+ s a l m o n + c o n t a c t u s + a r c h i v e s + t a b l e t a l k +
Camille Froglia's online adviceA S K C A M I L L E
for the culturally disgruntled
Illustration Manipulated by Mr. Helpful
R E A S S U R A N C E S F O R T H E L E C H E R O U S D I C K .
I am a great guy and a wonderful husband, but I'd really prefer to sleep with more women... younger ones, with tighter butts. What can I tell my wife to make her understand? -- Horny Hubby
Dear Horny Hubby:
The forbidden allure of hearty sex with tender young nymphets can be
detected as early as the Greek myth of Erecteon, the forager who hit on the
goddess Blabbymous when his wife, Coldfisheon, wasn't looking. Coldfisheon
didn't take it very well. She turned him into a giant Oscar Meyer Weiner
Van, symbolizing his unwavering desire for unattainable playthings half his
age.
Oh, but the thrill of soft, new flesh, glowing in the moonlight! The
unspeakably tender caresses of young things - preferably teenagers! How can
your scaly old wife deny you such voluptuously robust encounters?
Ex-Lax Feminism, which suffers from perpetual constipation, sees such
intimate exchanges as "cheating" - and yet some of the most creative and
wildly nontraditional men have sought their inspiration from just these
sources! That frigid prig Gloria Steinem and her band of nattering,
dictatorial feminist cronies may be far too steeped in insecurity and blame
to ever free men to satisfy their most naturally explosive raw urges to
spread their seed, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't get the quality
flesh you deserve. Don't let your wife's unbending commitment to infusing a
vigorous man like yourself with her own poisonous misery hold you back.
Your letter reminds me of how Lucca Bambino, the Italian sausage-maker who
is Mira Sorvino's je ne sais quoi (and who catered the signing party for
"Vamps & Tramps"), described his unintentional hard-ons as he walked down
the babe-lined streets of Venice. "The penis is a sausage," he declared.
"It must be cooked in oil - and stirred vigorously - for about 15 minutes!"
Where the penis-owner code is not accurately translated and where bourgeois
boneheads become the norm, men melt into women and lose their special
hairy, slightly sweaty appeal. Hence the rampant lame limpidity of the
upper crust, where polite little wusses dilly-dally around like shy
canaries, ready to be swallowed by militant matriarchs, masterfully
draining every ounce of raw male sex appeal off these forlorn boys like
spring water off a can of Solid White Tuna.
April 1, 1997
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