Oh--my Goddddd!!!!!
Does anyone else remember that little extra kid Oliver from the later episodes of The Brady Bunch?
I used to fantasize when everybody would leave the house that he was really Sam-the butcher and Mike Brady's REAL dead daughter's illigitimate love-child.
I know you all see where I'm going with this... like I even need to say anymore!
Everyone knows that Wilma-- no- Alice-the-maid actually wore the same unwashed blue-I -wanna-be -a maid -for Halloween-every-fucking-day untill my-lips completely-dehydrate-and -turn-into -powder-that smells-like-a grated-decomposed-ritually-sacrificed-Jesuit-sea-otter-menstruating-on-the side-of a-dirt-road politely-covered-in kitty-litter-with Woodland Fruit-Glade-so-your-shit-won't-stink-cover-up-for a-fragrant-moment-aerosole-spray C**t-that she always was and ever shall be.
And yet Oliver was so cute in a borderline-androgynous kind of way, with those little spectacles, like a cuddly little scientist who morphed himself into exactly what everyone would expect him to be to fill the everwidening Brady-Void that only hardcore heroin addicts can relate to on their worst days and only Sam-the butcher would see as a way of inculcating one of the first really virulent strains of e-coli directly into the human genome through as his reigning heir to the throne of His Divine Carnivouurous Grace, Oliver.
So, it's pretty apparent that even without the cryoenhancement conducted at the speed of very fast yellow, almost verging on yellow-green through a 3-microgigaliter alimony filament in suspension that the voice everyone hears is really very similar to the -no-matter-how you-look-@-it-you are -Right, if it makes-you-happy--postulate.
It's good to have a juicy little fantasy every once in a while.
But if you must eat meat and engage in full-throttle coitus, be sure to wash your hands before preparing the meat for consumption. You don't want it tasting like your own semen mixed with Summer's Eve in a crockpot on slow simmer.