We’re All Here Just to Get Laid, Right?

A commenter alerts me that I’m sorely mistaken about my on-line writing

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I don’t know about y’all, but from the minute I wake up in the morning until I go to sleep at night, and even while I dream, I’m only concerned with one thing: will this get me laid?

I wake up and go to the kitchen, for instance, where I have two options ahead of me: Corn Flakes or Cheerios. I have to stop and think: which one is more likely to get me laid?

Perhaps today’s a day where I need to volunteer at the shelter. There are two paths I can drive to get there. One requires a nasty left turn, but is quicker while the other takes a little while longer, but allows me an easy right turn into the parking lot. But the real question is which path is going to lead to sex?

When the day ends and I’m deciding what to watch on Netflix, I have a very difficult choice: Which is more likely to lead to me getting my dick wet, or the final season of ?

But none of those decisions are nearly as impactful as one decision I made, two and a half years ago, to respond to an article with the specific intent of loosening the panties of every woman with even a drop of heterosexual blood passing through her veins.