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Camille Froglia's online advice
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 .

Dear Camille:

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

Troubled? E-mail Camille at
and tell her where it hurts.

Why do pickled beets turn me on? (03/04/97)
Downright obscene desires (02/18/97)
Camille, tell me what to think, now! (02/04/97)
Of truck-rental phobias and anglocentric preoccupations (01/27/97)
Hot child in the city: sodomy unplugged (01/13/97)

Bookmark: http://www.salmonmagazine.com/froglia/

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