Cold Buffalo, Warm Heart


I drove a forklift in a state-of-the-art warehouse for a major toy company.
One day, my coworker told me that I couldn’t get laid in a whorehouse.
This really struck a nerve– one time in Las Vegas a prostitute told me to go away; she had a headache.

My sex life has sucked. Now, at my age, my desires aren’t like they were.
My equipment still works but not like when I was sixteen.
The last woman I was with told me, “Get off! I can’t breath.”

When I was sixteen, I was like a dog in heat. Now I’m more like a cold buffalo.
I’m worried that I will meet the right lady, and she will turn out to be a nymphomaniac.
I do know this:
the next woman who tells me “Get off! I can’t breathe,”
I am going to politely suggest doggy-style.


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