One day I woke up and dropkicked a harlot. The harlot screamed but my pimp silenced her with a hefty bucket filled with cheese, Kraft Easy Cheese. The harlot became quite hungry then, and ate the magnificent tofu sculpture I gave her. With much vexation, I grabbed her and dunked her in a nearby vat of KY-Jelly. She struggled, but found she was too cheese-covered to use her ninja powers of doom! It was then clear as day what the Harlot wanted to do for the rest of the day. Gracefully, she began to undress and swim freely amongst other cheese-covered harlots. Together they moved to encircle me and beneath the pool of cheese I felt their hands upon my large and sturdy ankles. Quickly, they yanked me down into the cheese filled depths of their pool.

Under the waves of Easy Cheese, we dashed hither and yonder together as a cloaked figure suddenly appeared above, eyeing the tank. It then inserted a club cracker into the tank. My heart jumped as the cracker vanished and the dark figure dived expertly through the cheese. It snatched me up by my nipple piercing and, painfully, we were all lifted to the surface.

The figure had bits of cheese all over its body, but I couldn't understand how my nipple ring hadn't torn my nipple straight off. It hurt so. Why did I get that piercing? Was it because harlots liked it? Or maybe I'm just fetishistic about piercings and yankings? As such, when this mysterious figure yanked my nipple, it sent a surge of joy to the very heart of my being. But was this really all due to my piercing? Perhaps my feelings for the dark, cheese-covered figure caused this strange lust that I am now awashed in.

Carefully, I moved toward this sexy, evil being. My voice trembled as I spoke the words that my mother taught me. "Thank you for touching me," I began as it eyed me through the mask it wore. "I cannot describe what great joy you have given me." The creature then spoke. He was very curt, saying "You don't need me." He threw some electric tweezers to the harlots and disappeared into oblivion.

The harlots, still drenched with cheese, tweezed my nipples until my nipple hair was gone. Contented, I tweezed their eyebrows and chest hair while they sang. If only Goya had been there, he would have joined the choir because he had a background in choir singing but practiced only sporadically ; like a lazy-daisy. So I called Bob Ross instead and asked him to come paint the harlots with happy little trees. He said he'd love to after his mom finished washing his afro.

Shortly, Bob came, his afro bouncing happily in the breeze and warmed the whole area with the light shining from his mighty white-man 'fro. The harlots greeted Bob with glee and danced around as many LSD-driven gargoyles ascended from Notre Dame and gave Bob a box of candy. Bob ate the coconut candies and began painting the scene that stretched out behind the harlots and myself. Thats when he turned a bright