Oh what a trial is the sinful shaft,
The expulsion and eruption of the yang,
And the terrible yin stay...
It’s Springtime, and I am twitterpated!
when our dreams
have all headed
when the memories we held tight
against our chest
only remain as tattered
I became trapped in a pixilated universe—
a virtual reality, I invested in a world
of people I couldn’t see or touch, but
When I saw her I fell in love,
She was an angel sent from above,
I did everything from small to grand,
All to simply win her hand.
When I won her love I was overjoyed,
And to her every whim was I employed,
And life was the best have her with me,
I finally felt like my soul was free.
But then I found she was a bore,
Her looks did fade and she started to snore,
Turns out love does not come from the dick,
And messy divorce is love’s vengeful trick.
‘Twas the night of Saturnalia, and all through the house,
Not a creature was sober, not even a mouse.
Our clothing was thrown on the floor without care,
In the hopes that orgasms would soon be there.
The partygoes were collapsed on our our beds,
While hallucinations and delirium danced through their heads.
With my fuck buddy all topless and I without pants,
We were settling in for a long carnal dance.
When then outside we heard such a clatter,
We thought it was the police coming to investigate our matter.
We began hiding the weed in a flash,
And out the window did some of the stoned guests dash.
Out on the lawn soaked with spilled booze,
And above the drunks with nothing to lose,
What to my intoxicated eyes should appear,
But a leopard drawn sleigh, with a hammered man in the rear.
With a driver so intoxicated and blameless,
I knew instantly it was Dionysus.
Down the road, swerving all about he came,
And shouted out the leopards by name.
“On Wine, on Burbon, on Schnaps and Tequlia,
“On Fucking, on Sodomy, on Karma and Sutra!
“To down to the liver, and up against the wall,
“Now dash away, dash away, dash away all!”
He pulled into the yard, and into the bushes did crash,
And came through the front door in a dash.
The party did roar when they saw he’d arrived,
For a party without him is surely deprived.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to work,
Giving us booze, condoms, and ever other party perk,
And with a wave of his joyus hand,
Did arousal boil up in to to levels so grand.
And when intoxication and horniness reached fever pitch,
He left so we could all sate our itch.
But I heard him exclaim as he drove off into the night,
“Happy Festival to all, and be sure to wrap it up tight!”
What if you had a condition where every time you orgasmed, you had to let out a raging barbarian war cry? You had to scream at the top of your lungs a deep, bellowing shout that would rattle the bones of your enemies. Imagine how that’d make your sex life, hell, even just masturbating would be a lot more interesting.
How would any of your partners even respond to that? Would they be scarred for life?
These are the kinds of things I think about that kept me out of Princeton.
I’m pretty sure this is how I’m going to die.
It wasn’t enough that I was late to an intereview, or that my sister’s car broke down and I had to take a bus, but did this really have to happen, after all I’ve been through?
My hands are starting to go numb from desperately clutching onto the sharp irregular edges which were the only places I could grab in desperation. My grip is starting to slip, and my feet are sliding downward. It wouldn’t have been so bad if the bus driver had noticed by now, but I think the combination of her sunglasses, ipod, and general human apathy is why she hasn’t stopped by now. Or the reason she closed the door before I was actually in and caught my shirt and began to drive off.
It also wouldn’t have been as bad if a stray corner on a stop sign hadn’t ripped off my only pair of good dress pants. But the fact that I’m in my underwear, clutching on the side of a speeding bus that hasn’t stopped for miles, and am pretty sure I’m going to die.
I think I should take this as some sort of sign.
German legend says that asexuals have the ability to fly at night, but if you cut their hair off, they lose this ability.
Asexuals were referred to as “The Crow People,” in South America because it was thought they hatched from crow eggs and ate children who misbehaved often.
Asexual blood naturally lures unicorns.
Asexuals burst into flames if they touch any type of marital aid.