Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
Guy monkeys want to last longer, too.
So, in order not to ejaculate too soon, they fantasize they’re making love to all manner of disgusting things (rotten melons, one of those fugly Wizard of Oz flying monkeys, an old catcher’s mitt, a diseased hyena, Ann Coulter, Zira from Planet of the Apes, the eye-hole of Darth Vader’s mask, Gollum, Barbara Bush). It works, or so I hear. But when y’all (y’all female macaques, that is) vocalize, it destroys the illusion, brings us back to the present, makes us realize it ain’t Bay Buchanan squirming beneath us after all, but rather our hot, furry, screamin’ monkey love-bitches.
Hat tip to Kate Monster.
D.
I KNEW you’d come up with a good explanation. . . . Hey, but wait a minute. Are monkeys dumb enough to watch Situation Room?
The monkeys I hang out with are all strictly Olbermann- and Abrams-watchers.
Pretending that you’re banging Ann Coulter isn’t a way to make it last longer. It’s a way to make you lose interest in sex for six months.
Note that you STILL have disappointed me by failing to write a book of erotic Hobbit poetry.
Am I remembering correctly — wasn’t there some Ann Coulter slash fiction (or whatever the proper term) on the web? Anyway, I think I would be so busy imagining telling her, “Shut up. Shut UP. Shut UP!” that the distraction would be effective.
Poetry is not my strong suit. I might be persuaded to write Hobbit erotica, however. (Hmm . . . Hobbit/Elf erotica, perhaps, with a bunch of teenage elvish girls giggling over who will be brave enough to test out the L theory 🙂 )
Free verse, my friend, free verse.