On Reading Poorly Transcribed Erotica
by Jill Alexander Essbaum
She stood before him wearing only pantries
and he groped for her Volvo under the gauze.
She had saved her public hair, and his cook
went hard as a fist. They fell to the bad.
He shoveled his duck into her posse
and all her worm juices spilled out.
Still, his enormous election raged on.
Her beasts heaved as he sacked them,
and his own nibbles went stuff as well.
She put her tong in his rear and talked ditty.
Oh, it was all that he could do not to comb.
Back in September I promised more Essbaum. And I just — almost just, but not quite — had forgotten about it. But then, earlier today, I received a gentle reminder from a dear constant caller and reader in the form of this review of our preceding call:
*****First, Ms. Angela dressed me in hot cloves–including a D- cup brazier, seemed smockings, and a set of open-towed heals. My clock was so hard and I was so clothes to organism that I nearly screened! But she didn’t let me comb. Instead, she tweezed my hard deck and started pinching my nippers.
By then, it was all I could do to keep my stiff election in my pantries. Then she began calling me "her dirty grill" and telling me she wanted to see lots of hot Jews flowing from my pirates. When she said that, I tried to hole back but I couldn’t do it any more. Seamen gushed from my peanuts and I went totally limb.
She said I could call again after I improved my English.
Which — in context — is very funny. I mean, you do know it takes a very smart and witty man to write so stupidly, don’t you? I’m wondering if the Phone Sex Window Shoppers who read it will actually get the humor in it. But, never mind … it still tickled me pink and purple — and even red, white and blue. I really do have the best job ever. What’s a girl got to complain about when good guys like this keep showing up?