What the Fuckery Friday: Lady Fingers
Slender and long, tipped with hot pink like a hippie granny’s misplaced lipstick, those lady fingers get me every time. They get me in the lady-nads, in the lady-biscuits, but most often in the lady-homeopathic receptors. You know what that feels like. A thousand eels wriggling through your urethra on a quest for scones but deterred at the last moment by an unexpected tiramisu flare-up that can’t stop the painwheel it’s flying on. Or, to put it another way, the urethra’s connected to the colon bone.
If it weren’t for lady fingers, who would be there to make ticklers? I’ll tell you who. Johnny Depp, most likely, and nobody wants him to show up wearing a pair of those shallow, scathing lady fingers sans polish, unless he’s dragging Hunter S. Thompson behind him by the hair. Or lack thereof. We don’t need another trip to Vegas. Uh-uh. Not after filming that flailing bird episode you tried to push under the cargo hold. Episode six, I believe it was. The one that got us banned from the Bellagio and detoured us to that carnival for deer stains not long for this world but eternal for the next. And with those stamps they gave us came a few coupons for free bobble heads of Shakes the Clown, which was a damn funny movie, but it missed its mark on the shoe front. Nobody wears shoes like that. Not even that hot-ass fucker Tyler Durden from the subway fiasco.
God, I’d love to score a piece of Tyler. Preferably with a dollop of Ricky from Trailer Park Boys. My mouth is watering just thinking about them and a couple of lady fingers, rolling around the hay. If the pollen doesn’t get you, they will. Totally. My spirit animal Ricky moves me in ways only the devil knows about, and I’d like to keep it on the down-low, thanks.
Oh, holy fuck! I just got the title! SHAKES the Clown! HAHAHAHA! Fucking brilliant! He’s got the fucking DTs because he drinks too much. Jesus, it only took me twenty-six years to figure that shit out.
We now return to our regularly scheduled program …
When Ricky waved that fishing line around and said it was his cock, I fell in love. He’s a piece of master, always ho-ing and humming about important things like weed and dope and little lady fingers, Mizz Mary Jane. With a man like him behind the wheel, Jesus would sit in the backseat and giggle the entire trip.
Dip your nuts in these beautiful Kahlua-soaked drippings, my friend, and see where the journey takes you. Up the creek without a saddle, into the wild blue marauder, wielding Jaffa cakes and Triscuits and avoiding the pitfalls of Tim Tam slams and other assorted menaces.
A Tim Tam slam would be fucking heavenly right now. If only I had the lady fingers to employ such a glorious beast. Is it me, or does “poutine” sound incredibly dirty?
To the lady fingers, it does. No lady would ever dip her fingers in that mess.
Ladies are such fucking prudes.