First of all, I apologize for the grammar mistake. Your mom and me, folks. Your mom and me.
For years, various music artists from a variety of genres have crooned about the pleasures of all night love making. They have moaned and cooed like the sensual pigeons they are regarding their penises and testicles’ ability to penetrate the finest vaginas on planet earth for hours on end. Impressive. Or is it?
As a love maker myself, I thumb my nose at such musical expressions. Give me 4 minutes of passion and a couple of post-coitus puffs on the ole albuterol inhaler and send me to lullaby land with smell of my man-musk mustard still in the air. Is that gross? Sure. Is it true? You Betcha.
Imagine your little shrimp dick getting fly guts for one million years in a row let alone 41 million. No thanks. Needless to say, I don’t think these flies were even fucking. I think he was eating her little insect coochie to PIECES which is determination and commitment to the entomophile life like we’ve never seen. Cheers to you, Marty McFly. Eatin ass and coochie coo back to front from the past to the future and riding her like a stainless steel Delorean in amber waves of grain.
Well, that’s the blog about fly fucking. Enjoy your morning, everyone.