Post-sex rituals

What are your post-sex rituals?


  • Total voters
    34

Fat Burger

Flaccid Member
Sep 30, 2004
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Portland, OR
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What are yours?
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I usually just put her back in the freezer, but let me pick something else...

edit: I've always wanted to smoke a midget, so i chose those two.
 
Long, drawn out conversation as to why we aren't getting married or why we don't seem to communicate like we used to, followed by 10 minutes of her crying that I am using her for companionship and that I know that there is no hope for us but she keeps on coming back to get hurt and somehow that's my fault, then 5 minutes of yelling about how I don't love her anymore and that she could do better than me but she is waiting around for me to fix my "problems" because she knows we could be great if only I would just stop talking to my family and move into her house so we could spend all of our time together and I could play Starcraft while she makes bad german chocolate cake because she didn't mix the eggs right so there's little yellow strings of egg shit all through the cake but you can't SAY anything because then she'll get all pissy and so you choke down the fucking thing with a big shit-eating grin and mumble "Mmmmm, this is great." and hope to sweet Jebus that she doesn't offer up another slice because there's only a few drops left in the flask because you're fucking addicted to vodka ever since you found out that cool thing with the Brita water pitcher and cheap Krazy Ivan vodka but then you realize that you just blew fucking $100 on a pitcher and filters when you could have just as easily bought the fucking Chopin or Belvedere and be done with it but doesn't that just point out the sadness of the entire situation that you'd rather sink money and time on something because it sounded cool in the beginning but you find out later that it would have been a hell of a lot easier to just BUY the good stuff and be done with it but nooOOOoooo you had to go the weird route and now you're stuck with 3 gallons of midget commie piss water and a fucking expensive filter, taking hit after hit of that crap, choking down some horrible fucking cake and dealing with the crying, sobbing she-beast as she leaves Zales catalogs on top of your keyboard and claim that it was just an accident but we all know that she's mentally sizing me up for a lawnmower so she doesn't have to do yardwork.