14
Jul
14

You Need to Get Lathed!

Have I told you the intense thrill I get from working with wood? I’m not talking about some run-of-the-mill joy you get from completing that dusty spice rack or bookshelf for your friend or family member. This thrill goes deeper than any man’s “lower appendage” can reach in the deepest of “woman wells.”

Yes. That’s right. If you know anything of sexual intercourse, you know the language I am speaking. You also know some version of the feeling. But, if I am not using the infamous tool of innuendo, am I seriously comparing “hot sex” to carpentry?

I am. There’s just one problem. Well, there’s more than one. But, I’m only focusing on one at the moment because more would probably blow both our “computer laundered” minds. [You know, how some articles of clothing get shrunk in the wash. There ya go. You got it. Right?] If I am not careful, my crafting could result in the creation of a birdhouse. I know it might sound crazy, but it’s true. I put myself to work for the thrill of it, and, suddenly, I’m staring at a birdhouse. But, I don’t want this.

If you ask me, there are already way too many birdhouses out there in the world. Heck. Birds are quite capable themselves of making nests in all sorts of places. Why do we need more?

So, to prevent this, I must wear special protection. And, if I share my skills with any women in this world, it seems vital that they too use protection lest they end up with a birdhouse they cannot fully enjoy. Unfortunately, the female version risks the function of internal organs with the potential for side effects spanning a lifetime. Luckily, more women than men seem content with finding a place in their lives for my unwanted sparrow shacks. I guess the risk of their lives seems less threatening than the loss/destruction of a birdhouse.

Knowing that protection was created by someone no more capable of invention than myself, it’s flawed at best. And, when the flaw reveals itself, guess what? You got it. I’m staring at yet another unwanted, unintended pigeon poop coop. These things are eating up my resources, including living space, and they’re starting to get on my nerves. But, I can’t give up the pursuit of that singular thrill. Can I?

If you’re tuning out or thinking I’m some sex-starved fool, dude (or dudette), you need to get lathed. Or, in other words, go file, drill, wrench, plumb, jack, plunger, pump, punch and/or hammer yourself. All it takes is for the fire of trending to spark a revolution.

If you’re going to get your hands dirty, do it without affecting the lives of others or be prepared for a surplus (or shortage) of robin roosts. Give a hoot; don’t contribute to the plagues of all mankind. Labor responsibly.

[In all seriousness as an artist, I prefer to work with pencil/pen and paper or clay, myself. But, to each their own.]

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