Cocked That One Up

So, here we are again. Posting about cocks at nine o'clock in the morning. I just hope you all had the tequila shots from yesterday's post and are now, like me, way too hungover to even care if we're talking about dicks or chickens.

To clarify: it's dicks. Sorry.

Now if I was really clever and interweb savvy, I'd whack a picture of a chicken in here. But I'm afraid I'm not and you'll just have to wait for future posts to introduce the magical technology that is images. Does that count as foreshadowing? I think that's just me being overly hopeful. Anyway, I thought I was being highly amusing with the title of this post so you can all just shut the fuck up and leave me alone. Tequila hangovers are the worst.

Yeah, you all thought I was kidding about the tequila yesterday. Spoiler alert! I wasn't. Ugh.

So. Cocks.

As I was saying before, this is all I will miss if it turns out I have been unceremoniously dumped from a fuck buddy relationship. God, I can't even deal with that at 9am. I'll have to think of another name for 'fuck buddy'. Suggestions?

I mean, it's all fair and square (I will be delicate here) being without a man as you can quite easily sort yourself out. See. Delicate.

...

Yes I mean a vibrator. Damn, I need to change the times that I post these.

But it's just not the same. My vibrator does not have a 6'4 rugby player attached to it. Although I must admit, it's infinitely more stylish. And this is the thing. It is not 'un-feminist' to want to be with a man. Just as it is not 'un-feminist' to be with another girl. Or both a man and a woman. Or a table. Whatever your preference, wanting to bang that table (there's a wood pun in there somewhere) is not 'un-feminist'.

This post took an unexpected turn. But let's just roll with it. Because that's what we do.

So is my dilemma really a dilemma? Will I be in a bit of a pickle if I have been ditched for a 5'2 blonde cheerleader? Of course not. Because I can either: sit in my room with a book and a cup of tea, wearing my glasses and giving zero fucks (literally). Or I can whack on a dress and go out with my girlfriends, wear my contacts and possibly give more than zero fucks. Depending on my mood.

No, I don't know where this post went. We can deal with it though. I'm hungover.