sex, non-human

Do you like custard? Of course you do. That’s because it’s got eggs in it, and eggs are for sex. It also contains vanilla, which is the kind of sex you have if you can’t stop imagining your mum walking in, and don’t want to upset her too much. Not forgetting milk and cream, which are sexy per se, and sugar, which is what you call a lady to let her know you want to climb inside her blouse and get handsy with her torso. Is it any wonder that we call human jism “nature’s custard”, and feed our children a nourishing blend of custard and jelly, which in this context, means a lovely big arse.

But how do people who aren’t humans “have it off” with their “bum chums”? I will tell you

POLAR BEARS HAVING IT OFF, WHAT’S THAT LIKE

Polar Bear sex only begins after Polar Bear marriage, but they are literally “poles apart” from the faithful Penguin. Polar Bears only ever fuck around outside of wedlock like their dicks and fannies are on fire, and everyone else’s ass, mouth, fanny and hand is a lovely bucket of water. But because they don’t really like talking about it, Polar Bears invented the don’t ask, don’t tell open relationship.

A typical session begins for the female while the husband is out on a glacier looking for sweet babes to spend his ice dollars on. During this absence, the wife will poke her entire hairy arse out of the bedroom window and shart – or shit fart – pheromones out until a passing male catches a full faceful of her hormone-dreadlocked derriere. This will cause him to begin slobbering and he will say “o boy o boy I can smell a lady’s big ass in a window”

The male Polar Bear presses his snout and dick into one of the many municipal pots of Lynx Africa and shouts “CCOOOOMINNGG”, which will cause the female to run around the bedroom flipping all her wedding photos face down. When her suitor finally lands with a colossal smash through the bedroom wall, he will have fully taken leave of his senses, and will generally begin to initiate sex on several items of furniture, while the female drums her fingers and rolls her eyes at the video camera she has set up, to facilitate a nice frig later on.

Eventually the baser instincts kick in, and the male’s penis finds its way to within inches of the female’s bean, which by this point is sizzling like a Chinese skillet. This is when her husband will burst in, drunk on fermented ice cubes, with his own catch of the night: a second female who is usually the wife of the first male.

After a period of negotiation and discussion, the two couples will reassess their relationships, and establish a loving four-way relationship, and churn our pups in an environment that is so overwhelmingly sex positive that they’ll say something weird at school and their teachers will report them all to social services. Polar Bears – the world isn’t ready for your pioneering relationships.

OK BUT HOW DO REALLY DRY PLANETS HAVE SEX

When the really dry and lifeless male planet is ready to mate, it will jettison a plume of sand from its mantle. This serves a dual purpose: both as a gloomy “come hither” to any melancholic female planets in the quadrant, and is also how the planet steer itself from the orbit of its hostile scorching sun and behind its own moon. Once out of the direct impact of the deadly UV, the planet will begin to spin faster and faster until it starts to sing a low, mournful melody.

It sings in taciturn tones of the absence of lizards skipping over its dunes. It sings a dismal ditty that no life can be supported in its toxic atmosphere, apart from the odd tardigrade or some other extremophile bullshit that doesn’t count. It sings sadly that a tit or a nice big dick has never scampered across its surface, and how it longs to play host to something as mundane to other planets as a Centre Parcs, only a very special Centre Parcs, where the activities come as standard instead of costing you extra.

This morose song will attract a female barren planet, who will say something companiably downbeat, like “I know how you feel, love”.

What follows is the most vast act of coitus imaginable. A fine, dusty dune slips without lubrication or joy through a gravelly valley. The gravity of the larger male attracts some of the female’s own poisonous atmosphere, leaving him larger but no more satisfied, and leaving her a sense of being cheated, even though she entered this encounter knowing full well how physics works.

A more vibrant planet would use a volcanic eruption as a sign of orgasm. But these husks have to make do with a sandy, impotent frot, before jettisoning one last sandy goodbye guff and returning to their respective lonely orbits. Where, the male planet admits to himself, that he was probably being silly about Centre Parcs. I mean, charging extra for the activities is how they keep the basic prices down, and why should people who just want to use the pool subsidise the dickheads who want to fuck around in the forest with a bow and arrow.

“People. I’m better off without them!”, the planet thinks to itself, before losing the will to spin on its axis.

THAT’S ALL WELL AND GOOD BUY HOW DOES A TEMPORAL PARADOX HAVE SEX

First of all you need to go back in time and have sex with your mum then wait nine months and deliver yourself. Then you need to act like your own dad, only making every opposite decision your dad made with you, enjoying the thrill as you feel your personality change as you mess around with your own history. Hugging you in the past makes now you feel happier. Screaming at your child self, on the other hand, makes adult you angrier and feel less emotionally well-adjusted.

This is obviously paradox ripples and not how interacting with any child makes any parent feel, shut up.

When you’ve been doing this cycle for a billion years, you realise that the only way to break the chain is to find your original dad, who you knocked out of the loop the first time you went back in time. So find him and rim the fuck out of your dad’s hairy asshole until you both die without children, and you cease to exist.

But if you don’t exist – how come you can still taste your dad’s sweet hairy ass?

Learn more! Episode 335

shit and piss, gunky buttock filled with, harry potter and the

Once upon a time, renowned audio tit Cassetteboy chopped up Stephen Fry’s reading of the Harry Potter books and transformed them into something beautiful. His first story was Harry Potter and the Black Leather Cunt, which was to be followed by Harry Potter and the Underage Blow-Job.

Several years passed, until Log decided to copy this idea, with two fundamental differences. First, he would not have a voice as silky and mellifluous as the other fat old gay, Fry. Secondly, he would just read out lots of swear words he had written, with no audio craftmanship or any real effort. Everyone agreed that this was much better, and that Cassetteboy had wasted his and everyone else’s time.

Everyone, that is, except Joe Skrebels, who took Log’s script, went to the Potter audiobooks, and did it properly.

What a prick.

Learn more! Episode 208 : Hermione's Healthy Dongoloid

snooker, dennis patterson and the cosmic lords of

This script was abandoned by Hollywood because Donald Trump hates Snooker. Donald Trump would HATE it if you spent millions of pounds making this script a reality.

EXT. ZERO GRAVITY GOD DIMENSION. DAY

BOOMING VOICE

Why are you here, Dennis Patterson?

DENNIS

I have come to defeat the three eldritch lords of Snooker, and finally elevate myself to Snooker Godhood!

BOOMING VOICE

Then according to the Pirate Laws of Parley, I must open the portal to the Snooker Zone.

DENNIS

Cheers. [beat] Have you got any chalk? And a couple of cues? I’m a puppet, so I have to put my cue down to eat, and I’m so sleepy after eating that I never remember to pick it up again.

Two cues and a bit of chalk appear out of nowhere and hover in front of DENNIS. He looks from the cues to the chalk, his puppet mouth wide open.

BOOMING VOICE

I hope you are ready for this challenge, Dennis Patterson.

DENNIS

Don’t worry about me, mate. Just put a little bit of chalk on those cues for me and I’ll be off. (to camera) I an’t go no arms, see?

EXT. OHIO DUSTPLAIN. DUSK

Hurricane Higgins roams across the landscape on all fours, sniffing in the rubble for snooker balls and lassooing them into his maw with a thorned tongue.

NARRATOR

There can only be one Hurricane Higgins born to every generation. When it is time for one Hurricane Higgins to retire, he spins around really fast, and doesn’t stop until the next person qualified to be Hurricane Higgins snatches his snooker cue off of him. During this Higgins cocoon phase, the rules of snooker are temporarily lifted. You can climb onto the table and kick the balls, the blue ball is worth 20 points, and even if you lose, you can just say you won and no-one can do anything about it.

HIGGINS

Behold! I am Hurricane Higgins. Who dares enter this dustbowl and disturb my timeless slumber?

DENNIS

It is I, Dennis Patterson. And by the powers vested in me by the ratification of the Tenth Metasnooker Consortium, I challenge you to a big game of snooker.

HIGGINS

OK.

DENNIS

On an oil rig.

HIGGINS

OK.

DENNIS

Medieval France.

HIGGINS

Cool.

EXT. NOW WE ARE ON A OIL RIG IN THE MEDIEVAL ZONE OF THE CRYSTAL MAZE WITH SOME ONIONS AND SEX WORKERS WALKING AROUND. DUSK

HIGGINS

Whoa. Check out those onions, walking around like they own the place. [double take] Wait a shit-fingered minute. You are a fucking puppet. You would have to hold the cue in your mouth, meaning you couldn’t look where you were hitting the ball. Speaking as experienced human Snooker man Hurricane Higgins – I like my chances!

DENNIS

Come on then, Higgins. Stop yacking up wet cack and let’s SNOOKER.

Hurricane Higgins prowls the Snooker table, giggling and slobbering over all of the Snooker balls and moving the sliders on the scoreboard like he’s twiddling a pair of horizontally mobile nipples. His thighs ratchet open and shut with a sickening crunch, and a weak spot flashes on his temple every time he says “Snooker”

MATT

Come on, Donald Patterson. It is time for you to play your first hit of the balls at Snooker

DENNIS

(to himself)

I am going to try to pot a red ball with a view to potting more balls over a long period of snooker

DENNIS pots a red ball. In a somewhat eye-opening rebuke, HIGGINS pots loads of balls back. It turns out he’s really good at Snooker compared to DENNIS, who is a puppet.

HIGGINS

If there’s one thing I’ve never lost a game of, it’s Snooker!

As he says Snooker again, DENNIS twats him in the weak spot with two snooker balls stuffed into himself.

PUPPET

Take THAT, you massive HIGBOSEXUAL

HIGGINS

Oh no! The impact has caused me to narrate my actions, as I stagger onto this rotating plinth, and begin to spin around with such rotational velocity that it has triggered my cocoon state! ALL THE RULES OF SNOOKER ARE IN FLUX.

Nothing is forbidden. Everything is mandatory. DENNIS dunks the blue ball six times for 120 points and grabs HIGGINS’ cue. He is now the Millennial Higgins, wearing a gold Higgins sombrero. A Portal opens.

BOOMING VOICE

Whey-up. Perhaps we have underestimated you, Dennis Patterson.

DENNIS

(mouth covered in blood)

No shit, dandy flaps. Now I wanna fuck up that ponce off of the Big Break, John Virgo

BOOMING VOICE

So be it!

EXT. DAY. BIG BIT OF SPACE

Slow pan across a load of stars with snooker balls flying past every now and then

NARRATOR

As he is a sentient constellation, John Virgo can only assume human form and play Snooker on a holodeck. He insists on complete control over the holodeck program, and abuses his power by dropping holopubes into his opponents mouths during a tricky shot. If you complain, he just says “lol what are you doing with pubes in your mouth man, you’re supposed to be playing snooker.” Everyone knows he put them there but he won’t admit it, and it’s really unfair and frustrating. His only weak spot is that he is a billion-year-old virgin, because a misfiring holodeck safety protocol won’t let him put his big stardust willy into bums, fannies or mouths.

VIRGO

I am John Virgo, and this is my nice waistcoat. You dare to challenge me to a game of cosmic holosnooker?

DENNIS

Yeah. And I’m gonna beat you like I beat your bum chum, the previous Hurricane Higgins.

John Virgo looks unflappable, but when DENNIS says bum-chums it makes that weak spot on his bell-end flash red. It would appear this snooker game has THREE blue balls. And that is a proper joke so it should probably be in the dialogue but whatever fuck you

VIRGO

But you are a puppet. You lack a second hand to stabilise the cue, or to utilise a rest. I will accept your foolish challenge, if only to see if you hold the Snooker cue like a big flute or a long cigar.

DENNIS

(to himself)

I’m going to play a snooker shot, attempting to pot a red ball in the hope that it contributes to a total score that is higher than John Virgo’s score

DENNIS plays a good bit of Snooker, scoring about eight or something. But it is no good. JOHN VIRGO’s trick shots would make a philosopher blush, and before you know it, he has scored seven million points.

VIRGO

Let’s play again, forever! You can never leave my holodeck. Computer, rack them up again. Authorisation code: JOHN VIRGO

DENNIS has an idea, and positions himself on the lip of the table so that it looks like some snooker balls are big juicy puppet testicles.

DENNIS

Check out my swollen spunkers, Virgo. Quit chalking your tip and slip me some dick.

As luck would have it, the holodeck’s safety protocols don’t apply to puppets, and before you know it VIRGO has got his chunky meatus bloating DENNIS from hoop to squeaker. VIRGO ejaculates after a perfectly acceptable and not amusing period of time, and it doesn’t just fill you with starjizz. It resolves the very paradox of his existence.

JOE

Thank you, Puppet Hurricane Higgins. I can now take human form and leave the Holo-Cricible. I will think of you every time I wank into a sock.

VIRGO is already wanking into a sock.

BOOMING VOICE

It is time to enter the Temple of Snooker and face your last opponent. I have opened the portal to Steve Davis himself.

INT. NIGHT. THE LOST TEMPLE OF SNOOKER

DENNIS enters the Temple of Snooker. It is time to face the final Snooker Lord, Steve Davis. But something is wrong. There has been a mix-up at the Davis Despatch area, from which all Davisses are despatched. Sitting on the snooker throne is a topless, muscular Jim Davis. Jim Davis, the man who invented Garfield. Jim Davis might not have been the first person to notice that the word “DIET” begins with the word “DIE”, but he was the first person to attribute that observation to a cat. Dancing across his taut skin is every Garfield he has ever drawn, his living tattoo instant retribution by the universe for what he has done.

DENNIS

You are not a Lord of Snooker. But my dander is so far up I would Snooker my own fuckin mum.

DAVIS

Well, if this doesn’t put the vinegar in the salad dressing. I’ll be a tinker’s poopsy if I know what’s going on.

The Garfields covering his body are enraged, boiling the skin in an attempt to escape. But JIM DAVIS himself remains affable

DAVIS

(cont.)

I will play you at the Snooker but just for nicies. But first, why don’t we check today’s Garfield? It is a cartoon I write.

You check today’s Garfield with STEVE DAVIS. It is three panels, as Garfield always is, except on the colour weekend strip, when it is six or seven. It is just Steve Davis’s face. DENNIS leaps into the cartoon like the Take On Me video and twats STEVE DAVIS with a wrench. The power of snooker courses through DENNIS’s veins. He is finally the God of Snooker. Liz, the Vet from Garfield who Jon Arbuckle fancies, throws her arms around DENNIS and slips him the tongue. NERMAL, the cute kitten that Garfield hates, climbs onto his lap and starts purring. With all the GARFIELDs trapped in Jim Davis’ skin in the real world, this cartoon strip is a peaceful place of harmony. ODIE slobbers happily, his tormentor gone. You decide to stay here, content at last.

BOOMING VOICE

And that is what Snooker is. Thank you for coming today there are cue-shaped pencils available in the gift shop.

steve and joe’s body swap adventure

After “long-hugging”, body-swapping is the number one tool in the relationship counsellor’s arsenal. Just look how a simple body-swap adventure can resolve conflicts, build empathy, and end up with both parties teaming up for one last heist

STEVE
I hate you Joe. I have no understanding of your life and you disgust me for having different priorities

JOE
I feel the same was about you. I see no way we can respect each other, let alone be friends.

STEVE
OK so now we’ve sorted that out let’s take shelter from this thunderstorm under a sheet of corroguted metal

JOE
I hope we don’t get

BOTH
STRUCK BY LIGHTNING!

STEVE
Oh no we just did exactly that

JOE
Who said that?

STEVE
You did! I mean I did!

BOTH
WHUUUUUUH?

STEVE
Ew gross I’ve got spiders in my pockets

JOE
That is why I behave badly sometimes, because I am scared of the spiders in my pockets.

STEVE
I see.

JOE
More to the point, Why have my balls been dragged back and fingered into my arsehole

STEVE
That is why I sometimes do not treat you with respect, because I am fixated on the fear that birds want to peck my balls off through my paper trousers

JOE
I also see. I love you Joe

STEVE
I love you too Steve

JOE
I think the only way to swap bodies back is to bust a nut into our reflections in a puddle.

STEVE
Then what are we waiting for! I’m gonna bust your wonky nuts faster than you can say “heebie jeebies”

Steve busts a nut

Joe busts a nut

JOE
Oh no! the nuts must be bust at the same time. You have created a temporal body swap rift and turned into a dinosaur

STEVE
C’est la vie, baby. Hop onto my stegs and let’s do one last heist

steve jobs

Are you Steve Jobs? Take this test to find out!

Steve-Jobs

An employee tells you she has devised a new procedure that might save your company hundreds of man-hours every month. Do you:

  1. Congratulate her on her proactivity and consider her for promotion
  2. Shoot her with a crossbow and whisper “Speaking as Steve Jobs, your artless obsession with the mundane is utterly uninspiring to me.” Then get security to put her dying body into a trebuchet, and fire her into a swamp.

You are sending an iMessage to Bono. What does it say?

  1. What the fuck is your problem, you sack of human shit
  2. Hey Bono it’s Steve Jobs here, let’s rub our dicks together until we start a fucking pube fire

The opportunity arises to be kind. Do you:

  1. Seize it
  2. Feel repulsed, knowing that kindness is required only by the weak. Then feel jubilant, knowing that you, Steve Jobs, will never need the help of others, for there is no-one stronger, more complete, and less riddled with cancer than yourself

If you answered mostly 2, then you are probably the deceased cunt, Steve Jobs

Learn more! Episode 3 : Quiet Old Doctor Jobs