My, my. I’m all flushed after last week. Thank you all for the lively debate from my lovely commenters. (Not you, Jackson.)
Welcome to Late Night Laugh Lines, Volume 1, Issue 6, “The Lord of the Lay, Laid, Lies”
<ROOLZ skip=”at your peril”>
The Fracking Roolz!
1. RTFR! (Read The Fracking Roolz!). They will crack you up.
2. This is a(n) (alleged) humo(u)r post. Like, duh.
3. Please consult your physician to learn if Late Night Laugh Lines is right for you.
4. Side effects may include nausea, fainting, handing over large amounts of cash, or in rare cases, laughter.
5. For internal use only.
6. External application is indicated only after a personal examination. Not available in all areas. Some restrictions apply. Offer valid for women of legal age only. (Sorry guys, you’re on your own, as usual.)
I’m typing this very slowly so that everyone can follow along.
Hopefully tonight’s writing challenge is simple enough to understand, even for college graduates. Those with advanced degrees may require a tutor (not a Tudor — did you learn anything in college?) but I can only simplify so much without resorting to crayons.
+++ Write a user review after having sex. Does not need to be with another person. +++
Are we getting the idea here? Excellent.
REVIEW: Just Laya There
I was surprised and delighted that our blind date went so well. How often does that happen? You were lively and engaging and very flirty. Miss flirty-flirt-flirt. Plus handsy after the second martini, and that’s no complaint.
We made out in the parking lot. We made out in your living room. We made out on your bed.
That’s where things died down, and I’m not entirely sure that’s a metaphor. Once we were naked, you just laid there. Lay there? Lied there? I don’t know. Shit, who cares about grammar when a gorgeous naked woman is in front of you?
And you are gorgeous. Fantastic body that I know you work hard to maintain. My appreciation was, um, clearly evident. But you were still as death. Immobile. Unresponsive. Silent. I dubbed this the Puritan position because Dead Fish is overused.
I imagine a life-size sex doll would be more involved and warm. Or a Hoover. Yeah, definitely a Hoover.
And what was that smell? Maybe Dead Fish was more descriptive after all.
But what the hell. I banged you anyway.
Let’s do this again sometime. You bring the wine, I’ll bring the Febreeze.
RATING: 2 / 5
photo courtesy of The Nu Romantics