So, another day, another whack-job complaining about something that offends his tender sensibilities. Y’know, the kinda jerk-off who happens to notice something in an otherwise innocuous image so insignificant that no one else would ever catch it? The kinda guy who claims he’s into this:
This reminds me of the carton under my bed that my girlfriend used to refer to as the "Big Box of Porn". Which was unfair, since I personally always thought of it as the hope chest that stored my sweetest dreams. And handcuffs.
…but ya just know he’s secretly into this:
The surgeon said the tumor was benign, but Bob didn't believe it. Benign tumors don't throb, do they?
…and he’s just taking his frustrations out on some poor company? It’s ridiculous. Just look at th– holy hell!
Okay, um… yeah… that’s a lemon screwing a lime, people. We have fruit fuckage, pure and simple. Mr. Simon Simpkins of Pontefract, England, I owe you an apology. I’ve seen dogs hump with more subtlety and restraint.
Although to me, there’s a bigger question here. What the fuck is all over the lime’s hands in that drawing? Is the lemon that… juicy? And, I mean, well… I’m just curious and all, but… hm.
I’ll see you people later, I need to make a run to the grocery store.
LATER: Never mind. They were out of fresh lemons, and let’s just say that those little plastic lemon squeezers may look like lemons, but the similarity stops there. Entertain yourselves with a look at the non-consensual side of vegetative eroticism while I try to dress my wounds.