How do I love my lady's anus? Let me count the ways.

      Have you seen her? Have you seen my beautiful lady and her anus? Unless you are an ex-boyfriend, her proctologist, or an art student in that class she modeled for, you probably have not have glimpsed the fairest orifice on God's green Earth. For this, you have my deepest sympathies.

      I would put my lady's anus up against any of the legendary anuses of the past: Helen of Troy, Joan of Arc, Marie Curie, Eleanor Roosevelt. Even Cleopatra, who, according to legend, had a team of eunuchs apply balms and liniments with silken cloths to keep her anus and inner rectum immaculate, could not stand up to my lady. (My lady needs no such fripperies to be beautiful... though I do not hesitate to lavish them on her.) Lovely as Cleopatra's anus may have been, compared to my lady's, hers is a pustulent, lesion-ravaged hole.

    My lady does not like me to go on and on about her anus, but how can I resist? When I look into that one brown eye, it's like gazing into a deep, untouched lake. Sometimes, it's as if I'm gazing through a taut, puckered window into her very soul, placing myself in danger of being hypnotized by the swirls of her rectum. Her anus is like a vessel I can't seem to fill with enough love, no matter how hard I try. I am not what one would call a holy man, but when I am gently kissing my lady's fragrant anus, I am convinced that there must be a higher power out there who made this sacred aperture.

      As I am very protective of my lady's anus, few have seen it. Nevertheless, I am fond of waxing rhapsodic on its beauty. This can be difficult, though, for how does one describe the beauty of a Tuscan moon? How does one tell of the glory of the cosmos? Shakespeare would have written sonnets about it. Beethoven would have discarded his "Ode To Joy" in favor of "Ode To My Lady's Anus." And Raphael would have tried—and failed—to render its essence in oils. Lo, prodigious as these immortals' artistic gifts were, my lady's anus would have proven too elusive a muse for any of them to capture.

      Yes, my lady's anus is a sight to behold. But it is not just a question of looks. For all its aesthetic loveliness, the greatest thing about my lady's anus is its personality. Sometimes silly, sometimes sad; sometimes dilated, sometimes clenched, it reveals a new wrinkle every time we meet.

      Whether I see it reflected in candlelight during a romantic dinner or after it has just awaken from a night's slumber, my lady's anus is still as lovely to me as the first time I saw it. My friends say I won't feel the same way about it when it's 60. I disagree. It may lose that youthful glow, but this is the kind of anus that will only ripen with age. As further assurance, I once caught a glimpse of my lady's mother's anus and, as we all know, the apple does not fall far from the tree.

      People say I'm spoiling my lady's anus by buying imported, hand-woven silk toilet paper. But do you polish a diamond with sandpaper? Do you restore the Mona Lisa with a hammer? My lady's anus deserves ruby and emerald enemas. Swabs of cotton soaked in the finest champagne. Anything less would be woefully inadequate for an orifice of such sublime beauty.

      And don't even get me started on her perineum.

That Female Looks Capable of Passing On My Genetic Material

      Whoa, mama. Time out. Will you take a look at what just stepped up to the bar? Those hips. Those legs. Those breasts. That is one seriously fine-looking woman. I can think of a few things I could do with a body like that, no doubt. Yes, sir, now there's a female of my species who'd be more than capable of passing on my genetic material.

      Are you looking over here, you flirty little thing? Yeah, I see you scoping me out. I see you with that hungry look. One glance and you could tell I'm the type of guy who'd know how to successfully impregnate you, such that both of our phenotypical variations would be represented in a new generation.

      That girl cannot be a day over 21: the peak of a female's fertility. She sure is showing indicators of increased estrogen production. Those round, firm breasts, they sure look ready for nursing. And check out the ass on her. Bam! That girl's waist-to-hip ratio must be right around 0.7, optimal for successful birthing, assuring that my offspring would have a greater chance of surviving and, in turn, procreating themselves.

That little miniskirt she's got on certainly doesn't hurt matters, either. It sure shows off those nice long legs of hers. If she were afflicted with some sort of genetic mutation, there's no way she'd be that tall. And even though the light's not too great in this bar, it looks like she's free of any chromosomatic defections. Not only that, I can tell by the way she walks that she's free of diseases, which, if in turn were transferred to our offspring, would limit their ability to remain healthy and compete for food with other members of the species.

      Shit, that woman is hot. I mean, just look at those perfectly symmetrical facial features! I've been around the block enough to know that skeletal symmetry is a reliable indicator of health and fertility. Yeah, you know what I'm talking about. There ain't an irregularly shortened limb on that chick, that's for sure.

      That is a W-O-M-A-N, no doubt about it. No man would have eyebrows with an arch that pronounced. Not only that, her eyes are larger than those of a male, and her nose and jaw are narrower, signaling to me that this is most definitely a woman. And a woman is exactly the kind of homosapien with which I need to mate to assure both extraspecial and interspecial domination.

      She's looking at me again. Yeah, she is sizing me up, no doubt. Well, if you're looking for a guy loaded with advantageous genetic traits, you've come to the right place, baby. You're thinking my solid musculature is a reliable indicator that I possess good chromosomatic qualities? You got that right, hon. I am the man to increase your fecundity.

Bereaved? Come Bathe In The Healing Light of My Cock

by Phacial Condom

      Are you bereaved from the loss of a loved one? Are you all alone in this world, with nowhere to turn? Are you one of the billions of wounded souls who have suffered a deep and unnameable anguish? Well, there is someone out there who understands. Or, to be more precise, something that understands. Something far bigger than you can possibly imagine.

      You need to know that no matter how low you are feeling, you have a friend right now. A friend named My Cock.

      My Cock will be there for you always, and My Cock does not judge. It just loves. Can you imagine being loved more than you ever thought possible? And more frequently? That is a joy you can know today, simply by inviting My Cock into your heart and various other parts of yourself.

      Does it feel like the whole world has turned against you? My Cock would never turn against you. My Cock is loving and gentle. It will ease your pain and bathe you in Its healing glory, because My Cock understands, and It wants to love you as much as you want to be loved.

      I know you are going through some hard times right now. But as hard as these times are, you must understand that there is something out there that is even harder. Let My Cock show you that you can know joy once again. You can know a deep and long-lasting joy. A deep, deep, deep and long-lasting joy. All night long, I would imagine.

      You've probably heard of My Cock, but maybe you haven't given serious thought to what It could do for you. You doubtless figured, "I'm young. I have plenty of time to start a relationship with Phacial's Great Big Cock." But we only go around once, and you can never know when your time will be up. Life can end in the blink of an eye. Do you really want that to happen without knowing the everlasting joy that is My Cock? Thousands slip into a Cockless eternity every hour. Please do not be one of them.

      But as important as it is to start and nurture a personal relationship with My Cock, you need to know that you have an enemy, as well. An enemy who pretends to have your best interests in mind but is really just out to use and destroy you. That enemy is called Whiskey 3's Cock. And it will lead you down a path to destruction.

      My Cock does not discriminate. My Cock does not care whether you are rich, poor, young, old, black, white, red, yellow, or plaid. There is room for everyone—with the possible exception of fatties—in the Kingdom of My Cock. And there is nothing you can do that would make My Cock turn Its back on you. And not merely because it has no back. For even if It had a back, My Cock would never turn it on you because of something you did, no matter how bad the deed was.

      My Cock has had Its detractors. There were people who hated My Cock. They persecuted It, they mocked It, they beat It, and they pounded nails through It. But My Cock is still here. Behold, My Cock has risen! It has risen time and time again, gazing down upon the entire world from on high. So those of you who have fallen from grace, who have lost your way, let My Cock point the way to your destiny.

      In closing, suffer the little children to come unto My Cock, and I invite you, as well. Won't you accept My Cock today, or maybe Friday night?