Lesbian Love Slaves Who Like It Both Ways!
That ought to bring in a little traffic.
I know what you're thinking: Both ways? Doesn't he know there are more than two ways? I thought Larry Jones was a man of the world. How is it possible that he thinks that both ways would cover it?
OK, you got me. I was planning to write about just two ways tonight, in lascivious detail, until you were drooling on the edge of your seat, begging for more. Then I was going to give you more! Sure, I know about those other ways. I may even have tried a few of them. Or at least in a psychocybernetics kind of way, I might have imagined them so vividly that I now believe I actually did them.
Did you know the brain has a hard time telling the difference between things that really happened to you and things that you have vividly imagined? Makes sense, when you think about it. The arms and legs, and, uh, other parts are out there taking care of business, walking, sky-diving, getting in fights, getting laid, shooting baskets, and what does the brain know? It has to believe what it's being told about what's going on "out there." If you tell it (by vividly imagining it) that you are shooting a thousand jump shots a day, and you're hitting most them, your brain will eventually start to think "Damn, I'm getting good at this! I'll bet I could join a team and be the star player!" The brain would start to "remember" hitting all those shots, exactly as it remembers real stuff that happened, like going to the bathroom a thousand times a day (if you do that, although I don't recommend it).
Sometimes I wonder how much of my past really happened, and how much I just made up and told myself the story so many times that my brain is totally convinced. Like, was I really on Apollo 13? Did I ever perform at The Apollo? I don't know anymore.
One thing I'm sure of is that the babe I saw at the grocery store tonight was looking at me. I know because I was looking at her, and I didn't want her to feel uncomfortable at me checking her out, so whenever she caught me I pretended I was just looking at something else that happened to be right over her shoulder, like the boxes of soup. Did you know that soup comes in boxes now?
Anyway after a while I realized that she was catching me way too many times for it to be a coincidence. Then I started to feel all cocky and cool: Hey, she's checking me out. So, as we're pushing our carts up and down the aisles and we keep being in the same department at the same time, I got bolder and let her catch me red-handed, as it were, a couple of times, and I gave her my shy smile. It had to be another crazy coincidence that she headed straight for the checkout counter right after that.
But now I'm wondering if I really have lesbian love slaves, how many ways I've given it to them, if they like it, and what's on for tomorrow. Hey! Wipe that drool off the edge of your seat.
I know what you're thinking: Both ways? Doesn't he know there are more than two ways? I thought Larry Jones was a man of the world. How is it possible that he thinks that both ways would cover it?
OK, you got me. I was planning to write about just two ways tonight, in lascivious detail, until you were drooling on the edge of your seat, begging for more. Then I was going to give you more! Sure, I know about those other ways. I may even have tried a few of them. Or at least in a psychocybernetics kind of way, I might have imagined them so vividly that I now believe I actually did them.
Did you know the brain has a hard time telling the difference between things that really happened to you and things that you have vividly imagined? Makes sense, when you think about it. The arms and legs, and, uh, other parts are out there taking care of business, walking, sky-diving, getting in fights, getting laid, shooting baskets, and what does the brain know? It has to believe what it's being told about what's going on "out there." If you tell it (by vividly imagining it) that you are shooting a thousand jump shots a day, and you're hitting most them, your brain will eventually start to think "Damn, I'm getting good at this! I'll bet I could join a team and be the star player!" The brain would start to "remember" hitting all those shots, exactly as it remembers real stuff that happened, like going to the bathroom a thousand times a day (if you do that, although I don't recommend it).
Sometimes I wonder how much of my past really happened, and how much I just made up and told myself the story so many times that my brain is totally convinced. Like, was I really on Apollo 13? Did I ever perform at The Apollo? I don't know anymore.
One thing I'm sure of is that the babe I saw at the grocery store tonight was looking at me. I know because I was looking at her, and I didn't want her to feel uncomfortable at me checking her out, so whenever she caught me I pretended I was just looking at something else that happened to be right over her shoulder, like the boxes of soup. Did you know that soup comes in boxes now?
Anyway after a while I realized that she was catching me way too many times for it to be a coincidence. Then I started to feel all cocky and cool: Hey, she's checking me out. So, as we're pushing our carts up and down the aisles and we keep being in the same department at the same time, I got bolder and let her catch me red-handed, as it were, a couple of times, and I gave her my shy smile. It had to be another crazy coincidence that she headed straight for the checkout counter right after that.
But now I'm wondering if I really have lesbian love slaves, how many ways I've given it to them, if they like it, and what's on for tomorrow. Hey! Wipe that drool off the edge of your seat.
posted by Larry Jones at 6:33 PM
12 Comments:
Speaking of reality and imagination, I watched Naked Lunch last night and now I can't remember if I actually did have a talking bug for a typwriter that spoke through it's asshole. Did I?
But honestly, I do hate it when memory and fantasy get screwed up to the point that I can't truly remember my past. It's like being in a Phillip K. Dick novel.
"The truth and the untruth have mixed and formed a potent new reality"
--Josh Kornbluth
I find that if you drool while sitting down, the drool doesn't reach the edge of your seat. It drips down your shirt-front and onto your pants, eventually leaving a pool of drool that thoroughly soaks your pants and make you look like you've been performing other out of control acts than merely drooling. Well, you brought it up!
Yeah, Brent - It's called the Bush Administration, and it sucks.
Hot Damn!
Got too close...too soon, Larry. You should have eased into the "yeah, I'm checking you out" phase. Perhaps in the dairy section. I know I get all hot and bothered around milk and cheese. I think most women do.
PS...You are probably vividly imagining that I wrote this comment.
I don't know about anyone else, but I'm up for more posts about the events you've vividly imagined.
MPH - You're right. The LLS's are tired, from all the hot girl-on-girl action.
Chevalier - The room is spinning with your many name changes. And I wouldn't mind being in a PKD novel.
Brent and Chevalier again - C'mon, guys: I meant this in a much more benign way.
Ron - Yes I did bring it up, and I guess this is what I get.
She Hulk - Did you even read the post? Love ya, though.
tacit1 - OK, OK, that's it for that picture! It's coming down tonight.
-G.D. - Life's too short. I had to strike amid the soup-boxes.
Holly - Bless your heart, darlin'.
I'll break the silence...What's up with the photo Larry?
Bring back mystery man, please. That guy on your profile scares me. He reminds me of pewee, on crack.
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
OK, something's wrong with commenting on my blog. Guaranteed when I post this I will end up with two identical comments, but I have to try something, so here goes:
I was getting heat from various bloggers about that picture, so I'm showing another of the Many Faces of Jones. I think this current pic was taken while I was being spanked by those tall Jamaican girls...
It's a cognate, so in Russian it's pronounced "Woo-Hoo!"
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