The day the washing machines attacked started

put my newspaper down and called out: "Are you OK in there my love?". I knew I must have done something wrong for her to scream so loud. It was at this point, the washing machine

exploded, with a flurry of cloudy suds finding themselves at every corner of my newly refurbished laundry. "My love, where are you!". I heard her scream again. I need to find her.

I shouted "I'm over hear" but a giant soap bubble blobbed out of my mouth. I rolly-pollied through the air. My love was somewhere in the suds packed laundry mat. I took some drier

sheets & wiped my tongue. Lavender-Vanilla. "Hel-HEL-P-UP-UP MEEEE!" she blubbled. I bounced my bubble to where I thought her voice came from. There by washer # 3! Her curly blonde

pubes gave lie to my idea of where her voice came from. I had discovered the fabled Vox Vaginalia, commonly known as The Speaking Box or sometimes simply The Snapper. Not being one

to believe anyone's claptrap, I struck up a conversation with her, and she turned out to be quite the cunning linguist. She had a PHD in witty repartee, and I soon was swooning in

a bowl of Kentucky (KY) Jell-o. I would have taken her home to meet the folks, showed off her sharp wit, but I was afraid my dad would whip out Anaconda & freezeframe on JLO’s butt

and just leave it like that as he and Mom drive the riding mower clockwise in the backyard all - night - long, and if me or my date looked, they'd turn their heads away. She liked

lawn mowing in general, but seeing clockwise lawn mowing occurring before her eyes made her very horny. We laid down on an already cut portion of the lawn and made passionate love.