Michael Douglas claims he got throat cancer from eating pussy. Ah ha ha. Turns out from the one thing I read that this is slightly even possible. Pussies have HPV on them and then the HPV gets in your mouth, and then the HPV's do a thing and then you have cancer. I think that's how it works. I don't know.
I just skimmed the fact-checking article the Guardian put out. Quickly and nervously. I think I was just looking for the phrase, "You are a dead man, Ben Johnson." Turns out we're all dead men. In a relative sense. And yes, you can get HPV in your throat from licking a pussy. This might fill you with dread until you realize, wait, I already have HPV all over my whole body because I am a human.
So really all that's happening is Michael Douglas has throat cancer and is forcing us all to imagine Michael Douglas munching on a box. This is fucking gross.
Don't get me wrong, I love Michael Douglas. 90's Michael Douglas is one of my favorite film genres. You know, the one where he shouldn't fuck that girl but then he's so horny he fucks that girl and then things get all crazy for him and you're like "oh man" and then there's some mystery where he's running and he's scared in an alley and at one point somebody from law enforcement mentions "the net." He made like 19 of those movies.
But I don't need to imagine his old gross Michael Douglas face going to chowtown on somebody's love muffin. With, like, his tongue? His old, old Michael Douglas tongue? And he's there and he's super into it and he's Michael Douglas? Come on, dude. Get real.
Here's what you do if you're Michael Douglas and some reporter asks you why you got throat cancer: you say "that's personal."
And I like to go down on women, okay? I do. But as far as things you imagine goes, it's not the most, ummm, let me say telegenic sex act. You see it in amateur internet porn, and it just looks like somebody languorously competing in the world's most casual pie eating contest. I don't know if ladies get that extra visual thrill of looking down and seeing the top half of somebody's face down there, looking like an intensely concentrating Bob Dylan in mid-harmonica solo. I think it's just one of those things you lay back and experience. I don't know. When I'm down there I'm not thinking about how it looks.
I do know this: I don't want to think about Michael Douglas doing that. I want to think about myself doing that from the perspective of inside of my own head while I'm doing that. I'm thinking about it right now. Man, it is great. If I could die of cancer ONLY FROM THAT, I would.
The Guardian recommends dental dams. I don't know if lesbos actually use those things, but I don't. I won't. I don't care. I made it through my 20's without dying of stupidity. Now if my girlfriend lets me near that thing, I go for it. I wouldn't care if it was full of bees.
There are other, worse reasons to die than because you prefer to lick vulvas instead of plastic bags on top of vulvas. People die every day. Every single person currently alive is going to die some day. This seems like a good reason for us to all lick pussies as often as possible.
Just, please, not Michael Douglas with the telling me all about it. Come on, bro.
