Word Play

Did someone forget the golden rule?” Look, but don’t touch… Taste, but don’t swallow.

smeep (smep) v. 1. To give forth a short, shrill cry or sound. 2. To utter in a thin, shrill voice in extreme fandom.

Look, I’m not saying I look like a catfish or anything, but have you fucking seen him? He’s the kind of guy who makes Channing Fuck-My-Face Tatum dancing to Pony in Magic Mike look like an incompetent and ungraceful slouch.

But who are you, Jeffrey? Does Shumaker & Gates represent you as well?” “Oh, yes! Of course. Why else would I be here?” Jeffrey laughed. “And do you write under your real name or a pen name?” “Oh. A pen name,” Jeffrey said quickly. “And what name would that be?” asked Michael. With his gears turning, I recognized the instant he got an idea. “Nicholas Sparks,” Jeffrey replied.

Why a flower had become that, I had no idea. Something about flowers always made me think about the reproductive system.The scent of a rose—and any other flower—was like stuffing your nose into a vagina. What attracts bees to the aroma is the very reason flowers pollinate and continue to flourish. Smelling a flower was the equivalent to sniffing its reproductive organs.I shrugged and plucked the flower from its vase, pinning it to my lapel. This’ll do. I feel like such a pussy.

Now, I’ll admit, he’s nothing of which I was ashamed, but these girls were not only acting is if I was going to take each one of them into my bed,but also that my dick sported a red cape with a very large triangle-enclosed ‘S’ on its shaft.

Every good story needs the token gay guy, even if that story is your own.

Um, Monica?” “Yeah?” I asked cheerily. “Are you gonna be at the thing tonight?” The thing. I smiled. “Yeah. I’ll be there.” “Good.” He paused. “It will give you some time to come up with an explanation as to why you were whispering my name in the bathtub.

I’d apparently misunderstood the sexual deprivation and borderline psychotic fantasies of this country’s romance-reading community.

Nope. I’m done. I’ve had it. From now on I’m swearing off men entirely and living a celibate and contented life without the penis. It can be done.

They shouted, pulled my hair, tried to rip off my clothes, and grabbed my junk. Phones flew up into the air, snapping videos and pictures. Women threw room keys, flowers, underpants, pennies, and I believe I even saw a tampon fly.

I sighed. “Monica? I haven’t waxed my eyebrows, or any other essential areas, in over a month. I have four gray hairs at the age of twenty-nine. Three newfound whiskers on my chin. The bags under my eyes are atrocious and I’ve gone six months without using moisturizer on my face. I’m a fucking wreck!

I yanked up her skirt and pressed my fingers inside of her, ensuring she was ready. I’d seen this done in the movies—I’m pretty sure Armond did it in book two, as well—and