Aristotle, Socrates, Play-doh, Hobbes, Descartes, Hegel, Nietzsche, Kierkegaard, Voltaire, Marx, Sartre.
Their ponderings penetrate the core of our being as if it were some Sophomore on Prom night. As if it were some little naive, insecure Sophomore slut-pouch with budding breasts, puffy nipples and skinny toothpick legs, eager to win the affection of the Senior with finely quaffed hair, that went to State for Cross Country, and got a scholarship to Vanderbilt (Go Dores!). She yearns for him to rip her in half with that aerodynamic, streamlined Cross Country Cock, so that she can finally become a woman, so that she can finally become popular, so that she may forever be tied to the Senior that took her virginity like a mustachioed thief in the night at a farmer’s market in Persia. Picture Aladdin but with twice the gravy-stick. That’s pretty much exactly what those philosophers were like.
Q: Would you rather have sex with…
a) Some big fat lady. We’re talking really fat. Precious fat. Type 2 fat. Gilbert Grape fat. Double-breathing fat. The kind of fat where her teeth are all worn down and stubby from the incessant gnawing. The kind of fat where her nurses have to apply olive oil to her massive inner thighs to prevent chaffing which causes a constant threat of brush fires in her hairy coochie because of the intense friction. That fat. Like stretch marks that could be mistaken for railroad tracks fat. At least you’ll be getting a blowjizzle cuz you know she gon’ get hongry halfway through.
b) A pregnant lady. Like 9 or 10 months pregnant. She is due in the hospital any day now. Absolutely ready to pop like that first kernel in a bag of Orville Redenbacher right around the 35 second mark. You’re not sure whether she is gushing from your chode or whether her water just broke. Same stretch marks, but these are caused by the 7lb, 6oz human being being carried in her uterus like a mother ‘roo carries her babe. Also, nothin’ like fucking someone and getting head from someone else at the same time. And I mean really getting head. That little baby’s skull inside her puzz hasn’t fused together. Ol’ little squishy head is only providing more noggin for the floggin’. More brain for my wang (slant rhyme). More scalp for my….dick.
The great thing about either choice is that you won’t really have to worry about pregnancy. In the case of the pregnant woman, her womb is already occupied. In the case of the big fat lady, there is very small chance that you will actually even get into her poonan. Chances are you’ll just meander cock first in the cavernous folds of her olive oiled mass. May we suggest bringing along a loaf of basil Focaccia bread? It really compliments the olive oil and you can leave a trail of bread crumbs in case you have trouble finding your way out of them fatacombs.
Like all Big Questions, there is no clear answer. Perhaps the answer isn’t even important. Rather, the importance comes from the existential journey that the question leads us on and the personal growth that results. Thank you and goodnight.