(noon. – promoted by ek hornbeck)
“My, your marital obligation looks lovely tonight and in the light of these florescent tubes (candles are for sissies) may I tell you that I treasure your choice to submit to the duties of your vows MORE today than on the day you signed your name to a contract dooming you to a life of faking it for sake of my self-image!”
“Come over here and let me gaze on the luster of your manufactured eagerness and whisper sweet guilt-trips in your ear. ‘How do I love thee?’ Well, to quote the poet Elisabeth Barrett Browning…
‘Let me count the sex acts per month!’
Or the aptly named e.e. cummings
-the best gesture of my brain is less than
your willingness to wear crotchless panties, which says
we are for each other.’
…for it is only in the abundance of anal-beads and latex masks and Ikea Fundergalo™ hanging, washable, sex-swings that a shallow, ego-driven man like me can measure the worth of a possession such as yourself.
Oh wife… first wife… when I am old and grey I will look back on these, the salad days of your love for me, and tell my third wife of that trick you could do with your pelvis that me know the full depth of our affection and she and I will think fondly of you, wishing that menopause and back-problems from that car accident had not deprived you of the ability to care for me the way you once did.
Sweet what’s-you-name, while most other men might compare their passion for their betrothed with that of Romeo’s for Juliet, I tell you from the bottom of my testicles that I love you as much as Caligula did his throng of supplicants, because while Juliet only got to “show” her love but a measly once, those ancient Roman gentlewoman would thrice a night bestow the ever fullness of their hearts upon Caligula… so as not to be thrown in a dungeon with a hungry lion.
Your lips say, ‘No’, but your eyes say, ‘I so buy into a 50’s view of marriage… the 1350’s.’
Now let me put on the Barry White and open up the boxed wine, because the time for uninspired, court-mandated foreplay has come to an end, in favor of the six and a half minutes where you pretend not to be disgusted by my lack of intellectual curiosity and the general stink of my moral, religious, and political capitulation so that I can close my eyes and pretend that you are Beyoncé.”