“The final cause, and heed this worthy scholars!” Aristotle proclaimed to a crowd of heeding worthy scholars, “is what imparts meaning to sex. The merry dance of sex is ridiculous, pointless and mark ye, foul misused and corrupt! if it is not directed to fulfill the final cause, gentlemen!”
The crowd of heeding worthy scholars nodded in sympathy.
“And I ask you, you unsexed swine, what may be the final cause herein? Why was sex created and why oh why did nature enable its cloistered functioning? Only to procreate gentlemen, mark ye, only to procreate!”
It is of course a well known fact that Aristotle later died a virgin.
However three thousand years later, Bozo was accosted on the street on the following manner.
“Fucktard!” A voice shouted at him.
“You talking to me?” Bozo politely enquired of the voice.
“Of course I am. You are the one that sleeps with cacti aren’t you?”
“Oh you know me then!” Bozo smiled, all smiles. “But I am sorry to say that I haven’t had the pleasure of your aquaintance please?”
“Fucktard,” said the voice. “Servile! Blasphemous! I am …
“Ah, God?” Bozo said in some recognition.
“Of course not you fool! What do you think these are…the Dark Ages?! To think of…! I am Mother Nature!”
“They always told me you were only made up.”
“Of course they would, wouldn’t they? The patriarchal fucktards!”
“Ah right. So um…’sup?”
“YOU are up! What are you doing! Why are you not working to fulfill my final cause!”
“Cacti-human children you fool!”
“Oh right! Almost forgot!” Bozo apologised and shat the final cause. This cause was hailed by the scientific community as the final cause for the past three millenia and by real people as obscene and grotesque.
Mother Nature smiled.