now and evermore.”

    Because all girls are soft and gentle in their own super gorgeous way.

    Her sweet embrace may be a surrender to the nocturnal wake of her loving arms, but it’s when you close your eyes that you’ll finally see her pretty heart.  As you turn your head towards her neck, the tender part below her ear will graze upon your shuteye.  In her softness, you’ll catch a glimpse into her tender heart, loving her for everything she is.

    Reader, what makes girls super gorgeous?

May 19, 2011

December 8, 2010

  • A Love Letter To Mediterranean Women

    Dear Mediterranean Women,

    With quiet whispers of an ocean breeze swirling into the transparent veil of your window, I watch on as it floats about your hushing fingertips.  Upon the balcony in your porcelain disguise, mysteries are revealed when you uncover the masquerade of your heart.  Your alluring gaze is where my spirit remains.

    And it seems like moments ago when I was a little boy.  I fell for your enchanted fairytale without understanding, but yours is the language of passion, and the eternal realm of love was inspired by your legendary affections.  You’re my nostalgic romance, and these memories belong to you.

    It saddens me, how you look towards the coastline with delicate hands curled underneath your chin.  I wonder what you’re thinking in the dreamland of your mind, if it’s the cruel accusations behind your mythical hairy nature.  Darling, didn’t you know that thick eyebrows can only coexist with impeccable skin, and I long to comb your armpit hair?  I hope to nestle inside your secret villa, cuddling with your fuzzy softness.

    I close my eyes and surrender to the warmth of golden sunrays, seeping through the leaves of this miniature vineyard.  In them is my release from the haunting of yesterday as you walk in my direction (ciao!).  Time is at a standstill while the outline of your graceful silhouette glows in radiance, and droplets of virgin oils trickle down your neckline.  They accentuate an olive complexion that melts into your creamy whiteness.

    As you caress my face in your dreamy enfold, I’m set free by your calming touch.  Your strands of angel silk fall upon my shoulders when your loving arms wrap around me, enveloped in your sensual embrace.  Sliding your hands into mine with interlocking fingers, a silent dance begins amid a picturesque masterpiece of orange marmalade skies, vanishing in the distant horizon.  It is then that the hypnotic pitter-patters find us with a gentle plunge of the sweetest smile into our tearful kiss.  I’ll surrender to the exploding flavours of pink roses in your elegantly crafted mouth, even if I could die of electrocution.

    Dear Mediterranean Women, you might think the only reason I wish to linger beside you is for the excuse to be macho and fool around with mistresses.  You might think it’s a conspiracy to merge your mafia with the triads and take over the entire world.  You might even think it’s your mama’s hearty feasts.

    Amore mio, though I’m afraid you’ll physically assault me, you’re my full meal of SpaghettiO’s and not just antipasto.  It’s the way you’re annoyingly cute in anger, talking too fast while succumbing to your adorable accent.  It’s the way you don’t even know you’re gorgeous in your modestly stylish steps, and how your endearing laughter makes everything bellissimo.  Yet the art of love is to let your existence be my reason of desire, seeing nothing more than you alone.

    Under the moon and stars that illuminate the twirling surface of pristine waters, we’ll send away our vows in the melodic rush of the Mediterranean as they continue to return to stay.  You’re the romance of a lifetime and the goddess of my heart.

    Avoiding the violence of getting hit by inanimate objects in celebration of our new empire, tower bells fade into the shadows as we enter through the gondola passageway.  The glimmering reflections are a symbol of our continuing destination as we sail into forevermore.  I’ll always let go of dreams to dream into you, for this is the way of discovery.

    Grazie for loving me, and I hope to make you prego…

    Yours,
    Ricardo Ridicolo Romantico

    Related:

    A Love Letter To White Women

    A Love Letter To Asian Women

    A Love Letter To Jewish Women

    A Love Letter To Middle Eastern Women

    A Love Letter To Native American Women

    A Love Letter To Hispanic Women

    A Love Letter To Polynesian Women

    A Love Letter To South Asian Women

    A Love Letter To Black Women

November 23, 2010

  • A Love Letter To Polynesian Women

    Dear Polynesian Women,

    One by one as you gracefully place the rainbows of intricately designed leis upon me, I lose sight of all surroundings and crash into the wall.  Yet I feel the presence of your mana, enfolding me in an aura of exotic fragrances.  Your delicate strokes are like the soothing strums of the ukulele.  They release me from the imprisonment of missing your tender smiles.

    Aloha, my darling coconut…!  Growing faint to the kindest eyes, my heart melts into the consistency of poi and I’m gooey inside for our Honolulu romance.  It is then that I empathize with Kilauea when you reveal your coco shells and my volcano prematurely erupts.  Luminescent with an orange lava glow, I’m desperately finding ways to cool off.

    Blue skies, palm trees, and a tropical breeze; the melodic sways of your Hula dance accentuates the soft curves of your exquisite nature, resembling that of the transparent twirls of the South Pacific.  In you is where my sanctuary lies, in our secret ocean tunnel.  I’m splashed back into reality with a gentle swoosh of your pineapple kiss, and my only desire is to surf into your affections with a perfect mind and technique.

    It saddens me, when you think you’re nothing more than a commodity for lustful tourists from around the globe.  But behind the scenes away from corny MCs, you’re the most unique flower with nectar sweeter than the pure elixir of sugarcane.  You’re a bundle of goodness more delicious than laulau, and I’d wrap you up in ti leaves just to show how special you are.

    As marmalade skies embraced by the crimson sunset envelop the marbled clouds, its radiance upon your flawless tan becomes a moment of serenity when you walk towards my way.  Holding hands as we enter through the doors of the local SPAM restaurant, our fairytale adventures begin with platefuls of mystery meat.  I hope you know I’d risk anything for your love, and even torture myself wearing Hawaiian T-shirts for the rest of my life.

    Under the clearest night skies with the heavens watching over this sacred luau, the festival is ours when your eyes return to mine.  Although I’m invulnerable to fire-walking, you continue to be in awe of my superpower despite the stench of burning wheels.  You even know how to use chopsticks properly, and I’m yours.

    Dear Polynesian Women, you might think these reasons are why I want to be with and marry you, and for fear of being made a sacrifice to the Big Kahuna if ever I broke your heart.  My silly, delightful honeycreeper, you’re my Halemaumau crater and spiritual hotspot.  As with the Hawaiian Islands that are isolated from the world, you alone are the only one I need.

    Together, our romance shall blossom with more volcano eruptions and lava flows.  Our ohana will continue to flourish with an abundance of little keikis, while we pass on the legend of our love, for every new beginning to come.

    Aloha…!  Wait, didn’t I say that already?  Then again, I never wanted to say goodbye anyway, so let’s do this again, shall we?

    And may the heavenly teardrops be a symbol of our never-ending tale, for you’re the Lehua to my Ohia, and even Pele can’t deny what we have.  I’ll always meet you in paradise, in Laka Heiau.

    Your Staying Haole,
    Ricky (Traveller ID: 1981-20-05)

    Related:

    A Love Letter To White Women

    A Love Letter To Asian Women

    A Love Letter To Jewish Women

    A Love Letter To Mediterranean Women

    A Love Letter To Middle Eastern Women

    A Love Letter To Native American Women

    A Love Letter To Hispanic Women

    A Love Letter To South Asian Women

    A Love Letter To Black Women

November 10, 2010

  • A Love Letter To Native American Women

    Dear Native American Women,

    I’ve always longed to see the autumn sunrays, embracing your rich honey complexion.  It melts into your cherry-blushed cheeks like the soft caresses of a perfectly crafted feather.  Your enchanting rhythm of kneading in radiance is an arrow of affection, striking at my heart from a distant afar.

    Tracing upon the plains and valleys of the great frontier of your reserved landscape, I realize there’s nothing more delightful than a lone wildflower, accentuated in the open country of lush green pastures.  Its fragrance infuses the air with a swift gust of wind as the rush reveals the natural flow of your stallion’s mane.  I watch on as you continue your dances in the rain, amid the mystical melodies of the forest that capture my every dream.

    This fall is a journey of canoeing through the clearest of waters; a pathway towards romance in a constant stream of love.  The mist floating about its purity is your spirit that encompasses mine.  As your graceful movements draw near, I feel the fringes of your tunic, grazing upon my skin like the running of fingertips along grasslands far and wide.  Sweet flavours of your maple kiss seep into my veins, but in the slightest touch of lips, I find myself being held captive by your tribe.

    Passing through the gauntlet of torture, I hope you understand that I’d do anything for you.  I’d gamble my life with a basket of potentially poisonous berries and even give away the last piece of buffalo jerky to win your savage heart.  Seeing your precious tears, my only wish is to touch them away, gently dabbing them in fear of smearing your exquisitely painted face.

    But the torment is finally over, and I’ve impressed your clan mother, especially with the bribe of animal crackers for the great council of mighty shamans.  Winning them over, a pow-wow begins in celebration of us, while hearts are opened with a treaty of peace and harmony.

    Night songs and stories of otters and wolves; the warming campfire becomes the only separation between our gaze.  I feel a little closer to you every time we get high with a smoking puff of peyote, for your smiles and laughter are all that I desire.

    Dear Native American Women, though I must bear gifts to purchase our marriage, remember that the token of our love is invaluable.  And you might think the only reason I want you is for fear of getting hit by a cactus.  You might even think that I’m a spy on a mission to infiltrate your village, but I’m Canadian, baby!

    My Aboriginal warrior princess and darling prickly pear, you’re my First woman and medicine of wonder, curing me of all heartaches.  You’re the prairie in my heart to cherish for a lifetime, and our pictograph will be a sign of our romance for now and evermore.

    Together, I shall erect my totem pole inside your tepee, to cultivate and harvest little babies, and create a tribe of our own.

    Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba means I love you.

    Yours,
    Ricky, a.k.a. Squeaking with Wheels

    Related:

    A Love Letter To White Women

    A Love Letter To Asian Women

    A Love Letter To Jewish Women

    A Love Letter To Mediterranean Women

    A Love Letter To Middle Eastern Women

    A Love Letter To Hispanic Women

    A Love Letter To Polynesian Women

    A Love Letter To South Asian Women

    A Love Letter To Black Women

November 2, 2010

  • A Love Letter To South Asian Women

    Dear South Asian Women,

    With the tropical heat enticing your body to melt in its radiant enfold, sapphire beads upon the cashmere of your skin glimmer from the orange hue of streetlights.  Your glowing brilliance is a sparkle that captures my heart among the crowd of millions.  My only desire is to follow and be near to you, however far you are between the multitudes separating our anticipating romance.

    Through the torment of loneliness, it feels as though I’m in a crazy music video, bloodied and beat up; dying my way home in this endless search for you.  Time is at a standstill and the stillness becomes unbearable, yet with persistence, I finally find myself looking into your… no wait, that’s your bindi!

    As my eyes are drawn from the forehead to your hypnotic gaze, it reveals the mystical waves of the river Ganges.  Our passion is brought to life in the flourishing flows of water, and in your bath, you submerge yourself in the fragrance of lotus flowers.  It is then that you walk towards me, dripping with the dew of ancient legends and folklore.

    It saddens me, when you’re insecure about the perfume you give off to those unfamiliar to your culture.  But your adorable little pores are what permeate the air with the aroma of exotic oils and spices; my sweet intoxication.  Fear not my love, for being Chinese myself, I probably smell like mothballs, and together our surroundings will fade into a moment of us.

    Gently tracing the soft curves of your face resembling that of the elegant smoothness of chai, towards your heart-shaped lips, I find that it tastes sweeter than the sweetest mithai.  In your kiss is an adventure of unspeakable consequences, for aren’t you arranged to be married to a prince, tomorrow?!

    Dear South Asian Women, though it scares me to death that your father might come after me and invent new torture methods with a dagger, mine has cleavers and chopsticks and they can fight it out.  You might think the only reason I want to marry you is for your expediential wealth and fame, and that you’ll turn into Kali, goddess of death if I don’t comply, but it’s not the reason why.

    My Desi princess, you’re the Jodhaa to my Akbar, and our loving destiny shall be united in reincarnation for eternities to come.

    For you I’d give up my attendance at the temple of eating cows, my dearest jaangiri.  I’m willing to eat curry for the rest of my life and let hot peppers become my journey of ecstasy.

    And with the infinite thrills of getting chased after in the daytime and night, our romantic escapades will continue to bring us excitement.  You can ride at the back of my wheelchair, for always and evermore.

    Wheel away with me?

    Yours,
    Slumdog Dollaraire Ricky

    P. S. Did I mention I can pop a wheelie to make an epic ending for our musical?

    Related:

    A Love Letter To White Women

    A Love Letter To Asian Women

    A Love Letter To Jewish Women

    A Love Letter To Mediterranean Women

    A Love Letter To Middle Eastern Women

    A Love Letter To Native American Women

    A Love Letter To Hispanic Women

    A Love Letter To Polynesian Women

    A Love Letter To Black Women

October 12, 2010

  • Xanga Girls Are Hot, Because…

    Now did you really think DearRicky would leave without making a proper goodbye?  Get ready for a final barf-fest! ;)

    Heartfelt Xanga girl-to-girl back and forth comments make me cry.  I want to be a part of them, even when I’m not a spaz and I can’t type as fast, only messing up the order of the blog-versation.  I continue blogging for ways to overcome the boundaries of gender, but continue to make everyone throw up, including myself!

    Xanga girls make me feel as if I’m falling off my chair in ROFL (rolling on the floor in love) because of their hotness, without getting my clothes dirty because I have wheels.  It might cause them to levanna in anger for the sake of modesty when calling them angels, but their inability to acknowledge their angelic nature is proof that they in fact are.

    How could anyone not want to join in on their little Pulses when the hilarity of their jokes and sensitivity of their secret messages is perfect?  It makes me want to be a lesbian.

    And Xanga lesbians are hot because when in flirt, they make you feel as if it’s possible to seduce them into changing teams.  When you take the time and effort to discover and rediscover her, you’ll understand that maybe, just maybe, you’re a lesbian at heart.  They love your drama when they know you’re also a queen!

    Yet in the same light, flirtatious Xanga girls are hot because it’s a thrill to try and figure out their intentions.  Eye problems will occur from using winking emoticons too much, but the development of an inside joke about the adorable nature of Greek tampons is well worth the psychotic twitching.  In the end, you might even write about your daydreams for the goddess that she is, with her no less.

    Although, grammarless Xanga girls are hot because they “cares” about DearRicky very much.  She might be a right-winged conservative meanie, but when you write something sad and personal about yourself, she’ll cower away like a little kitty and you’ll understand how sweet she is.  Her beautiful smile will make you want to trun her paige, time and time again.

    But Xanga girls who write well are just as hot because the elegance in their words inspires you to want to be a better blogger.  Even more, you’ll always be waiting for her under the moonlight, especially when the glow might shine upon the gentle curves of her infamous boob crack.

    You’ll soon realize that controversial Xanga girls who hate butt-bangers and carpet-munchers are hot when you understand the truth of their hearts.  She feels threatened at the thought of losing her dominion over womanhood to the queers and hides behind pictures of Megan Fox clones, except, she doesn’t realize the fact that she’s already all woman.  All you want is to upgrade her palace into a kingdom.

    On the other end of the spectrum, Xanga sex goddesses are hot when they give winky-winky advice in risqué situations like the one involving her mother’s reputation.  She gets hotter when you debate with her about conservative uppy-uppy-down-down and make her upset, but you still want her to serena your dante, even though you might be afraid she’ll come out of the computer screen and cut it off.  When you become her friend, you’ll understand her hotness in discovering her real name is the most exotic one of all since it’s impossible to pronounce.

    But religious Xanga girls are super hot because their virtuous nature makes you understand what it means to love your church and that post-marital love making is the only way to go.  You’ll want to marry her just to make breakfast in bed and scramble her megs on toast.

    This is why Xanga chef girls are deliciously hot when they continually make hot dishes and tempt you with pictures that’ll rock your socks.  You might not be a fan of sweets, but Xanga cake girls are hot because for one, Joanna said so, and secondly, her confectionery pictures will give you a sugar high.  Her sweetness shines through even more when you anti-flirt with her on Facebook while she pretends to be your cousin and scares every one of your real-life friends and family!

    Then again, scary lunatic Xanga girls are hot because while you’re worlds apart in ridiculousness, they’re really your best friends.  You’ll always have a hoot when you preach to her against fornication.  You know she’s crazy when she spends six hours just to write a rare entry in honour of you without a single word of hate.  She might even be the coolest older girl here.

    Of course, Xanga MILFs are hot because librarian hot is ultra hot.  Yet, it’s even sexier when you realize she was a “libertarian” all along, making your face shamelessly red.  They make me want to rapidly fan my mouth like a groundhog that just ate a lettuce leaf sprayed with a cayenne pepper solution, especially the one who has a mutual enemy.  She’ll tell you secrets because it’s what she knows, about the Popular_Pervert who sent pictures of his cocktail wiener to various women back in early 2009.

    Such perverted antics confirm my need to protect the females with the sword of my word, despite starting the greatest racial war known to Xangankind.  Oppressed Xanga girls are hot, especially one particular shark lover nerd on wheels.  When she gets attacked by online supremacists, you’ll eternally implode with wrath, to the EXTREME!!!1111111

    Unfortunately, when defending the innocent, nasty entries of multitude will emerge, but Xanga hater girls are hot, and the one who used to be your biggest fan is no exception.  While her anger is kindled against you, she’s still a sensitive soul with a soft heart who only put her fury in the wrong place.  Only the haloed would think one has the power to “destroy” her friends.  When she gets upset, your only wish is to comply with her demands of sticking a cactus up your butt and linger in her world of pink teacups.

    Xanga bimbos are hot because while their words are harsh, when you understand the dumb-dumb frustrations in their thoughts, you’ll find their cute interior looking deep inside shouting for a returning echo.  You’ll want to continue protecting her from that potential rapist who likes to ask his female victims to fill out a form with their personal information.

    Thankfully, there’ll always be a remnant, and Xanga fan girls are hot because they’ll remain by your side when the entire community turns on you, just because you’re different.  Sooner or later, you’ll understand that she shimmers, even without body cream when she’s your trouble-making counterpart on the Ish sites.  It’s the same reason Xanga stalker girls are hot because she’s in actuality a magic goddess of… vaginal lips?!

    Strange things might happen when you look up user name meanings on Wikipedia, but weird Xanga girls are hot, especially Zombie moms who speak.  Even hotter is when you’re on the same wavelength in thinking like a genius and when you realize she’s your biggest fan of all.  You’ll have no hesitation in letting her rip at the flesh of your heart.

    Xanga sluts are hot because while they yearn for attention by taking off their clothes, their modesty shines through from failing to see their own beauty.  All you want is to XOXO her inner bosoms.  Of course, Xanga recommend whores are hot because even when they mindlessly suggest for people to read your blogs, the way she clicks on your hearts will make her the queen of you.

    Xanga newbie girls are hot, especially the psychos from down under, because they don’t know you’re the supposed drama queen here.  The countdown towards her deletion of you is a guessing game of ecstasy.

    And Xanga girls who delete DearRicky are hot because when you get to know them on Facebook & they reveal what’s behind their mask of anonymity, ya’ll find the most sarcastic Southern Belle who has the ability to cross from one state to another, at will!  She’s the one who swallows her vomit while reading your barf bag romances!

    More importantly, Xanga girls who aren’t hot are hot because…

    ALL XANGA GIRLS ARE HOT!!!

    BYE EVERYONE! (: (: (:

    Remember to add me on Facebook:
    http://www.facebook.com/DearRicky

August 17, 2010

  • A Xanga Thank You & Farewell

    Yes, this is the real thing.  The other two “goodbye” entries were nothing more than jokes of pee and poo… you forgot to read the last sentence!  I don’t need to do one for puke because I’ve already done enough of that when I write on romance.

    A lot of people are asking why I’m leaving, and there are three reasons:

    Firstly, I don’t want to be in a place where trolls are running rampant and even glorified.  I’ve no problem with personal attacks, and in fact, those involving my physical disability are laughable because it only shows inferiority on their part.

    There were always trolls of course, but when “elite” perverts like vandave are creating fake identities and exploiting young women to steal their pictures for who knows why (Stealing Online Photos), I want no part of it.  When even Paul_Partisan attack people for sport, while also creating multiple fake accounts just to bash me with falsely CREATED evidence for popularity purposes (Paul_Partisan: EXPOSED), a line has been crossed.  Pathetic, really.

    Yet the majority brush off their lack of integrity and ethics, despite the fact that none of them can write for shit.  Why would I want to waste my time anymore?

    Secondly, plagiarism.  People all over are stealing from me, and it’s unfortunate.  I threatened some teenage idiot a while ago and he shut down his site the other day.  I’ve since privatized a number of my posts.

    Thirdly and most importantly, I need to focus more on finishing my book that’s coming out by the end of the year.

    It’s simple why I’m leaving.

    To all my loyal friends and subscribers: Thank you, for everything.  I’ve really appreciated your support throughout this whole time, and your feedback is the best.  Entertaining you guys was a pleasure.

    Just remember ladies to take your vitamins after two years of reading my vomit-inducing love stories and junk.  You need the nutrition!

    But I’d like to keep in touch with all of you on Facebook, so please add me if you haven’t already:

    http://www.facebook.com/DearRicky

    And feel free to e-mail me:

    ricky@dearricky.com

    Remember to leave your Xanga alias so I might know who you are.

    It has been fun.  Thanks Xanga!

August 13, 2010