Elephant Fact # 24: The elephant is the only
mammal that cannot jump.
It’s
been a while since I updated my blog. We’re nearing the end of our final year
of high school and understandably, there’s been a lot of mixed emotions about
that. On one hand, we’ll be leaving behind all the frustrations of waking up at
ungodly hours, frantically rushing to finish any sort of homework left undone
the previous night, or, if you’re me, not being able to wear as much lipstick
as I bloody well want.
On
the other hand, it’s like we’re losing the last tangible tie to our childhood
before we move out into the ‘real world’.
We’re
almost adults now. Our days of carelessness and thoughtlessness are almost over—or
just beginning, depending on who you are. Sooner or later, we’re going to have
take on more and more responsibility—a job, a home, a family of our own, and it’ll
change us. For better or for worse.
We will no longer be the people who
we are now.
Over
the past few days, I’ve been thinking about this idea more and more, slowly
becoming a little more despairing each time.
And
then I thought—“The hell? Bitch, that’s
ages away. I’m still here, I’m still young, still naïve and still as awesome as
fuck-all.
“So let’s write some fucking porn.”
In
school, we’ve been signing each other’s yearbooks, or whatever—but look, I can’t
be the only one who finds it extremely difficult to somehow summarize three years of love, laughter and
friendship into a notebook page no bigger than the size of my palm. No way.
So,
I decided to give them the gift of porn—well, sort of. It’s in three parts;
each part is in a different notebook of a different friend. I’m hoping that
someday, at maybe our high school reunion (if we still have those) we could
reunite the parts into some Unholy Trinity.
Unfortunately,
by popular demand, here they are. Enjoy yourselves.
THE
YEARBOOK TRILOGY
Part
1
He
thrust deeply into her glistening mound, sweat dripping from his sculpted
pectorals. She moaned in intense pleasure and then sighed as he slapped his
donkey-puncher against her face.
“Oh,
your bangers and mash feel so good,” she muttered, nuzzling further into the
moist wilderness of his turkey baster. Her clam chowder throbbed and pulsed in
rhythm to the bounce of his lovehandles.
He
reached up and fondled her pert chicken McNuggets and she clutched the
headboard of the bed as she screamed in ecstasy.
“You
like having your banana peeled, baby?” he panted, gripping her sultry
watermelons with one hand and wiping the sweat from his hair, which glistened
like vegemite smothered in canola oil with the other. “Can you feel my one-eyed
trouser snake in your Hello Kitty?”
“Yes!”
she gasped, reveling in the arousing and amorous stench of sour cream and onion.
He
grinned. “Here comes the dickattack! Choo-choo!”
As
abruptly as he entered, he removed his staff sergeant from the heady, filthy
trenches of war.
“Open
wide, baby,” he groaned, as he tossed his salad over her stomach. “It’s about
to be like Playschool in here.”
Her
oval window twitched in anticipation and she writhed under her titillating
desire. “Let me taste the rainbow!”
“I’ve
spent a long 57 years jerkin’ my gherkin until I met you, my adorable little
belly lint.”
Suddenly—much
more quickly than she would have liked—the puzzling smell of asparagus filled
the air and, as his rabbit popped back into its hat, she knew that she had
finished a job well done.
Part
2
“You’ve
been a bad boy,” she whispered, her eyes deadly and wicked as she slid the
black leather riding crop into the sweltering heat of his butternut squash. “You
pulled a Kanye on me last time, didn’t you?”
Tied
to the tree as he was, he could only grunt in pain and a delicious surprise as
she began to suckle on the tip of his rigid wombok as delicately as she would
remove the pickles from her cheeseburger.
She
moaned as the arousal of her egg salad dripped onto the Forest floor and she
stood up, hissing harshly into his ear, “You’re going to give me my
satisfaction.”
With
a tremendous squelch, she pulled the riding crop free from his KFC bucket and
held it up to her nose.
“Mm,”
she growled. “Eleven herbs and spices.”
The
muscles of his banana split quivered and she brought down the crop onto his
tempestuous thunderthighs. He cried out in pain and whimpered submissively as
she dragged her fingernails down the canyon-like crevices of his abs.
“Your
ass is grass,” she roared, and pushed downwards onto his swollen sugar plum
fairy.
Their
screams intermingled in the night air of the forest, echoing across the
dumbfounded emptiness like Mitt Romney when he says stupid shit.
“Can
you feel my cat around your cheese grater?” she panted as their respective
dragonballs shook and shivered like custard flan on a cheap plate.
“Wait,”
he said, “stop, I’m—“
“I’m
gonna ride you like a human centipede!” she screamed and exploded in a rush of
milk and chocolate fondue and finally garlic steak sauce.
Hours
later, she finally untied him. Breathless, he collapsed onto the ground, his
licorice log flopping uselessly like a dying goldfish.
“Marry
me?” he said.
She
shrugged and said, “I’m pregnant.”
Part
3
“Don’t
go into the playroom, kids,” she warned as she tucked the two screaming
children safely into the oven. “Mommy’s going to play pat-a-cake with daddy.”
When
she finally reached the room she was greeted with the not unwelcome sight of
her husband sprawled across Trafalgar Square and Mayfair – but not yet passing
Go.
“Let
me help you collect your $200,” she whispered seductively, kicking the door shut
behind her.
“Yeah
baby, I’m gonna buy ALL your utilities,” he groaned as he toyed lovingly with
his GI Joe.
She
crawled to him, albeit with some difficulty as her chubby teletubbies connected
with four.
“I’m gonna furnish your Barbie Dreamhouse real
good,” he murmured erotically as his snake began to slither up her ladder.
She
twiddled the knobs of her Easy Bake oven and fanned the flames of her lust.
Then, she slowly, enticingly began to reassemble his Rubik’s cube causing him
to moan in ecstasy.
“Oh,
you just hit my triple word score,” he blurted. “You just saved me from playing
solitaire for the fifth time today.”
She
leaned downward and furiously began to roll his dice…with her mouth. Eyes
rolling back into his head in pleasure, he listened to her count the dots.
“Seven,”
she said devilishly. “Go to jail. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200.”
“No,”
he moaned.
“Tell
me how you want me to do it,” she said hungrily.
“With
the lead pipe in the observatory,” he gasped and with a disgustingly satisfying
‘squee’, she complied.
“Colonel!”
he screamed.
“I
can feel your Mustard in me,” she grunted and he chuckled.
“Professor
Plum has certainly made his appearance,” he responded.
“AH.”
“AHHHH!”
“SNAP!”
They exploded simultaneously and also literally.
From
inside the oven, one of the children said, “Mom?”
THE ACTUAL
CANNIBAL END
Don’t
forget to wash your hands,
The
Unlucky Elephant
