"I don't brag, I mostly boast." - Missy Elliot, Gossip Folks (Under Construction)
Can we have sex now, please?
I'm talking hot-buttered, sweat-stained, musky monkey love. Are you down? I'm not talking about, you know what, we're just not talking. Fuck all the bullshit. We're not going to say anything unless it's filthy. My only response to everything you say should be, "You dirty ass motherfucker" and then I'll do exactly what you asked me to do.
Can I have you butt-nekkid by the end of this post? I've got strawberry syrup in the fridge. Can I rub it all over your body?
Can we freak in the mornin' freak in the evenin'? Can I work you so hard that you grab my head and tell me that you're going to smack my mama?
Will you do something to me that will give me muscle spasms? I want it to hurt so good.
Can we put the ass in potassium? Let's hump so much that our bodies demand a banana. Because we're monkeys and this is hot monkey love.
Monkey love. But what if you have monkeypox? What if you have Roberto but don't tell me? What if you're sportin' the hiv but don't know it or like to play games?
Maybe we should wait. We could have cutesy puppy cuddling. I'll take you home to mama (don't smack her) and we'll hold hands while walking on the beach.
At least until June 27th. That's National HIV Testing Day. We'll go together. We'll know what's what.
And then we can go fuck in the bushes.
Like red-assedbonobo monkeys. (thanks gwen)