Just gimme some kind of sign, squirrel
Helloooooo. We're having a sale. Half off all clothing, except for Island Surf stuff, and 25% off all accessories. No, not the Uggs.
If I had a dollar for every time I repeated this exact sentence at work today, I'd have approximately 25 dollars. 'Tis a boring season, so I must keep busy. I wrote a lot today. I spent some time on the telephone. I thought about turning the lights out in the bathroom and telling the Bell Witch just how much I hate her. I paced. I ate. I drank two liters of water.
I also read an issue of Cosmopolitan Pete's girlfriend was about to throw out. In one particular article, Cosmo suggests that introducing a vibrator into your heterosexual relationship requires careful consideration. They say an egg-shaped toy, as opposed to a phallus, is less likely to scare a man away. Fucking balls to that, my friends. How does Cosmo know that I won't be frightened by a toy shaped like an ovary? Why must I, a woman of the ages, be content with the higher road while my male counterpart screeches like a fucking teenybopper over the shape of a piece of plastic? (Disclaimer: My official male counterpart is quite comfortable with my seven-foot glass dildo that spins when you say "Exalt me" into the microphone hidden inside the tiny opaque testicles because, face it, women have no use for testicles.)
Healthy couples are fine with neutral ground and Cosmo, in its infinite wisdom, should reflect that. Why not suggest a vibrator shaped like something we both can enjoy? Say, a piece of Sicilian-style pizza? What about a carton of orange juice? Everyone likes pizza and orange juice. Especially together.
If I had a dollar for every time I repeated this exact sentence at work today, I'd have approximately 25 dollars. 'Tis a boring season, so I must keep busy. I wrote a lot today. I spent some time on the telephone. I thought about turning the lights out in the bathroom and telling the Bell Witch just how much I hate her. I paced. I ate. I drank two liters of water.
I also read an issue of Cosmopolitan Pete's girlfriend was about to throw out. In one particular article, Cosmo suggests that introducing a vibrator into your heterosexual relationship requires careful consideration. They say an egg-shaped toy, as opposed to a phallus, is less likely to scare a man away. Fucking balls to that, my friends. How does Cosmo know that I won't be frightened by a toy shaped like an ovary? Why must I, a woman of the ages, be content with the higher road while my male counterpart screeches like a fucking teenybopper over the shape of a piece of plastic? (Disclaimer: My official male counterpart is quite comfortable with my seven-foot glass dildo that spins when you say "Exalt me" into the microphone hidden inside the tiny opaque testicles because, face it, women have no use for testicles.)
Healthy couples are fine with neutral ground and Cosmo, in its infinite wisdom, should reflect that. Why not suggest a vibrator shaped like something we both can enjoy? Say, a piece of Sicilian-style pizza? What about a carton of orange juice? Everyone likes pizza and orange juice. Especially together.
5 Comments:
Fucking balls to that, indeed.
My god, this is the funniest thing you've ever written.
I adore you.
I'm imagining this vibrator. And also getting very hungry. I'm a little weirded out by the combination.
I adore you as well. You're the most wonderful person in my life, my friend. Someday Alex Trebek may say, "This person loves Lindsey Turner more than anyone in the world." The correct response is "Who is Amber Bryant?"
Wendy, that's because vibrators tend to remind women of macaroni and cheese. Think about that.
The pornographers should make a sex toy that involves talking balls. I've always wanted my scrotum to talk back to me.
Macaroni and cheese always reminds me a little bit of the brain. Is that weird?
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