If it takes at least seven to run a train and just four to be classified as an orgy…
Keep in dirty mind, multiple selections are allowed.
The only answer I’d better read anyone writing in, however, is: Voyeur.
So cut the “I would never engage in such deviant sexual behavior” shit and tell the titillating truth, already.
The open-ended option is intended for suggestions of “other” famous personalities whom one may argue belong on the list, as well. However, should you or Rick care to go the opposite route and jump to his defense by disparaging me in return – BRING IT.
Chances are you couldn’t shed any harsher a light on my sometimes-suspect sex appeal than that which I have already focused on myself.
If I’m going to join the Mile High Club at some point during this roundtrip to WI, I’d best do so before Thanksgiving.
After spending the next four days stuffing mah gut with fatty Midwestern delights, I am sure to be teetering on the brink o’ twink: the only gay weight class that truly suits my frame.
More importantly, as integral as ab definition is to luring a man to the airplane bathroom, after I wrap my legs around his waist I’m going to need all the core strength I can maintain in order to keep him inside such tight quarters –
As my ass.
Sugar, sugar, sugar, sugar, sugar, annnd – six cups of Rice Krispies.
Or, more specifically:
Momma Wienkers’ Scotcheroos!
1 cup sugar
1 cup Karo brand light corn syrup
1 cup peanut butter, JIF (Because it’s practically candy.)
1 cup Nestle semi-sweet real chocolate morsels
1 cup Nestle butterscotch morsels
6 cups Rice Krispies
In large saucepan, combine sugar and corn syrup; bring to just over a boil.
Remove from heat and stir in peanut butter.
Mix in Rice Krispies.
Press into a buttered 9×13 pan.
Melt chocolate and butterscotch morsels – not chips, morsels – in microwave.
Spread over mixture.
Chill in refrigerator until firm, usually about 15 minutes.
Finally, indulge wisely – or look like this:
Or, you know, lick your own clit, if you’re a girl. Either way, “toot your own horn” is a prim cliché made passé by the continued hypersexualization of today’s popular culture.
No one says toot. No one but my mother when referring to the passing of gas, because she deems “fart” too vulgar a word choice.
Regardless of whether or not your personal bar on obscenity matches hers or mine, however, the importance of taking pride in one’s self remains inarguable. Of course, there is a thin membrane between confidence and arrogance that is best caressed lightly. But if you are always down on yourself, no one else is going to want to go down on you.
Trust, y’all.
In your worth and this notion.
And, uh, those of you capable of heeding my advice literally – Call me. I wanna see that.
© 2010 JJ Wienkers. All Rights Reserved.
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