Jawohl mein comrades, as you'll see -- if you're stupid enough to read through to the end, yeah I called you stupid but relax beacuse I'm stupid for writing this is a match made in a one-star hotel bar with the you're stupid for reading this so we're all stupid let's have a drink, no it's not on me I'm cheap like floozy -- the title is unquestionably the finest part of this post (except for the miraculous finish) which is admittedly not saying much because I've mastered the art of bar lowering to new heights (speaking of heights, how about that miraculous finish?) which is nearly an antithèse worthy of the strung out drunk in the corner, I did say let's have a drink, this rambling statement also proving that I'd be either a bad retail minion or industrial capitalist or both.
"But you'd make one hell of a zombie."
Huh. Um. Sure.
To demonstrate how out of touch I am with flesh world, upon having the late Dr. Marvin Monroe's bit about sexaholism pop into my brain in between the unyielding cavalcade, nay, flood, of filthy perversion during this morning's Magic Bus trip, I figured why not fire up The Google and and type that in.
Apparently, it's a real disorder, at least among the filthy pervert crowd.
Thankfully, sexlexia is not. Or sadly, because there are two Xs and since they're spaced apart, nay, spread, unlike in sexx or xxx, there's a whiff of the sultry yet naughty as opposed to overt, body thumping porn fucking.
Forgive me, Cheesus.
Jesus as Cheeto? Jonah Goldberg just had an orgasm, you betcha.
Personally, I think he -- sorry, He. I've had my fill of smiting by lightning bolt. Static cling sure does mute the sexlexia -- looks like these guys:
The Ghostest, nay, Hostest with the Mostest. The RCC should hire me.
Since we're already on the subject of the implausible, both natural and phantasmal, did the spectre of the secretly dead 1980 Browns possess the collective soul of the 2009 Cavs?
Stop with the miraculous finishes, gents.
Ow, my ticker!