1. They make guys jealous
Mountain lions are sex ANIMALS. Chances are when you bring a guy home, all he is thinking is how you are ravaged by a ferocious carnivore every night.
2. Their oboe playing is too dissonant during sex
You knew what you signed up for when you got the mountain lion, but your sex partners don’t know that mountain lions need many years of constant practice until they can perfect the oboe. Nobody likes to listen to an amateur.
3. There are too many dead goats laying around
Ordinarily a few dead ungulates scattered around the house are a great aphrodisiac, but having too many makes you look desperate. NOT A TURN ON
4. The guy is a coyote person
Everyone is split into two personality types: puma person or coyote person. If he is a coyote person, he probably won’t click well with Tony. However, your personality auras just won’t match up anyway, so good riddance!
5. People seem to be disappearing
This one is especially mysterious. You may start to notice a trend that your sexual partners seem to be systematically disappearing after you bring them home, along with unusually high amounts of blood on your basement stairs. Chalk it up to fragile masculinity, we say.
6. You actually end up falling for the mountain lion
Mountain lions aren’t called cougars for nothing, and you can be a little bit emotionally unstable. We’ve all been there, so go have your fling and get back into the dating scene when it’s over. You may have to prepare for the possibility of a interspecies marriage (you go girl) and that revolution is still years down the road. Hang in there!
BY Dick Toner
Have you ever sat in class with an emptiness in your gut, an aching in your groin, and your muscles quivering from the mornings workout? Leg Day or “Put it in My Ass Day,” as I like to call it, is dreaded by most gym bros, but to me the squat rack is my temple. Placing the bar on my upper back puts me into a trance. I dip low into the squat, imagining my sphincter being dipped in honey. Every exhale empties my life force into the atmosphere.
Hours later, I sit in class with blood flowing through my muscles; my breath keeping rhythm with my heartbeat. My mind recalls the glistening pecs of the man whose face I’d love to plunder with my rectum. The thought’s making my grundle pulse, teasing me of a time when my jeans fit comfortably.
I fidget in my chair desperately attempting to lend my ear to the bag of bones lecturing the class. His eyes like a window to the bluest of skies, curtained by the last remaining strands of his balding head. His voice evolves into a symphony whose notes were precisely chosen for my ears. I cannot refuse him. The inside of my mouth grows moist and my chest as tight as a newborns anus. I am drowning in my hunger for his bones. I need his skeletal fingers to part my ass cheeks like Moses did the Red Sea. His tongue be the Israelites upon my sea floor. I read his liver spots like a Rorschach test, he wants it too. My tongue grazes my lips in an attempt to taste his decaying flesh.
I stand from my chair, all eyes in the room gazing in awe in my direction. Murmurs from the crowd pollute his ancient symphony, which grows louder with every step toward his body. Beads of sweat accumulate on my forehead; my breath sharper and deeper. My mind knows of the sins I am committing, but all the blood in my body has rushed to my throbbing member. It’s leg day after all. I stand above his body, the silhouette of my cock pressed against my Levi jeans. I hear screams from the room as I embrace his beautiful head. A surge of fluid soils the blue of my jeans. My legs are weak and my body limp. The fog of leg day lust quickly disperses and I realize I am not in class, I am at my grandfather’s funeral.