Jailbait

As I begin this post, I'm left wondering if there's even a small chance it will somehow make it into the hands of the folks in the White House. In light of all this secret surveillance of Americans brouhaha that's been surfacing in the current Administration, one can't help but be a little paranoid... and NO, although I have been known to smoke the chronic from time to time, I'm not paranoid 'cause I'm high, and this post poses no risk to our national security - I swear to God , cross my fingers and hope to die! So please don't arrest me. K? Thanks.

Now that I've laid all that to rest, I'd like to get back to what's really important... and that's the fact that Barbara I-Probably-Don't-Shave-My-Nasty-Twin-Bush, 24, recently applied for a job with Cooper-Hewitt National Design Museum on Fifth Avenue via a posting on Craigslist. Now, this story alone is somewhat drab - the job posting was supposedly for a sales associate position in the gift shop of the museum. Yawn.

Strikingly more interesting is where my imagination took me when I read this story. You see, I've frequented Craigslist's exhaustive apartment listings, and even purchased a Papasan chair from Craigslist (which I've since set on fire... those hideous things)... but if you're in need of a good, hearty laugh, you must visit the personal ads.

I've taken the liberty of creating a lovely little personal ad for Ms. Big-Hairy-Bush. After all, although monkeys have thumbs (fully opposable digits that few species actually have), she's still the daughter of a monkey... with limited capabilities. I'd like to help in anyway I can... please see below...

"Why are my vagina and I crying ourselves to sleep every night? Isn't this America, land of the be-a-woman-and-get-great-sex-anytime? But do I really want to go through another terrible hook-up? Can I really take the horror of a rocker dude who's snorted too much blow to have a rock hard love wand? I didn't come over because I wanted to spend four hours coaxing a dong into cooperation. I wanted your sexual prowess to smack me into submission. How about trying out the older gent in hopes that, like everyone says, he has pleasing a woman all figured out? Not surprisingly, I found the old-man groaning to be too distracting for me to enjoy myself at all. And just because I'm young doesn't mean I'm going to call you Daddy. Cause that's gross. I already have a Daddy, and I don't want to be involved with his penis in any way.

At all.

I'm a progressive, intelligent lady and don't expect people to adhere to old fashioned gender roles but DAMMIT MEN. BE MEN. BE A COWBOY. It's so easy. I'll stroke your penis as well as your ego, perhaps even intentionally squealing loudly so the neighbors will know of your manhood. I'll be a willing participant in any kinks. I'll wear a cheerleader outfit. I'll let you toss me around. I'll growl and bite and then raise my voice five octaves when I come (if you make me). Dammit I'll make you feel like a man. All I expect of you is that you make me feel like a woman. That is, act like my vagina is the Arc of the Covenant. Sigh, moan, sweat, clench your teeth, rub, mumble curse words in disbelief. Let me know that being between my legs makes you want to bust in five seconds, but hold it until I'm all done.

P.S. Be Nice to me. My Daddy signed the Patriot Act, and he'll wiretap your ass right into jail... mutha fucka!!"

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