I love talking to my parents about sex. In

I love talking to my parents about sex. In fact, sometimes I come into their room while they're going at it, just to chat. Eat a breakfast burrito while my mom just nails dad like

a tail to a donkey - haphazardly and blindfolded. This time she could smell my burrito. "Dear, could you come back later? My pocket's hot, if you get my drift." My mom bummed me o

nto the kitchen bench with a devilish grin, she took my pungent burrito in her hand and began to rub it, filling me with pleasure. I couldn't resist, and rubbed my mum's hot pocket

until the grease began to ooze out and we were both moaning loudly. "Wally!" The prof shouted. "You're doing it again!" I bolted upright in my chair. Ever since I started this diet

I began having these bizarre sexual day-mares about lard. I coughed out an apology for interrupting the class and tried to focus on the lecture, but I kept thinking about the woman

eat boredom. What would that taste like? I wasn't sure if the idea was tantalizing or off-putting. Still, my thought excercise was failing– I couln't get my mind off those rolls,

So I grabbed a roll and covered it in "I can't believe it's not butter." and I really can't believe it's not!

Unfortunately my disbelief was well founded because it was butter and my allergies flared up immediately. I would have cursed or gotten angry but my throat was too closed up for me

to breathe. Now deaf, I did not hear my chair topple under me. Hastily I scrawl this lament upon the floors in Dutch, as the perpetrator's cold, unfeeling eyes smile down upon me.