I find odd things erotic.
If you see me standing in the home office section of Staples, you might witness me divulge: “Oh man, please tell me that is not a jam resistant, Rio Red Swingline edition 747. This is not good. We only have 20 seconds until the Hollywood intern reaches the scribbled “get staples” note on her pad. Press down on that smooth, red handle baby. Please, don’t look at me.”
I get so hot for uninvited guests who overstay their welcome. Take over the couch! Leave their shoes on your coffee table!!! Pee with the bathroom door open!!!! Always watching the Game Show Network!!!!! PUT THEIR NAME ON YOUR LEASE!!! HA HA HA! Fuck! Damn! Sexy!
Misuse of Yeísmo. At an overpriced, over hyped retro-disco hipster club in Los Angeles there’s nothing better than hearing an orange, Orange County cougar mom whisper into your ear, “Let’s head back to your place and get a couple ultimate poLLo beef bowls at El PoLLo Loco.” AHHHH, gets me so hot. I whisper back, “I’m short on cash, so why don’t I make oLLa podridas instead?“ Sex has never been hotter.
Showering with boxers on.
Referring to nipples as nips.
The conference on Neural Information Processing Systems.
Binaca. Just the thought of greasy hair, plastic card holding, shirtless yuppies spraying minty chemical into their mouths in slow-motion… nothing gets my libido going more (not since the release of Eucalyptus flavored Tic Tacs in Poland).
Tampered condiment caps. I know what you’re saying, you bad, fidgety fingered boy. Unscrewing the salt cap is the modern day message in the bottle. I know what you want. You want to be fucked. I can hear you loud and clear as I “accidentally” pour all the salt on my Cobb salad. Left ventricular hypertrophy and duodenal ulcers never tasted so good. Mmm.
C-SPAN = anal sex.
Receiving a Thomas Kinkade Heaven on Earth personal check.
Buying swordfish that looks like it has too much mercury in it. What a rush!
Gum on your shoe!
Phone off the hook is like S&M. The sharp, piercing sound of “WAH! WAH! WAH!” is really saying, “Harder. Faster. I wonder if your mother is calling you? WAH! WAH! WHIP IT GOOD, DEVO!” HOT!
Granola. Two words: vaginal fisting.
The automotive industry. So nut busting hot! EXPLOSION!
Folgers coffee. It’s the pre-regulated 1861 Coca Cola of coffee. Want a financial tip? Sure you do. The best way to spend your unemployment check is purchasing twenty-five, 1 gallon tubs of Folgers from Costco, dumping them into a bath tub, followed by burying your genitals in the grounds. New catchphrase: Brew It Up with Your Junk!
Referring to a kippah as a zucchetto.
Suzanne Somers Thigh Master.
Suggestively blaming myself in a suicide note in the third person.
I love you Velcro, paper clips, pleather, tucker hats, tramp stamps, and bad TV. You make me so so hot.
Oh, and it’s your entire sexy ass fault, Dale Amberson.