Monthly Archives: June 2012

The Cake Song for Sex Maniacs


That night he turned into a lemon honey cake. Now, lemon honey cakes are the best in the erotic sense because they don’t make much sense. “Lemon and honey? Together? In a cake? Whaaaaaaaaa-?,” the very sensible Mrs. P was rendered aghast when it was suggested to her.

But he dripped honey and lemon in a dangerous mix on the white plate upon which he was served. Honey is golden and made by bees while lemon grows on trees. All fine till there, but as early alchemists found out, the combination is potent. Especially when put in a cake. And poked with a fork.

She had a fork. With four pointy ends. A trident has only three. So, as rightly pointed out by the saffron brigade, forks are infinitely more violent. She held it in her right hand while moodily considering whether to poke or not. The sky was blue and windy outside, so she decided to lick it first.

Those who have turned into lemon honey cakes need a fair amount of attention. They are like tiny babies who need to be picked up and loved and loved and loved all over till one swallows them. This is not a normative prescription, but rather, an empirical observation.

She pressed down upon him with her tongue. Lemon ooozed out in a happy flow from the perforations in the cake. She let her tongue slide into one of the perforations, tasting the sweetness of the more viscous honey which would not flow out so easy.

“Ooh that hurts.” The cake begged.

She was feeling kindly so she stopped and kissed the cake smelling the lovely lemon honey aroma. A couple of minutes later though she was bored of being kind and decided to plunge her fork into the cake.

Thunder! Lightening! etc. etc. Then rain sweet rain. Rain smells the best.

“This blog is turning into nothing but a cheap collection of eyebrow-raisable euphemisms.” Someone remarked on the street.

“Oh, I’m a bit confused actually. Is this a food blog or a sex blog?” His mate asked.

“For clowns, there is not much of a difference really.” Bozo assured them before cartwheeling along till the 4th Cross on the street.

Locker Room Talk


“Making love is an art,” Bozo heard the man with the beret say. A naked man with a beret. A naked man prancing with a caterpillar on his crotch with a beret.

“Is making art a love?,” the dormouse asked from under the tea table.

“Depends.” Beretman said metaphysically. “Is it sexy enough?”

“Whenever I hear “physics”, even when qualified by prefixes like meta-, I am turned on,” Bozo said. “Right now for example, I feel I could explode.”

“Physics is an arousing word. It reminds me of a long neck. A long neck of a Masai woman.” abcd added, sighing.

“It reminds me of running a finger over a beautiful boy’s spine in the dark.” The dormouse said.

“Yeah, that’s sexy.” Beretman approved. “But detachment is important,” he added turning into a sadhu with saffron clothes. “Detachment is an art.”

“Is sex an art?” The dormouse asked.

“Nah, sex is a science. C’est precisement.” Beretman replied.

“Aren’t all sciences art?” abcd enquired.

“C’mon there don’t confuse me.” Beretman said, sulky.

“Yes but what about porn?” Bozo objected.

“Porn is meant to be downloaded,” abcd asserted. “My internet was working so fast this morning I was bedazzled. So I downloaded eleven porn vids. Then I was late for work.”
“Hahahahaha!” Bozo laughed in his face. The dormouse giggled.

“So you mean porn is trash?,” abcd pondered.

“But all trash is art,” Beretman said as he turned into a toilet seat on display at an art exhibition while smoking a long yellow cigarrette.

“No, no…you got it wrong! All art is trash,” the dormouse said sleepily.

“I don’t see any difference really,” Alice grumbled.

“Oi. Hey I say! This is a men’s locker room!” abcd pointed to Alice.

“Yeah, but I ate a piece of cake and now I have a penis. It’s been a strange day.” Alice explained.

“Wow. Show me?,” everyone clamoured. Alice complied. “Hm…amazing!” abcd exclaimed. “More fascinating than my porn cache.” Bozo got a hard-on.

“Cakes are some explosive stuff, I say,” Beretman remarked as his caterpillar turned blue and smoked a hookah. It was detached. So it fell on to the floor with a ta-tak.

Fast kisses


Fast kisses, fast kisses
It’s a race, it’s a race!
Fast kisses, fast kisses
Or you fall from grace, you fall from grace!
Why you no follow my instruktions?
Why you no keep the time?
Why you no go on with the beat?
Why you no be mine?

Fast kisses, fast kisses
Go breathless, go reckless
Fast kisses, fast kisses
Bury your tongue, smell the world in one go.
Why you no follow my instruktions?
Why you no keep the time?
Why you no go on with the beat?
Why you no be all mine?

Fast, a kiss! Oh you missed
You gotta aim it straight
But baby, you’re the loveliest
For I’m an inch off the bed.
Flying in space, it’s a bit crazy
I’m seeing yellow stars
Your smile’s a chesire cat on my face
A kiss can’t be too far.

A Beginner’s Guide to How to Love It to Bits


Bozo practised sex on a dancing doll. This requires quite a formidable set of skills. Mostly because the doll is never still. Bozo’s skills on the other hand, were not so formidable.

The doll wriggled and slipped everywhere. She was slippery. As slippery as a fish. As slippery as a fish taken by its tail and beaten on your face. Mhm?

“Enough! Enough! Enough of this nonsense!”, Bozo screamed, his very colourful nose askew. “I am an elephant and I will not tolerate such indignity!,” he declared.

He snatched the bottle from the side table and broke it over his head. “Mmmm.” He was woozy now, and woozy is always good because woozy makes everything oozy, which means that stuff can now flow out more easily. Though little known, this in fact, has been one of the most important scientific discoveries of the last century.

Bozo practised sex on a set of dancing balls. This requires quite a formidable set of skills. Mostly because the balls are never still. Bozo’s skills on the other hand, were not so formidable.

The balls were kind of cool and slipped everywhere. They were slippery. And chewey. Chewey slippery chewing gum. Mhm?

“Enough! Enough! Enough of this slipperiness!”, Bozo screamed, his very colourful nose askew. “I am an giraffe and I will not tolerate such fluids!,” he declared.

He snatched the flower from the side table and gobbled it with his tongue. “Mmmm.” He was woozy now, and woozy is always good because woozy makes everything oozy, which means that stuff can now flow out more easily. Though little known, this in fact, has been one of the most important scientific discoveries of the last century.

One ball moved slightly. Slowly. And hit something feathery. Down feathery, not flight feathery.

Then the whole house blew up. Ka-boom! Mushroom clouds, dancing dolls, crazy trolls. Orange strains, strewn brains, fluid rains. Everything ever made was blown up to bits.


Love Moi


Loving him is the most bizarre thing, she thought. And bizarre always reminded her of big birds like the Roc from Sinbad.

But that wasn’t quite it, no.

She thought of marmalade sizzling on a pan over the fire and breaking and melting into tiny bits and then boiling into tiny bubbles, popping quick and nimble. Quietly but growing louder over the heat. Which would then join into a large bubble and slowly rise and rise and rise over the pan and swallow the whole world, engulfing into a vacuum of sweetening sour and finally explode into one million tiny pink and blue balloons amid twelve thousand upward parabolas on human faces.

That’s what loving him was like, she thought as she fell into his arms, exhausted. That’s what loving him was like in one breath. “Aaaaaa,” she exclaimed as he crushed her. It was only a reflex but he teased her with it through all the monkey bars. So she played the drums on his face. Da da da da dum dum dum tish tish tish pa da da dum!

Upward parabolas, yeah. Are the best.

Alice’s Adventures in Blunderland


“What’s the use,” Alice said to herself, “of sex without laughing balloons or terrible explosions?”

“Well, but there’s the procedure,” her sister remarked to The White Rabbit as he humped her under a huge daisy. “And one cannot not follow it.”

“Yes! Yes!” The White Rabbit nodded his head fast, “And it must be done well in time.” He finished as A Lice bit his ear. “No, no, young lady!,” he said, picking out the lice and throwing it away. “There’s no more time and I am done for the day. Shoo now!”  

“And stop kissing me as if you’re colouring!” He told Alice sternly as he flipped a watch from his waistcoat pocket. “Oh dear! I am too late for the Queen!” He exclaimed. The White Rabbit had a tight schedule for the entire day and could not afford to miss any of the calls as his doctor had confirmed that would be rendered impotent if he did. The appointment with Alice’s sister was done, Queenie was next, but she had some gory fetishes. “Off with his head!,” rang in The White Rabbit’s ears as he scampered along as fast as he could.

“What a weird creature,” Alice observed.

When she turned around, there was a garden of arms waving about in front of her.

“And what is that?” She said aloud in wonder.

“An arrum, sir.” A voice replied.

Then the arrums began to wank wiggly things like blue caterpillars from the garden. It happened very much in order and rhythm. Almost like an army wanking together in a march.

“Oh hell. What are they trying to do?” Alice cried out in amazement.

“That’s the standard procedure, darling. All certified by the ISO. And all safe. The blue caterpillars will soon turn into brown tree trunks.” The voice said.

But even after the arms being at it for a while, the caterpillars were still blue wriggly things and not at all brown tree trunks.

“Doesn’t seem to be working,” Alice remarked.

The voice was silent. But then it handed all the arrums very special blue pills and everything went as per the programme thereafter as they all turned into huge brown trunks.

“But I say!” Alice screamed now, “what fun without balloons and explosions?! Eh? Eh?”

A huge BAM! sounded from the sky as a Sati Enterprises truck loaded with fuel (*nudge nudge wink wink*) passed by. Bozo, who was driving it, jumped over Alice from a parachute and wheeee! Fireworks! As they flew twenty feet into the air in orange flames.

“Was this ISO certified?” Alice asked breathlessly after the balloons had laughed and the explosions were done.

“Not even visually managed, pooh!” The White Rabbit replied.

Bozo grinned.