Showing posts with label butt plug. Show all posts
Showing posts with label butt plug. Show all posts

Resigned to his fate


I’ve just returned from a gala jungle event celebrating Pope Benny’s resignation. Everyone expected me to lampoon the old codger in my post-banquet speech, but I surprised them all by wishing him a happy retirement. I even persuaded the guests to pledge donations for a farewell gift, which we agreed should be a quartz crystal butt-plug. An ex-high-pontiff should gouge his rectum with the finest materials – the dignity of his position demands nothing less.

It’s no secret that Benny and I had our differences. His modus operandi was to make the innocent feel guilty so he could forgive them, while concealing the deeds of the guilty so that no one would blame the church. My modus operandi is to help humans discover their inner ape, so they lose their fear of being goosed and turn the other arse-cheek. These divergent philosophies meant we didn’t see eye-to-eye on a number of important issues concerning the erogenous zones. So be it. Now is the time to let bygones be bygones and let Benny hide in a monastery.

Some French feminists wanted me to join them for a celebration in Paris, but I turned them down. They held the event in Notre Dame Cathedral and marked the occasion of the Pope’s departure by chanting slogans at bemused tourists while running around topless. They also banged the big bell for good measure. I suspect they wanted me to bang the bell for them so they could concentrate on promulgating their message (whatever it was). I’m glad I didn’t go. A gorilla should not pander to stereotype by pounding away at the behest of nubile women.

It’s difficult to discuss Pope Benny without the condom question rearing its ugly head. He feared that people who used them would bonk away compulsively without having to worry about the consequences, which would make a mockery of the church. The good news for Benny is that a college student in America has come up with an idea that might address this concern. Mr Kyle McCabe is providing an emergency condom service for students on the point of copulation. As these condoms will only be delivered when the stiffy is ready and waiting, there is no question of encouraging anything that wouldn’t have happened anyway. I hope Benny’s successor will endorse this responsible use of the rubber.

The new Pope will have more important things to worry about, of course. The spiritual health of the flock is not what it might be in these days of confusion and disorder. Much of the problem, in my view, is the guilt Catholics feel about disobeying the church’s teaching on masturbation. I don’t know of a single one who is devout on this issue. Certainly not Ms Frankie Dobson, who recently educated me about the pleasures of a double-penetration wank. It’s high time the church legalised such acts to unburden the souls of the faithful. Perhaps Benny could experiment with the butt-plug we sent him and report back on its potential for spiritual invigoration.

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Electric butt plug

Somebody sent me an email urging me to read a book called Fifty Shades of Grey. I don’t know who the emailer is, but the main argument he made was as follows:

It’s the perfect book to write about in your blog. The main character is a woman who enjoys having an electric plug stuck up her bottom!

I don’t know whether to believe this. Electric plugs come in many shapes in sizes, but none, as far as I know, is suitable for pleasuring a woman’s dorsal orifice. I often get emails from practical jokers trying to bamboozle me with outlandish hoaxes. Another possibility is that my emailer is woefully ignorant about anal devices and confused an electric plug with a butt plug. Here is the substance of my reply:

Thanks for the suggestion, but it doesn’t sound like something I’d want to read. I’m not a fan of inserting plugs into sockets which haven’t been electrically tested. What you describe would be futile unless the woman could generate an alternating current in her rectum.

So much for Fifty Shades of Grey, now for a book I might actually read. I discovered it by accident during my anthropological studies and its title is God’s Doodle: The Life and Times of the Penis. As a work of non-fiction, it should be full of hard facts rather than descriptions of deeds which stretch credulity. All its Amazon reviews have 5 stars and the female reviewers found the book funny. One assumes they laughed at the pictures as much as the words. Here is what a couple of enthralled ladies wrote:

“I was laughing out loud and that was just at the introduction! Appeals to both men and women, my husband loved it too. I'll be buying more copies to give as Xmas gifts. Excellent!” – JessieSmurf

“A great book, really funny, I would recommend for yourself or as a present. Well written, this could be the next big thing.” – Jacqui

It’s a pity more people didn’t buy it for Christmas: it sounds like a great stocking stuffer.

A lot of men get annoyed when women laugh at their willies. They shouldn’t. Laughter is often a mask for other emotions, such as apprehension, surprise and discomfort caused by moisture in the panties. Smacker Ramrod, my old circus buddy, once told me that a woman he’d slept with had giggled at his dick.

“Don’t worry about it, Smacker,” I said. “Far better that she giggled than screamed or called the police.”

Unlike being sodomised by an electric plug, laughter is a normal, healthy thing for a woman to do. It relieves stress and exercises vital muscles, including those in the vicinity of the coochie. That’s why women who laugh frequently are more relaxed and easier to get into bed. If I were a man, I would happily garnish my todger with pretzel rings and icing sugar to make a woman laugh. As Martin Luther King said, you’ve got to keep your eyes on the prize.
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