Yes. Get me to the good bit real quick.

Fine. That's cool. Not like I spend time or energy writing an intro or something. It's totally cool. You do you.

Except... Uhm. How do I explain this? I'm really awful at having any sort of schedule. Any semblance of a plan, really. Someone once presented the idea of a week planner and I got So caught up in the novel concept of "days" and "weeks" that I'm yet to learn a out "planning," if such a thing exists. So there's no "good bits" yet, much in the same manner I have my doubts about these "Mondays" people hate.

Hey, how 'bout you do a 'replay' and listen to me write out what a male author in his late twenties thinks a woman in her early twenties thinks like? I swear, there's this really good bit where I cram in a ton of self-loathing about the main characters appearance and they spend quite a while depreciating themselves! Ah, women. Not like us men, who love ourselves and our dangly bits and have no notion of **** self-loathing, body issues, or anything else really. Certainly nothing unmanly like, say, spending an evening staring into the mirror, hoping to catch a glimpse of life behind your cold, dead eyes.

Shaving? More like, get off my back and no it's not a neck-beard! It's - what I call - a hairy turtle-neck.

Shower? Ha! Who uses soap in their watery cry-time chamber!?

Yep. I can read what I wrote. I get you now.

Heck it, old chap! You managed to win me over. Here's some erotica to make up for the fact that you had to read the phrase "hairy turtle-neck."

Handsome man says, "I'd like one sex."

The woman is instantly wet and also says some words with her other fleshy flappy bits, "Me too. One sex would really feel good now."

As man enters woman it feels really good in his penis. The woman feels the THUNDERING JACKHAMMER OF MALE EMPOWERMENT, feeling as every rigid inch sends waves of PLEASURABLE ORGASM washing off her sensual body.

As the man comes, woman feels the hot gooey stuff all over her and cries, "What the hell! Is that boiled ranch dressing!?"

Silence. Man knows he's been caught. Looking down at his THUNDERING JACKHAMMER OF MALE EMPOWERMENT he thinks hard and long. This will take every trick in the book. Every bit of sly cunning he poseses. Channeling upon thousands of generations of caught men doing stupid shit, he replies confidently.

"No?" But woman is already off the bed, taking a shower, yelling something. Ah, well, there's always next years anniversary, man thinks to himself, as he lies back and thinks of all the other 'the sex' he and woman done did do.

Still dripping, a towel slung like a turban around her head, the woman exits the shower and says, "Christ, Steven. I'm all up for that kinky shit, but you have to warn me."

"Should probably have communicated the whole ranch thing, yeah."

"Where did you even keep it?"

"Well, we emptied the lube jar day before yesterday, so I kept it in that."

Woman - also known as Sharon - could not hide her disappointment. "So we're out of lube?"

A smug smile crept across Steve's face. "Actually... I was thinking we could--"

"Use ranch as lube?"

Steve winked. Awkwardly, as ranch dripped off his brow.

"I'm down for that," Sharon said, looking at him and nodding as she dried her hair.

Restraining himself from clapping out of sheer excitement, Steve almost tumbled over, dashing out the room and simultaneously shouting back to Sharon, "I'll go get the strap-on! Remember to stretch!"

"Yeah, yeah. I remember last year." Sharon replied, her voice unable to contain the love she felt for this goof of a human being. Words were unnecessary and the night still young. If the neighbours had to file a noise complaint last year, boy, they would not be happy tonight.