Midnight in the barn.
Spades strike hoes
in the pitch.
Chinks in the anvil,
spy the dog hungrily.
Horses with wet backs,
whinny in response
to the nips of rabid coons.
Zurich, Switzerland – In a move that indicates the Swiss have a bit more common sense than much of the rest of the world, the city of Zurich will begin providing city-owned drive-in sex boxes in an effort to provide a safe, discreet environment for prostitutes to meet with their clientele.
The move is a response to the discontentment of residents of the city who have tired of seeing prostitutes milling about in the street. Residents are also presumably fed up with finding discarded used condoms on the sidewalks and witnessing the “O” faces of dudes who are too ugly and/or damaged to find zero-dollar vaginas.
These types of stalls have been used in several cities in Germany. The one pictured above is from Essen which, interestingly enough, is the verb “to eat” in German…not something I normally suggest when meeting with a prostitute, but Germans are an odd group.
Though prostitution has been legal and regulated in Switzerland since 1942, the government has had a difficult time keeping the violent crime related to it down.
With regard to the increased safety of the stalls, Michael Herzig, of Zurich’s social welfare department, said, “The women will be better protected from attack, and it will also mean better business for them. With the women right by the sex boxes there is no ‘travel time’ so they can deal with more customers.”
The women working the sex-boxes will be required to have a license, purchase medical insurance, and clock-in by inserting five Swiss francs into a slot prior to having anything inserted into their own.
As someone who has lived in Hell’s Kitchen in Manhattan, and has been propositioned by his fair share of several-toothed ladies of the evening, I have to say that the more control government has over the prostitution trade, the better.
The next logical step, in my mind, should be to begin placing aesthetics controls on all city-licensed prostitutes, kind of like what the airlines used to do with stewardesses before they started subjecting us to surly, cart-pushing wildebeests.
Oh, hey, word up biatches! Sorry to barge in on you like…whoah, whoah, boobies!
I was just lookin’ for the gym but it’s pretty obvious you plumpers’ve been too busy with some super-hot girl-on-girl action. That’s cool though, ladies, totally cool with me. I can be down with that…totally a fan of the female form and whatever.
Anyways, I was just shootin’ some living stuff that’s like, totally dead now, ’cause, you know, like, I’m such an awesome shot and all.
Hey, any of you want me to give you this blanket, you know, so you can cover up or somethin’? Man, I’m kinda gettin’ a bit of a chubby here. This is a little embarrassing, honestly.
Damn, I knew I shoulda worn jeans today.
Help Repress Pedophilic Tendencies
Paedonix is a prescription medicine that aids in the repression of pedophilic tendencies in men who are sexually attracted to pre-pubescent children.
By taking Paedonix just once, your gravitation toward under-age girls and boys will be replaced by a healthy distaste for their true annoying nature and general repulsiveness.
A penchant for stalking children for sexual gratification can be a stressful existence, fraught with ostracization, fears of discovery by other adults as well as law enforcement, and an attraction to children’s birthday parties. Pedophiles experience higher-than-normal rates of hypertension, paranoia, and being beaten to death in prison.
With Paedonix, you need not be entrapped by the dungeon of kiddie-love anymore. You will no longer feel compulsions to follow children into empty rooms, don clown makeup, nor make balloon animals. In fact, many patients tend to experience a deep attraction to pubic hair on others and a decreased desire for impromptu excursions to the Philippines.
Certain side-effects of Paedonix include painful injection site and violent convulsions followed by immediate, excruciating death, though less than 101% of patients experience these symptoms.
Ask your doctor if Paedonix may be right for you. We’re betting he’ll agree it is.
Oh, lovely goldfish…your lives are so simple; just water, glass, flaky bits of food, and odd women with dutch-boy haircuts staring at you plaintively.
I’ve recently been wondering what it would be like to be a fish, and not just to smell like one between the legs. No deadlines, no grocery shopping, no touching during sex.
Do you enjoy the pine cones I’ve left outside your tank? They must really make the time fly by. Trees don’t touch for sex either, you know, but they do have to worry about being made into tables and such, so it’s not all wine and roses for them, you know, not that they’d really appreciate wine and roses. Wow, a glass or two of wine would be pretty nice right now, actually.
Stop looking at me like that, guys. An occasional glass or two of Chardonnay does not make me an alcoholic. I don’t need a couple of scaly little imbeciles judging me. You’re just like François, you know that? Judgmental little cretins, you are. Next thing I know, you’ll be telling me I’m a frigid dyke, that my cooking sucks, that I’m terrible at blowies, that I have breasts that look like poorly-cooked crèpes.
You know what goes with a nice glass of Chardonnay? Fish! That’s right! Fried fish! We’re going to see how François likes his beloved little pets for dinner. Screw you, guys. You brought this upon yourselves!
I feel a deep need to apologize for all of the insensitive jokes I’ve made about your horrible case of Parkinson’s Disease. When I browse back at some of the things I’ve written, like “It must be hard to give Michael J. Fox a haircut,” I shudder a bit.
After all, you are not at all responsible for your condition, as far as I know, which makes the fact that I’ve poked fun at it deplorable, and puts me on shaky moral ground.
I suppose it’s fortunate that I do not have any morals to speak of, and that was made abundantly clear when I once falsely stated “Camera companies are now certifying their image stabilization technologies as ‘Michael J. Fox Approved.’”
These are awful things to say because I am an awful person. They must make your fans quivery with anger.
I would also like to state, just for the record, that when I said, “My dad told my mom that she’s so loose, she needs to use Michael J. Fox as her vibrator,” I was just kidding, and that I don’t really believe every attempt you make to urinate turns into a masturbatory episode. I also don’t think it’s likely you get car sick just sitting on the couch.
In any case, Michael, I wanted to apologize, despite the fact that I find Family Ties makes me want to gouge my eyes out with a jackhammer, and that Teen Wolf, in my opinion, is one of the biggest pieces of doo-doo ever made, and that I fail to see anyone’s attraction to Back To The Future.
I could go on, so I will. Spin City never held any allure whatsoever for me. Doc Hollywood was abysmal.
Oh, I’m just kidding, Michael. You’re a good sport…as is evidenced by this hilarious clip:
Oh, and your wife’s still pretty hot too. Let’s get together soon and play a game of Operation.
Dear Jim Bob Henry Joe Cletus,
I know you don’t like reading so good so I’ll tryin keep this short. I didn’t say nuthin when you drived my ATVee into the lake chasin’ after the bigfoot you say drank all your Pabst.
And I didn’t take to complainin’ when you glued all the pages of my Cat Fancy magazine together. That was glue, wuddin it?
I didn’t even hitch a fit when you tried to cook our hot dogs by lightin’ your farts at ‘em.
But, I swear, Jim Bob Henry Joe Cletus, you done drived me over the edge.
You’ll find me at the bottom of the well. You done said I poisoned it so I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?
[Note from FoW: Not technically a suicide note since Lurline was found only wet and cold at the bottom of the well. She recently followed me on Twitter, in fact. Click here to see.]