 | Nescient Kink |
 | |
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?
This particular Essbaum poem can be found at No Tell Motel. But visit Harlot Poems (the greatest domain name ever) for up-to-the-date dish on the most lovely, always sexy and super-smart Ms. Essbaum.
xo, Angela
It is great to read Essbaum and your reviewer in conjunction. You do have some very witty friends! My spelling isn’t funny, just bad.
All’s I can say is Jungle Balls, Jungle Balls, Jungle all the way….very funny, Angela.
I don’t think it’s so funny. I want a bridle fantasy where I half sacks with Virginian. Do I get that? No! Instead, Angela she ride me like her whores and make me bake her to use a beak dill-dough. I was very frayed! Then she tell me next time she use a viper- rater. It was not watt I want, but I was so exited I still half to give her fife stairs!
What is being done to my beloved tong?
I’m listening now to Bob Dylan reading of “The Night Before Christmas” — another one of Angela’s eclectic and … well, “eccentric” Xmas music selections. The thought occurs to me that the definition of truel celebrity status in the United States is making your own Christmas album. Being talented or having a beautiful singing voice has nothing to do with it. Hell, I think even Walter Brennan once put out an Xmas disk.
Forget Warhol’s 15 minutes of fame. When I, PQS, have my own Christmas album, then I too will know that I have truly arrived!
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all!
PQS – last week I was in a physical therapy session, in traction, strapped to a table, directly below a speaker loudly playing Elvis’s Christmas album. I told the trainer later that he had a promising future career at Guantanamo – I would have admitted to anything to get off of that table! Sorry – but some people should NOT have a Christmas album. Merry Christmas to you (and to all Angelaphiles) anyway!
~Thanks for the “Bob Dylan Christmas”! It was great!