Dear Deathboy, my bird likes your music ENTIRELY too much
So I'm in the kitchen, making wonton crisps. spiritualmonkey boots up iTunes and puts on the "sexi w/an edge" mix, then joins me in the kitchen to mix us a couple of Ann Sheridans, it being Friday night and all. First song up, Deathboy - "Something".
Not 30 seconds into the song, we start to hear, coming from the living room, the sounds of auto-erotic avian pleasure. And these sounds rapidly increase in volume, pace, and urgency. Meanwhile, the monkey is providing a running commentary: "bomp-chikka-bomp-waaaaa... awwwww, yeahhhhh..."
Before long, I'm staggering around the kitchen, doubled over with laughter, clutching my aching sides. "Wow," says the monkey, "it sounds like being on the set of a Joanna Angel movie, doesn't it?"
Sadly for the bird, the song ended a little too soon (at least, based on what we could hear from the kitchen), and Machines of Loving Grace just does not do it.
The monkey is going to have such an uphill struggle to reestablish the sexi-sexi mood he was trying for...
Not 30 seconds into the song, we start to hear, coming from the living room, the sounds of auto-erotic avian pleasure. And these sounds rapidly increase in volume, pace, and urgency. Meanwhile, the monkey is providing a running commentary: "bomp-chikka-bomp-waaaaa... awwwww, yeahhhhh..."
Before long, I'm staggering around the kitchen, doubled over with laughter, clutching my aching sides. "Wow," says the monkey, "it sounds like being on the set of a Joanna Angel movie, doesn't it?"
Sadly for the bird, the song ended a little too soon (at least, based on what we could hear from the kitchen), and Machines of Loving Grace just does not do it.
The monkey is going to have such an uphill struggle to reestablish the sexi-sexi mood he was trying for...