Category Archives: sexual trivia

Pervert Lover’s Call

Standard

And that’s how and that’s how two, my fellow clowns, are rapists born!

Advertisements

Why Happy Sex?

Standard

Hello readers of our blog. Well, my blog. Well, this blog.

But “our” just sounds so much better you know? Because we’re all into sexy clowning together! And because I love you all. Really! Each one of you is so very very fuckable. And I am the most sincere person ever. C’est vrai.

So one question which often gets asked here is this: Why is happy sex so the best?

Thankfully, today we have with us an expert to answer that question in the most succinct and precise manner of all the sexiest possible manners.

And he says:

Because sex without smiling is as sickly and base as vodka and tonic without ice.

Thank you, Mr. Stephen Fry! THANK YOU! Couldn’t have put it any better myself! You are ONE HELL OF A sexy person and I would do you even if you were gay, because when did things like that ever matter? We all would, we SWEAR!

[Approving applause from studio audience]

The Plenipotentiary

Standard

18th century apparently saw the birth of a lewd seaman who juggled his oars with some touching verse-manufacturing. This raunchy personality who went by the name of Captain Charles Morris was sought among others, by the sexiest clowns of the day and King George IV of le Britannia. Between 1744 and 1838 the captain carved some highly titillating exhibits, an instance of which is provided herewith for your savoring.

The Dey of Algiers, when afraid of his ears,
A messenger sent to the Court, sir,
As he knew in our state the women had weight,
He chose one well hung for the sport, sir.
He searched the Divan till he found out a man,
Whose ballocks were heavy and hairy,
And he lately came, o’er from the Barbary shore,
As the great Plenipotentiary.

When to England he came, with his torch all aflame,
He shewed it his Hostess on landing, 
Who spread its renown thro’ all parts of the town, 
As a pintle past all understanding.
So much there was said of its snout and its head, 
That they called it the great Janissary:
Not a lady could sleep till she got a sly peep
At the great Plenipotentiary.

As he rode in the coach, how the whores did approach,
And stared as if stretched on a tenter;
He drew every eye of the dames who passed by,
Like the sun to its wonderful centre;
As he passed thru the town, not a window was down,
And the maids hurried out to the area,
The children cried- Look! there’s the man with the crook,
That’s the great Plentipotentiary.

Mr. Nice

Standard

“Hello! Meet Mr. Nice. I am Mr. Nice.”

“Hey there Mr. Nice.”

“Hello hello dear! Care for a rumpy pumpy in the sack?”

“Uh…sure?”

“Lah lah lah! Let the rumpy pumpy begin! Here’s the sack! And you should know I’m really nice, so I will ask you. ASK YOU whether you want me to do something or not.”

“Um okay.”

“Do you want me to kiss you?”

“Er…okay?”

Kiss kiss.

“Do you want me to grab your hair in a fit of passion?”

“Do YOU want to?”

“What I want doesn’t matter! Do YOU want to?”

“Maybe?”

“You should know for sure, you know. Informed customers are get their goods and I look to satisfy MY customer!”

“Yuck!”

“Do you want me to slobber all over your neck?”

“What’s this? A sex service company? Why do you have to ASK?! Do it if you want to, don’t if you don’t!”

“But I am Mr. Nice! I always seek consent! ALWAYS!”

“Huh?”

“I understand how important it is to your dignity as a woman.”

“Huh?”

“The body is sacred. The slightest violation and poof! Haven’t you heard of rape laws?”

A feminist somewhere was subsequently swallowed by an Echidna.

Rules of Sex

Standard

“Baby, I read today in uh…somewhere, that good communication is the number one rule of sex.”

“Rule of sex?! Rule of sex?!”

“Yea baby, so I have prepared a questionnaire which I will be asking you everytime we initiate the sexual procedure.”

“Wow. Aren’t you a lark!”

“Rule #2 says I must always act to please you.”

“Woohoo! An inventory. A real inventory!”

“Yeah, isn’t that great, baby? All the Dos and Don’ts of sex together in one book!”

“Does it also mention that you must address me as ‘baby’?”

“Well, they provide a number of options to choose from, “love”, “darling”, “sweetie”. “Baby” features on Rule 36. Works even though we have talked only half a sentence. It is a hotword.”

“A hotword?”

“Well, the rule is that hearing it should turn you on.”

Hydra. Turned into. Swallowed. Spat out.

“This book…jolly well works!” He croaked on the advert.

With Ethical Issues

Standard

His eyes blew round as she took off her shirt. What’s underneath a woman’s shirt is her body but going by the number of eyes it blows round, you’d think it’s a gold mine.

Anyhow, so this chappie’s eyes blew as round as they would if a pirate had found an X marked on the sea waters. She was a bit used to this, so she tried not to notice.

“So um, can I touch it?” He asked her carefully.

No you dolt, she thought to herself. I’m just an artist’s model, and that’s why I’ve let go off my clothes after coming home with you, kissing you several times on the balcony and flirting with you all evening.

“Uh, okay.” She said playing the game even though he was already beginning to disgust her with his useless questions.

There thus ensued some touching. A while later though, another pop survey.

“So can I suck on it?”

Wow, she thought. Wow. Is he really ASKING me that? Because he sure didn’t ask me if I wanted to listen to his crap about watermelon varieties all evening. Perhaps the head things don’t matter. Perhaps my silly boobies are more sacred than my mind, on which I’d to suffer so much assault on this date. So perhaps THIS is an important question. Perhaps I should weigh its pros and cons before answering it.

Thus the weighment of pros and cons ensued…

“Whyre you sleeping with him if he is so silly?”
“I dunno, I thought it might cheer me up in the cheery way sex has a tendency to cheer up people after the most boring evening of decades.”
“Well it isn’t working right?”
“Doesn’t look like. Looks like I’m talking to myself instead of fucking him.”
“Stop it then…”
“I dunno, I still have some hope?…”
“Well then either you’re Voltaire’s Candide, or you’re a slut.”
“Hmm am I a slut?”

“Hello is something wrong?” THE MAN had spoken.

“Hello human,” she said as she turned into her true form: A Hydra with a thousand tentacles on her head waving about most ominously. Wild, evil laughter broke out as she to swallow him whole, with her slimy, uncouth mouth out of which twenty million snakes spurted out each second. And he tasted so awfully bad, she shitted him out as soon as possible.

“Kind of a rum woman,” he told his friends the next night. “Wonderful sex drive but would suddenly freeze.”

“Ah, a slut with ethical issues.” His friends nodded wisely.