Animal Love

By Sam

 

If you had to fuck an animal, what animal would you choose? It's an important question that has plagued philosophers for centuries.

Now I know that some moral whingers will get all prudish on me and be all like “wah wah wah, sex with animals is wrong! They're dumber than we are, and they're ugly!” but I submit to you that their protests mask their hypocrisy. Some really ugly people look a lot like animals, and no one seems to protest when they have sex (as long as it's in the dark); and the police don't arrest people for having sex with Lindsay Lohan, even though she clearly has the brain of a parakeet.

It would be shallow of us to deny the pleasures of love to someone with Mickey Rourke's looks and Lindsay Lohan's brain, but the instant you label them with pigeon hole terms like “mountain gorilla” or “chimpanzee” suddenly I'm going too far. Well, I will be silent no longer. If we are to break the shackles of an unjust society it must be through open minded philosophical examination. To that end I present to you a list of five animals that you might consider having sex with, along with the pros and cons of my experience having sex with each:

French Poodle

Voulez-vous coucher avec moi pompoms?

How much would I have to pay you to do what I did?

When I was eighteen there was a brief period when poker was all the rage among people I knew. It was one of those strange phenomena which seemed to cross all social boundaries without rhyme or reason, like skateboards or tazos.

Remember these?

As far as games go, you can do a lot worse than poker. I enjoyed it. The rules were easy enough to pick up, and the game became relatively interesting once you knew a few tricks. It was also an excuse to drink. That was the bit that got me in trouble.

It was a cold winter night. I was getting over an infection around one of my wisdom teeth, with the help of some antibiotics. I had an invitation to hang out with my friends. They'd recently acquired a poker set, complete with casino chips, and they were keen to have a few games. It sounded fun to me, and my teeth were feeling okay, so I went.

It was already quite late when I got there, but none of us had eaten dinner. We decided to make the best dinner a group of eighteen year-old boys could think of: fuck-tons of potato wedges. We filled the oven with tray after tray of frozen wedges and gorged ourselves on their delicious, oily goodness. We washed it all down with beer, and a good lot of wine. I held off at first, I remembered hearing somewhere that alcohol and anti-biotics didn't mix, but the siren call of alochol was too tempting. I had one glass, then two, then three. After that I stopped counting. At the point that none of us could stand to eat another starchy wedge of potato we sat down to play some poker. While we were playing we decided to have some more wine. After all, you can't play poker without booze, that would be like turning up to your sister's wedding without your gimp mask.

Hey, look over there. Uncle Dave forgot his mask too.