2006-03-12

Professor: Sexiest baby name ever—Qwendravius.
Not-a-Finger: Excuse me while I go fill my body with children, which will be born in nine months and bear the names Quendravius 1-9.
Professor: He is a two-year-old who mourns he cannot ride the rides at the fair.
Not-a-Finger: I love the fair. I wanna go to the fair right now and see a pig get an award.
Professor: I want to see a pumpkin get an award and then have riotous celebratory sex with the kid who grew him. That is to say, the kid who made him grow.
Not-a-Finger: Well, I want to see a pig get an award for growing the biggest pumpkin and then have riotous celebratory sex with the pumpkin while the kid watched, shrieking uncontrollably.
Professor: My mind is blown.
Not-a-Finger: Why can’t Qwendravius ride the rides at the fair?
Professor: Alas, he is too small.
Not-a-Finger: If he were my kid, I would smuggle him up my shirt and take him for a “ride” on the “teacups.”
Professor: And that is why you’re not allowed to go to Disney World.
Not-a-Finger: Actually, I’m not allowed to go to Disney World because of the gays.
Professor: What?
Not-a-Finger: Yeah. We visited Orlando when I was about nine, and my parents sat us down and told us that we couldn’t go to Disney World because of the gays. “What the hell are you talking about?” I said. “For the mouse is a wicked mouse,” my father intoned, “who wears tantalizing pants and walks inside a reeking cloud of devils, who simpers and giggles in the manner of one who relishes being penetrated, whose waggling tail invites us to waggle inside his tail.” So we went to Gatorland instead.

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