June 29, 2013
I am technically no longer a “vegan” but have been downgraded to “vegetarian,” having come to the logical conclusion that torturing animals is not okay for the main meal but that “All is fair in love, war and desserts.” I figure how bad is it really for cows to have their udders udderly stretched out from being hooked up all day to extracting mechanisms? And is the life of a chicken cooped up, injected with hormones and starved to stimulate one more egg-laying cycle when their eggs are spent like a woman in menopause really that bad? The answer is “Yes!” but if that means I have to go to a specialty store to buy rice milk ice-cream or substitute coconut oil or apple sauce for eggs in my brownie mix I could easily look the other way.
Most people consider veganism to be just about the food. I have seen many a so-called vegan at animal rights demonstrations donning their leather boots and sometimes even jackets–no fur because fur has the same negative P.R. campaign that has worked against the cockroach but has protected the seemingly less repulsive beetle, the ladybug. But I was much smarter than these vegocrits. Or so I thought.
Well you can imagine the opening in my awareness when after 5 months of not getting laid the opportunity seemed to present itself and I was ungratefully informed that the vagina in question had a latex allergy. For all those Jonas Brother virgins out there, the usual alternative to latex rubber in the condom industry is made of lamb skin, a refined lamb jerky that is cleaned and polished and shaped to fit snuggly on a penis.
Now I wasn’t about to contribute to a little lamb that Mary could have had being slaughtered for my penile protection. But the alternative was the possibility that my personal Mount Vesuvius would not get a chance to blow its lava and the result of this could be, well, explosive–and destructive! And because I cared about the future of our society, minus the cows and chickens that would keep me in desserts, I had to come up with an out of the condom box solution to allow my penis key to open the lock on her chastity belt.
“AIDS is really not that bad of a disease, I mean, it’s only four letters long. ‘Cancer,’ ‘heart disease,’ ‘gingivitis’–all have way more letters than AIDS!”
“I’m not fucking you without a condom,” she snapped like a turtle at your finger after you’ve continued to poke him for 15-minutes straight, laughing all the while to your friends, “Look at this wimpy guy, he just takes it like a bitch!”
I had read in a book entitled Get Laid Quick! that referring to coital copulation as “making love” adds a romanticism that is sure to get you laid and tried my lot. “Look, I only have a few weeks to live–maybe days. And making love to you is on my Bucket List.”
“Oh, really? And what, may I ask, is the cause of your untimely death?” she asked, seemingly unconvinced.
“AIDS?” Apparently that was not the recommended answer from the book.
“Get out,” she said, and I had no time to spare as I went to Plan B.
“Whoa, whoa!” I said. “Okay, okay, you win. Just give me a blowjob and I’ll be fine. It’s not my preference but I’m willing to lower my expectations for today.”
“Leave!” she shouted, which was totally unnecessary as I was in close proximity to her and my auricular abilities are stellar, in fact when I am at the porno theaters I can clearly distinguish between the sound of a zipper going down and one going up.
“Fine! Just jerk me off and I’ll be on my way,” I conceded. At this point she picked up her lamp and chased me towards the door. I made it outside as the door slammed behind me. Now I went on the offensive. Through the closed door I yelled loud enough so that all the neighbors could hear.
“YOU KNOW THERE ARE PEOPLE IN AFRICA IN DARKNESS AND THEY WOULD NEVER THINK OF SMASHING SOMEONE’S HEAD WITH A LAMP THAT COULD PROVIDE LIGHT FOR THEIR WHOLE COMMUNITY, YOU UNCARING BITCH!”
It wasn’t until I wandered into the Duane Reade on the corner to buy some Skittles for the edible anal bead project that I was making in Home Ec class that I stumbled into the condom section and saw that Skyn condoms from Lifestyles was billed as “Premium polysoprene non-latex lubricated condoms,” meaning I had not only been a pig but ignorant of that I could have had my cake and fuck it as well.
Well, thanks to my discovery I am no longer ignorant but I am afraid that my testicles will soon be featured on the History Channel with the narrator’s voice-over saying, “These ancient ruins used to produce semen but after decades of lack of use they dried up and are now as dusty as a nun’s vagina.” At least it will be a nice break from all the Hitler shows they air. OINK OINK!