Saturday, November 01, 2003

I love sex. I also love prime rib. In the same fashion that a chick has to smoke after sex, I truly enjoy post-sex prime rib. I guess it's not really post sex, rather it's post sex and post-chick leaving my house/me leaving her house. Either way, as soon as the obligatory hugs, kisses, good-byes, and/or payment is taken care of, I can't wait to get to the Skyland and order up some prime rib.

It's probably a fat-kid thing to say, but I'd venture that it's possible that sheer bliss could be felt by me if I could convince a girl to let me eat prime rib while I'm having sex with her. I can't imagine a relationship where you're so comfortable that you'd feel free to try to introduce red meat into the bedroom. You could ask, even if only to make any future requests seem normal by comparison.

Honey, would you mind if I set these prime rib pieces on your back and eat them while we make love?

Are you out of your fucking mind? Get the fuck away from me!

Okay, well then how about some anal?

Sure, whatever, just get that hot plate out of here.

I had sex this morning, then I had prime rib, now I want to have sex again. It's a vicious cycle. I'm going to have a heart attack by noon tomorrow.

Meg: click on the "Columns" section on the menu above for more suggested reading.

I wore a shirt, tie, backpack, and bicycle helmet as a costume last night [mormon].

Happy birthday John Barr.

Gooch: Out.

No comments: