I hate rain. It musses my hair and finds ways to get into my Louboutin Mandolina shoes every time, dammit! I had to leave my car parked across the street to drop off my laundry, so now I’m standing here with water dripping from my head into the right cup of my bra, (bad thing since my right tit is smaller than the left) and there are eight people in front of me. At least there are magazines over in the corner, so I’ll see if there’s anything besides Good Housekeeping or some soccer Mom shit.
WOW! I’ll just have to say the irresistible thrust murdered at once my *cough* maidenhead, and very nearly me; when I picked up a magazine that touted, “You simply must try it and see if it doesn’t warm your nether regions, too!”
. ..a tablespoon of honey is dabbed on the vagina with a silk handkerchief. The jar containing the bees is then placed under the honeyed canal attracting the insects. I observed this “ritual” in the back room of a playhouse in Kensington. A young woman, who shall remain nameless as to conceal her good name, prepares to receive the four insects. Sharp stings yield cries of pain and eventually tears. The practice of “hiving” has been advertised as originating in the Orient as a way to receive pleasure whilst maintaining chastity. Advertisements in newspapers trumpet sayings like “intense ecstasy” and ”superior than verile males.” The Archbishop of Canterbury has condemned the craze calling it,”ungodly.” The Queen has made no official comment, but rumors circulate in taverns that midnight shipments of bee hives have entered Buckingham Palace…
I’ve just gotten through the line after thirty minutes, so I’m off back into the miasma; this time with a smile on my face, a dry boob, and the magazine is safely ensconced in the folds of my umbrella.
Now, off to the shops to find out who sells live bees.