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Subject: {ASSM} Assorted Forms of Humor (asst genres and styles) TBD
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Date: Mon, 16 Apr 2012 20:10:02 -0400
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Assorted Forms of Humor (asst genres and styles)
---

Let's start this one off with the what appears to have become the
definitive story in its genre, as far as ASS* is concered...

Contest - Worst Similes
---

OK, here's how this one got started.

The following list was posted to alt.sex.stories.d 
---

From: dennyw
Subject: {ASSD} Wonderfully Bad Metaphors & Similes
---

The Top 20 Bad Romance Novel Metaphors or Similes

20 His body was hard -- not hard like Milosevic, the Serbian
strongman, but hard like the marble on your shower floor, when you
fall and bang your knee.

19 Her shoulders heaved like the tiny sobs of Snuggles the cat being
run through with a roasting spit.

18 Her embrace made his manhood swell like week-old roadkill on hot
asphalt in the Georgia sun.

17 Her petticoats dropped to the ground, rustling like a cockroach in
a sugar bowl.

16 As she kissed her way down his manly chest, he felt his Amalgamated
Crane Company stock increasing in value.

15 Beatrice was on him like a piranha on a corn dog.

14 ...then he kissed her, like a butterfly kisses the windshield of a
Porsche on the Autobahn.

13 Her breasts heaved like a stormy ocean, and her pointed nipples
were like hypodermics washed up on the shore.

12 With his broad shoulders and slim waist, he was a yield sign -- yet
she could NOT!

11  He tore open her blouse like a Publisher's Clearing House letter
in which he, and some guy named Steven Bouber from Stockton,
California, were potential finalists for the ten million dollar prize.

10 His manhood stood at full attention, stiff and stony like the vice
president.

9 Sleekly malevolent, driven by a violent hunger, Donovan glided
through the chum-filled waters of the singles bar, oblivious to the
remora of Annabelle's adoring gaze.

8 Like the wind, she ran, her breasts lurching like a motor boat over
a wake, and then, as fluid as a fine imported transmission, she
whipped out her man-organ and pissed away his dreams.

7 Her sun-glazed back formed a golden arch as he moved his face toward
her happy meal.

6 With each breath, her chest heaved like a bulimic after Thanksgiving
dinner.

5 He Beatty-ed her shamelessly, making her squeal like Ned and
hallucinate like Warren.

4 He awoke my slumbering womanhood with his double tall loin latte.
"Starbuck!" I cried.

3 His chest was her pillow, and oh, did she drool.

2 Claire felt swept away by this dark stranger, a helpless dust bunny
in the roaring cacophony of his gas-powered leaf blower.

and Topfive.com's Number 1 Bad Romance Novel Metaphor or Simile...

1 His finger, weathered and rough from years on the ranch, danced in
and out of his nose like a slimy ballerina.(By Chris White)
---------

Then he tossed out a challenge.  Write a story using ALL of those...

Well, I did.
---

Simile Sally
---

Sleekly malevolent, driven by a violent hunger, Donovan glided through
the chum-filled waters of the singles bar, oblivious to the remora of
Annabelle's adoring gaze.

Annabelle smiled as she tippy-toed past the drunks while on her way to
meet Donovan.  She was very impressed with him.  His body was hard --
not hard like Milosevic, the Serbian strongman, but hard like the
marble on your shower floor, when you fall and bang your knee. She
shivered as she remembered their first time together.  'I'll never
forget how he awoke my slumbering womanhood with his double tall loin
latte.  "Starbuck!" I cried.'

As the two of them snuck towards their illicit rendezvous in the
public toilet, Donovan savored his memories of the last time they met.
Just remembering her embrace made his manhood swell like week-old
roadkill on hot asphalt in the Georgia sun.

As they met and savored their illicit meeting, Annabelle smiled coyly
as her petticoats dropped to the ground, rustling like a cockroach in
a sugar bowl.  Her shoulders heaved like the tiny sobs of Snuggles the
cat being run through with a roasting spit as she thought of what he
was about to do to her.

She murmurred words of endearment as his finger, weathered and rough
from years on the ranch, danced in and out of his nose like a slimy
ballerina. Lost in a haze of lust, she stared at him and hungered for
his body.  With his broad shoulders and slim waist, he was a yield
sign  -- yet she could NOT!

Donovan smiled knowingly at her hesitation.  He tore open her blouse
like a Publisher's Clearing House letter in which he, and some guy
named Steven Bouber from Stockton, California, were potential
finalists for the ten million dollar prize.

He waited and watched as her breasts heaved like a stormy ocean, and
her pointed nipples were like hypodermics washed up on the shore.
Grinning at her flirting ways, he waited until his manhood stood at
full attention, stiff and stony like the vice president... then he
kissed her, like a butterfly kisses the windshield of a Porsche on the
Autobahn.

He laughed as Annabelle grinned up him with lust in her eyes.  As she
kissed her way down his manly chest, he felt his Amalgamated Crane
Company stock increasing in value.

Finally, as they fell towards the floor where the tiles gleamed like
the misty pictures taken by Hubble's blind eye, he Beatty-ed her
shamelessly, making her squeal like Ned and hallucinate like Warren.

"On your knees," he commanded harshly.  Willingly, she complied.  Her
sun-glazed back formed a golden arch as he moved his face toward her
happy meal.

Eyes glazed, she felt herself drawn into her orgasm.  With each
breath, her chest heaved like a bulimic after Thanksgiving dinner.

Satiated, they rolled over and relaxed together.   His chest was her
pillow, and oh, did she drool.  "Soon?"  She whispered in his ear.

He nodded.

Half-asleep, he was awakened by a spiked heel in his groin.  Looking
through barely open eyes he realized that Beatrice was on him like a
piranha on a corn dog.

Fully awake at the chance to satisfy himself again, he chased her out
into the alley.

Like the wind, she ran, her breasts lurching like a motor boat over a
wake, and then, as fluid as a fine imported transmission, she whipped
out her man-organ and pissed away his dreams.

He sighed.  Frustrated, he stalked back into the bar.  Without paying
attention to what she looked like, he grabbed the first woman he saw
and started carrying her to the toilet.  "You're coming with me."  He
growled.

Lost in a boozy haze, Claire felt swept away by this dark stranger, a
helpless dust bunny in the roaring cacophony of his gas-powered leaf
blower. "Maybe he's the one," she thought to herself as she puked down
his back.
~~~

k9pov

Loosely based on and inspired by some of the events at one of Lord
Malinov's Solstice Parties
---

A Conversation with The Devil
(note:  Beelz should be pronounced Bells)
-------

As I wander around the party, I notice that an old friend seems to be
feeling glum.

When I get a chance, I go over to see what his problem is.

"Hey Beelz.  How come the glum look?"

The gleam in the eyes and the minute tail twitch tell me he's vastly
amused about something.  "Gotta maintain character for that twerp that
cited the new laws at me."

"You mean you didn't tell him?"  I jump on the table and notice his
glass is empty.  "Want me to refill that for you?"

He holds it up.  "Sure.  Go ahead.  Best offer I've had for quite some
time."  His tones tell me he's talking about more than the party.

I lift a leg and let lose some of what has been building pressure in
my bladder.  "Been drinking too much.  Plenty more if you need it."

We share a laugh as I settle on my haunches.

"Maybe later."  He slugs it back.

"Getting back to the lawyer type, the Man upstairs and I have an
agreement. You know that."

I snicker softly.  People near us turn to see if they can figure out
what would make someone sound that 'evil'.  All they see is ol'
Beelzebub sitting quietly and me sitting there staring off at nothing.
"Yeah, lawyers go to Heaven.

"Everyone's dream.  Do what you want.  Every desire fulfilled."  I
pause to grin at Beelz.

"Yep."  Now his smile is the one he's famous for.  "Every lawyer's
dream. Win your final case by beating The Devil at the court of final
judgment." He's laughing softly.  Now, he's fully in character as the
boss of Hell.  Well, he should be.  He's the one who wrote the job
description.

"The Old Man up there and I planned for lawyers.  You see, I pointed
out that there were bound to be, shall we say, 'conflicts of interest'
involved in his heaven as it was designed.  With all those folks
arriving, even He was going to have trouble keeping track of them all.

"He got my drift fairly quickly.  Only makes sense to hire
administrators. The angels wouldn't touch that job even with a
lifetime sentence in Hell facing them if they refused.  Besides,
they're busy being tour guides for the new folks.  Things are pretty
hectic up there sometimes."

I nod slowly as I let my eyes follow the ebb and flow around us.  It's
subtle but most people are avoiding us.

Seeing a dog apparently on good terms with Beelzebub is not something
that is part of most folks' 'concept of the way things should be'.

"How's the two week exemption you give them working out?"  Most folks
think that once you get to Heaven or Hell, that's it.  Normally,
that's true.  On the other hand, The Man upstairs has been known to
change his mind once in awhile.  He IS merciful after all.  So, all
the lawyers get two weeks off every year to come to Hell and relax.
The rules don't say Heaven can't be Hell or Hell can't be Heaven
-given the right conditions.  Only that they are separate places for
each person.  As Beelz once explained it: 'Heaven and Hell are
concepts, not places.  Makes for some interesting variations.'

"Fairly well.  After the first few trips, most of them tend towards
politeness when they show up here."  Beelz's comment is bland.

He leans back casually.  Oops, here it comes.  "You, on the other
hand, are a real problem.  As well as the idiot who created you. The
Man is highly pissed about that.  So am I for that matter."

"That remark tells me you still haven't found a solution."  I tilt my
head to study him as he smiles ruefully.

"Guy, don't you dare tell anyone you're responsible for The Devil
living in his own Hell that he hasn't found a way out of - yet.  We
both know you didn't plan it that way."

He settles back in his chair and scratches his head with the tip of
his tail.

"Nobody could have foreseen you.  So, we never put any plans in place.
Thought it was all cut and dried.  Animals, depending on their nature,
would go to Heaven or Hell.  Since we designed you to be inherently
'innocent', most of you would go to Heaven.  We have some who wind up
here but that was because we intended it that way."

I nod.

"Refill this."  I stand up and comply.  As I settle on my belly, he
sips thoughtfully.  "Now there's no doubt that the man who created you
is going to be my guest. The problem is that the absolute best I can
give him is something that involves you."

"Part of *my* idea of Heaven.  And?..."  I prompt him.

"Yeah.  Besides, his knowing you made it to Heaven would let him
justify what he did.  Mitigate the effect."

There's a long and moody pause.  "We did consider me retiring and
turning this whole mess over to you."

"NO!"  I can't help my whimper of terror.

"Exactly.  You know that by all the rules, you should wind up in Hell.
It's that pragmatism of yours that's getting in the way.  We can't
give you what you feel you deserve.  It wouldn't be Hell enough."

"Fucking free will." He mumbles it.  "So, in the meantime, neither one
of us can take you and we can't send you to purgatory because we
already know where you're going to wind up..."

I finish it for him.  "So I get to keep living.  Which for most folks
would be Hell.  Except I'm an animal and able to simply accept what
happens and make the best of it."

"You realize that might solve your problem with my creator.  Do
nothing to him.  Turn him loose in Hell and ignore him."

It's his turn to study me.  "What made you suggest that?"

"I know humans.  Some of the things going on at the party have
reminded me that some humans will create and live in their own Hell -
if they are given the chance."

He nods slowly.  "The Hell of not knowing.  A lot of humans aren't
able to handle that one..."  His voice trails off into thoughtful
musing.

I turn my head and our eyes meet.

I see something that could be called respect.  If so, neither one of
us will ever speak of it openly. "Damnit guy.  I wish you'd stop this
sort of thing."  His rebuke is mildly given.

I gaze off and laugh that slightly evil laugh I've managed to perfect.

"Beelz, I thought you knew why I do things.

"It's my *nature* to be helpful.  You folks made me that way. Sapience
let me refine my sense of humor.

"Besides."  I let my voice carry the shrug...

"What else is there to do to keep an immortal and sapient dog
entertained?"

Before I turn away, I let him see the depths of my soul.

"Since you so ably pointed it out earlier, I don't deserve this. Isn't
that Hell enough to satisfy everyone?"

"We..."  He pauses to reconsider his words. When he finally speaks, I
detect something few would believe him capable of. Pain.  "I'm sorry."

"Forget it.  We can't do anything about it yet.  Let me fill your
glass again, you can fill mine - and we'll go on with our lives."

"Yet?"  His voice is puzzled.

"I'm only the first.  It's going to take some time but eventually
there will be enough sapient animals around to create our own
philosphies.  Our own Heaven and Hell if we wind up leaning that way."

I sigh.  "Personally, I doubt if we'll follow the human model.  "Good'
and 'Evil' aren't concepts we're comfortable with.  'Is' and 'is not'
would be closer."

He nods slowly as he considers my words.  "So you're saying you think
you folks will probably just keep on going as you were in life."

"Pretty much so, yes.  In the meantime, I have to live by your rules.
It's the only game going right now.  Stupid - but the Man upstairs
always has been rather single track."

"Yeah."  Both of us fall silent as we try to relax again.

"Beelz?"  I laugh softly.

"Yeah guy?"

"Merry Christmas, my friend."  I'm smiling at the incongruity of the
image.

"Bah!  Humbug!"  He doesn't bother to hide his grin.  "My friend."
~~~

Tale of the Toxic Dildo
---

Fade in...

I'm something of an anal erotic.  Have been all my life.  However, for
reasons mostly unknown, I never did get around to actually buying a
dildo until a few years ago.

So, one day, while I was near an adult store, I decided to browse and
buy a 'real dildo'.

Like any careful shopper concerned about getting the best buy for
their money, I take the time to carefully peruse the entire selection
of dildos, butt-plugs and other typical adult toys.  Finally, I settle
for this 7.5 inch 'realistic' penis with balls attached.

OK, so now I get it home and at various times, do various things with
it.  Insert it anally, suck on it, whatever seems worth trying.  In
short, I enjoy myself with it for the next couple of months.

Now, I'm living in a small travel trailer at the time.  It's hooked up
to a sewage pipe so I don't have to worry about emptying the holding
tank.  This is an old trailer, mid 60s vintage.  The commode is
basically something comfortable to sit on over a hole that is directly
into the holding tank.  No problems here.

Now, I've developed a routine of bathing by boiling water (the hot
water heater is long gone), using a large trash can to mix the water
to the correct temp and bathing from there.  Naturally, I use the
leftover water to soak/wash my dildo.  One must be hygenic when it
comes to their toys.  Right?

I'm sure some of you can see what eventually happened.  One day, I
casually dumped the water, not remembering the dildo was in the
container.  The thump as it tumbled through the opening into the tank
told me in no uncertain terms - what I had just done.

Now, it was the middle of winter, the hole was 3 inches in diameter
and a carefull examination revealed it had already drifted out of
sight.  "Probably near the drain" I mumble.  "It's cold, late...  I'll
wait until warmer weather to dig for it.  Just have to remember to
make sure the tank empties properly until I can remove it."  Yep, I
was already anticipating the effects of the 'blockage'.

Life returns to normal but without my dildo to amuse me any longer.
Months pass...

About 3 months later, I start smelling this odor coming from the
bathroom and vent.  It wasn't hard to figure out what it was.  Still
colder than...  Whatever.  I'll wait some more.  Examination of the
situation has long ago convinced me that the only way to get the damn
dildo out is to cut a hole in the tank and reach in and grab it.  Not
attractive but I'm resigned to doing it.  Someday.

Fade out...

Fade in...

Odor is worse.  Even with all the windows open and a fan to circulate
the air, I'm getting headaches.  I'm in online chat with a friend and
mention the 'problem'.  We both agree something has to be done.  I
have visions of winding up in emergency from the effects of the fumes.
We agree that I will check in every day until I have recovered the
dildo and am reasonably sure I won't wind up in the hospital.

What happens a couple of days later can only be dreamed of.  To
experience it was another story.  I waited until everyone was gone,
cut an access hole in the tank, wound up filing a 5 gal pail with the
contents of the tank, enptied it, got some more overflow and emptied
that...

Finally, with the ground covered, I reach in almost to my armpit and
recover the now 'well marinated' dildo.  Setting it aside, I flush the
tank and use a gallon of bleach to neutralize what has overflowed.
Eventually, the tank gets resealed.

The dildo gets taken inside, rinsed and stuffed in a ziplock bag just
in case it's needed for toxicity tests should I still wind up making
that emergency room visit.

At this point, all I can do is laugh wryly and wait.

After a week or so of nervous waiting, I'm feeling fine - and somewhat
embarrassed.

I decide to see if I can reclaim my dildo.  After all, I missed it. :)

It gets put in a pot of water and boiled for 4 hours or so.
Sniff-sniff...  Nope.  Boil some more.  Nope.  After over 6 hours of
boiling, I write it off and put it back in the bag and in the trash
can for a trip to the dump.

Oh well.

Now, I come away with these thoughts.  I'd been sucking on this thing
and inserting it in my ass.  OK, fine.  Prolonged marination in body
wastes caused it to outgas something that was at best, mildly toxic
and at  worst, capable of putting me in the hospital.  Am I pleased?
Not hardly.  Will I buy another one?  Not made of that material.  < g
>

So, rather than risk becoming a victim of what could be called 'Toxic
Dildo Syndrome'...

I haven't bought a dildo since.
~~~

Notes from G.O.D.
---

Fucking middle management.  It's the only entity able to fuck up a wet
dream faster than my son can.  The trainers were supposed to tell the
members of the new species to freely eat of the tree of knowledge. How
else would the new species become fruitful and multiply?  By the time
the early reports reached me, their libidos were so damn confused we
almost lost the contract to produce the zeitgeist on the latest world.

I called Luce in and raked him over the coals for that fuckup.  He and
my son are tending the furnace in the basement.  I hope the menial
labor gives them time to do some serious thinking.

In the meantime, I had my bodyguards go find the least screwed up
breeding pair and told them to destroy the rest.  The client wasn't
too happy but I explained that the science of zeitgeistics is so new
that mistakes were bound to happen.  I had to take it in the shorts
-literally - but I managed to get us a contract extension.

Next time...  Hell, there better not be a next time.  Another loss
like that and we'll all be spinning asteriods for a living.

JAH
---

Shit.

Some idiot broke the switch on a transmuter and we lost a promising
breeding colony yesterday.  Luckily, a janitor with some initiative
managed to locate a group that had been foraging and told them to run
like hell.

What the hell are we going to do with all that sodium chloride?  I
guess I'll have someone slowly dump it into the water retention basins
and hope nobody catches them doing it.

That's all I'd need.  Bad enough we're getting a reputation for
carelessness.  Charges of 'Unauthorized changes to the conditions
agreed on in the contract', I don't need.

JAH
---

I knew it.  I knew my son was incompetent but this is just plain
stupid.  What the hell did he think I sent him to all those schools
for?  The sex?

I sent him down there to observe and report back on what is really
going on.  Instead, he and his buddies got together and created some
sort of high profile cult. Our security discovered them and put a stop
to their foolishness before it got bad enough it would have resulted
in a government probe.

Looks like it's too late though.  The confusion has started the fields
fluctuating wildly.  I pulled all of our people out and paid penalty
fees for failing to meet the contract requirements.

We're lucky I had the foresight to limit us to smaller scale
operations after this one started falling apart.  We're solvent but
just barely.

I convinced the licensing board to let us buy the world at the
original estimated selling price.  In the short term, it's a hell of a
loss - but maybe in the long term we can learn enough from all the
mistakes we made so that we can refine our techniques and have more
flexibility that allows for stupidity.

His mother be damned.  My son pissed me off so much I knocked him into
a mountain and left him there.  I'll have the cleanup crew pick him up
later and have the idiot committed to an asylum.

I understand the parents of the others have already placed their kids
under constant supervision or wiped their brains and sent them back to
school.

JAH
---

The following note was found attached to the newly discovered internal
memos.
---

Gabe:

I need this stuff filed in the secure area.  When that's done, go find
Mike and see me in my office.  Piss on it, the three of us need a long
vacation before we try and figure out how to cover our asses on this
one.

JAH
---

We have been unable to locate the missing co-founders (John (JAH)
Allen Harper, Gabriel (Gabe) Lucian and Michael (Mike) Angelico) of
G.O.D. (the Guardian Overlords Division) of Interstellar Zeitgeist. No
foul play is suspected.  Other records indicate that the three of them
are on an unannounced sabbatical while they are figuring out how to
deal with this debacle.

After due consideration we have concluded that the plan of JAH to
allow the fields to self-stabilize - should be followed until their
return.  At that time we expect they will have formulated a workable
solution.

In short, we can find no viable alternative to JAH's publicly
announced plan of doing nothing until things stabilze.

End report

Internal Investigations Division,
Interstellar Zeitgeist
~~~

Faint Dam
---

The family had just finished eating dinner and while the youngest son
was taking the dishes to the sink to be washed, he tripped and let
them fall to the floor, whereupon they shattered.

His mother sighed as he picked the pieces up and threw them away. When
he sat back down at the table, she settled her head on her arms and
sighed again.  Finally, without looking up, she whispered.  "Thank you
for picking them up."

The boy, in shock, stared at his mother and whispered:  "You're not
mad at me?"

His father smiled as he looked at his embarrassed son.

"Haven't you ever been praised by a faint dam?"

alt last line:
"Son, you've just been praised by a faint dam."
~~~

Rue Gorge
---

The family was standing at the overlook and enjoying the view of the
canyon and the river below.

Their young daughter, ever curious and at that age where she had the
'whys', had gone over and read the small plaque that gave the name the
locals used for the area below.

She tugged at her mother's skirt and when her mother looked down to
see what she wanted this time, she asked, "It just gives that silly
old name.  Why is it called that?  Why?"

The woman knelt down and explained.

"Many years ago a foolish man thought he could make lots of money by
building a special motorcycle and riding it from this side to the
other.  He spent a lot of time and money on the project but when the
day came, he climbed in, drove the motorcycle up a special ramp..."

The girl was breathless.  "And?!"

The woman shook her head.  "There wasn't a happy ending.  He didn't
make it."

"Did he die, Momma?"

"No.  He lived and everyone who helped - regretted that they had been
taken in by his rash promises." The woman took in a deep breath and a
small smile played across her lips.

"That dear, is the reason the people named this place..."

" 'Rue Gorge'."
~~~

Virago Blues
---

The woman was complaining to her therapist.

"My neighbors have all moved out, my husband divorced me because he
said I wouldn't let him wear the pants in our family, the kids can
*never* do anything right..."  She rambled on and on and on while the
therapist idly swung his chair back and forth.

"And furthermore," she continued, "I'm sick and tired of watching you
swing that chair around all the time.  Doctor, if you don't stop that
constant movement, I'm going to start calling you 'Dr. Spin'."

He stopped his idle movements and turned to face her.  He leaned back
in his chair and calmly gave his diagnosis.  "My dear, as soon as the
new neigbors move in, I'm sure you will quickly recover and become
your usual self."

"The condition you are suffering from is well known."

"It's called 'Virago Blues'.
~~~

Preaching to The Choir
---

The scene takes place during a choir practice session.

Minister:  "What did you think of the new sermon?"

Choir member:  "Slept through most of it again.  Did wake up right
after
you did that pause for effect before you shouted 'Damnation to them
all!'
"

Minister nods slightly:  "Anything else?"

Choir member, reluctantly:  "Fell asleep right after you shouted.
Sorry."

Minister looks at the rest of the choir:  "So you think I need to work
on
the rest of the delivery after that point?"

Choir:  Lots of nods.

Minister:  "OK.  Go back to sleep.  I'll see what I can do."

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
~~~

Panache
---

"That's my father's car."

"So?"

"You know he's going to grill you about your intentions, when he sees
us."

"He's a Minister.  I expect it.  I have all my answers ready.  You
know that."

"Uh huh.  That's nice, but not what I meant, and you know it.  You
have one hand under my blouse, and the other in my crotch, fondling
me, which feels pretty good, by the way."

"Aren't you forgetting last weekend, when he caught us fucking?  He
satisfied himself about those intentions, then."

"Hi, kids.  Well, Young Man?"

"Hi.  I'm here, she's in my lap, this isn't the first time--and I
don't plan on making it the last."

"Right.  Good enough for me.  Should we assume you've set a date?"

"No.  She hasn't asked me, yet."

"Tsk.  Stupid if she doesn't, but that's her choice.  Keep the noise
down.  It's been a long day for us."

"Ok."

"See?  You worried for no reason."
~~~

The Erotic Alphabet
---

A is for Ass, firm and round.
B is for Breasts, that I love to fondle.
C is for the Chest, where her Breasts live
D is for Dangle, what my Testicles do when I'm spent
E is for the Erogenous zones that turn a Woman on
F is for Fetish, unusual desires
G is for the G-spot, and the Orgasm it triggers
H is for Hot, the inside of a Vulva
I is for Intercourse, Intense all the time
J is for Jerk-off, who has the time?
K is for the Kiss, and the carnal Knowledge we share
L is for Lust and the Love of your partner
M is for Men who always Love Sex
N is for Now, her insistent demands
O is for Orgasm, long and intense
P is for my Penis, hard and demanding
Q is for Quiet, the long afterglow
R is for Randy, always Ready for Sex
S is for Sex, Hot and Slippery delight
T is for my Testicles, huge and swollen
U is for Undress, what we do if we remember
V is for the Vulva, where my Penis slides home
W is for Women who love to have Sex
X is for X-rated, what we do all the time
Y is for Yes!, a word I Love to hear
Z is for Zygote, created with Love.
~~~

Dog Acronyms
---

DOG - Di-optic grabber
BIGDOG - Bold, intense, greedy di-optic grabber
BADDOG - Brainless and dumb ...
GOODDOG - Goes out of doors ...
SADDOG - Slow and Dejected ...
HOUSEDOG - Hopes on usually slim evidence ...
FATDOG - Full and taut ...
STRAYDOG - Seldom tracked remotely active young ...
OLDDOG - Often loses directions ...
BLACKDOG - Bossy, lazy and commanding kingpin... variation: beautiful,
loving and completely kissable
BITCH - backup intensive temporary coupling housing.  Sometimes seen
in conjunction with STRAYDOG
---
A very poorly written limerick:
---

The REAL story behind Gilligan's Island...
---

The Howels are married, but what few know is how they met.  In his
youth, he was a high class pimp specializing in supplying girls for
rich businessmen and she was his top earner.  Through some shrewd
'investments' and a bit of blackmail, they made enough to eventually
graduate from the streets and start a 'house' that let them expand
their operations and incidentally provide a safer way for them to
match their clients with the girls.  'You have to look rich to get
rich' is a solid part of their business plan.  When they realized they
were a natural pair, they decided to get married--at first to protect
their business interests and later stayed together out of a real sense
of love for each other.  They aren't totally monogamous and do play
the field when the mood strikes them.

'The Professor' is a bit cynical.  His loyalty is to money, and
experimentation.  The Howels have provided him with both.  Sex?  When
he feels the pressure he does something about it.  For him, it's
mechanical.  He takes delight in knowing he can manipulate his partner
to multiple orgasms.  His real joy is mind control.  He knows where
all the bodies are buried and is the one who programs the 'specialty
girls' that the Howel's clients demand.

Ginger and Mary Ann are the two top outcall escorts at the house.
Runaways that the Howels found on the streets, the professor has
programmed them so they believe they are a movie star and a down home
girl.  Naturally, with a few well chosen words they will do anything
it takes to please their partner of the moment.

The Skipper and Gilligan...  What can I say about these two
scoundrels?  The 'three hour tours' are really sex parties on the high
sea. Appropriately, they also do any 'wet work' needed when a client
or girl becomes too much of a liability.  Innocent, they are not.  The
Skipper prefers to get personally involved when a little physical
violence is required.  He's the visible enforcer that gets trotted out
when a little intimidation is needed.

Gilligan, on the other hand, is the one everybody fears.  His
'confused innocent' look is a pose.  He prefers the quiet and deadly
jab to the kidney to any sort of open confrontation.  He's the true
power behind the operation, everyone knows it and when it all falls in
the crapper, he's the one they turn to.  Nobody asks questions about
how he 'fixes' any situation.  He likes it that way.  Anyone is his
for the asking and he doesn't care it they are male or female.   His
times alone aren't what people think.  What he's really doing is his
katas.  He's a black belt in several disciplines but nobody realizes
it.  The young man is deadly and not to be crossed.

The trip itself was an emergency meeting gone wrong.  The heat was on
and they decided to disappear until things cooled down.  It's the only
reason The Skipper and Gilligan were willing to go to sea with a
possible storm on the way.  The island was a carefully preprepared
refuge.  (Didn't you ever wonder about how the The Professor was
always able to do whatever was required?)

 The Howel's barely had time to grab the two girls and get to the boat
when Gilligan warned them about the impending raid.  The damage was
caused by a mistake in navigation when the storm forced them to land
in the first available cove rather than the one they had planned on
reaching.
~~~

Tilting at Windmills
---

"Windmill sighted.  Shall I attack?"

"You might as well, you could use the practice in case you get into a
real battle."

"Cynic. "  Closes helm and lowers lance into position... "Well, here I
go."

"Don't worry, I'll be there in a bit to help you get back on your
horse when you fall off."

"You're too kind, Pancho." 

Sound of thundering hooves, followed by the rattle of armor hitting a
brick wall.

Pancho idly pats the neck of his donkey.  "Well, at least the horse
has figured out that it can't knock over a windmill.  Let's go."
~~~

Finally, this collection closes with a 'tribute' to STNG
(Star Trek: Next Generation)
---

Two dogs were having a conversation:
---

"Worf.  Woof!"

"Woof?  Worf?"

"Woof!  Worf!"

"Worf.  Warf!"

There's a pause and you hear a splash.

"Worf.  Woof. Warf.  Wrath!"

"Wrath!  Worf.  Warf!"
~~~

End: Assorted Forms of Humor
======

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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