That ought to bring in a little traffic.
I know what you’re thinking: Both ways? Doesn’t he know there are more than two ways? I thought Larry Jones was a man of the world. How is it possible that he thinks that both ways would cover it?
OK, you got me. I was planning to write about just two ways tonight, in lascivious detail, until you were drooling on the edge of your seat, begging for more. Then I was going to give you more! Sure, I know about those other ways. I may even have tried a few of them. Or at least in a psychocybernetics kind of way, I might have imagined them so vividly that I now believe I actually did them.
Did you know the brain has a hard time telling the difference between things that really happened to you and things that you have vividly imagined? Makes sense, when you think about it. The arms and legs, and, uh, other parts are out there taking care of business, walking, sky-diving, getting in fights, getting laid, shooting baskets, and what does the brain know? It has to believe what it’s being told about what’s going on “out there.” If you tell it (by vividly imagining it) that you are shooting a thousand jump shots a day, and you’re hitting most them, your brain will eventually start to think “Damn, I’m getting good at this! I’ll bet I could join a team and be the star player!” The brain would start to “remember” hitting all those shots, exactly as it remembers real stuff that happened, like going to the bathroom a thousand times a day (if you do that, although I don’t recommend it).
Sometimes I wonder how much of my past really happened, and how much I just made up and told myself the story so many times that my brain is totally convinced. Like, was I really on Apollo 13? Did I ever perform at The Apollo? I don’t know anymore.
One thing I’m sure of is that the babe I saw at the grocery store tonight was looking at me. I know because I was looking at her, and I didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable at me checking her out, so whenever she caught me I pretended I was just looking at something else that happened to be right over her shoulder, like the boxes of soup. Did you know that soup comes in boxes now?
Anyway after a while I realized that she was catching me way too many times for it to be a coincidence. Then I started to feel all cocky and cool: Hey, she’s checking me out. So, as we’re pushing our carts up and down the aisles and we keep being in the same department at the same time, I got bolder and let her catch me red-handed, as it were, a couple of times, and I gave her my shy smile. It had to be another crazy coincidence that she headed straight for the checkout counter right after that.
But now I’m wondering if I really have lesbian love slaves, how many ways I’ve given it to them, if they like it, and what’s on for tomorrow. Hey! Wipe that drool off the edge of your seat.