Lordy fuck, I have managed by myself to drink a whole bottle of leftover 12% rosé without meaning to, alongside a quarter tin of Quality Streets, and am neither sugar-buzzing off my tits nor blisteringly drunk.
Surely my kidneys deserve some sort of medal; they’ve over the past few months achieved the sort of level-grinding that’s usually associated with a power-ballad training-montage.
I would say I’m officially looking for a friendly, trustworthy and tactile lady-person who is equally willing to be a snuggle-buddy as they are to indulge carnal pleasures the likes of which are know to tear the heavens asunder. But I won’t, because most previous relationships have included leaping in at the less-than-metaphorical deep-end, so I’m actually on the look out for someone personally compatible.
Though the monkey-sex thing is probably on the compatibility list somewhere.
And while we are on the topic of mind-boggling vag, to the artists out there; the female sex organ is not a slit that can simply be positioned anywhere on the bodies mid-line from breastbone down up under & around to taint without incurring some degree of factual inaccuracy. If you’re going to vainly attempt to draw the mystical and long-sought joining of male and female bits, at least have the decency to look at some actual porn first and get their googlies in the same fucking postal code as each-others!