Tuesday, June 08, 2004


My centipede got bored and started its own sex hotline.

"You've reached Charla at Hot Centipede Action. Please answer the following questions before we continue. What's your name?"

"Uh... Derek."

"Well, hello, Derek. How many legs do you have?"

"Twenty-eight, last I checked."

"Mmmm... we like the 7-multiples. Have you ever called HCA before? Be honest."

"Uh... yeah, but I hung up because my wife crawled in."

"Are you alone now, Derek?"

"Yeah. And, uh, it's Bill. This isn't being recorded or anything, is it?"

"We'd never do anything like that, Bill. So-- is there anything you wanted to ask me?"

"Uh... yeah. Like, what are you eating?"

"Oh, Bill... I wish you were here. I'm chomping on a half-rotten apple. Though to be honest I'd really rather be chewing on a... freshly killed cricket."

"God, that's hot. What's the environment like?"

"I'm trapped in a plastic container, all alone... and defenseless... innocently munching on my apple chunk, wishing for a cricket, and for a big, strong guy like you. How does that make you feel, Bill?"

"I wanna breed with you."

"Well, Bill! I see you're the direct type. So tell me how we'd do this."

"I'd wrestle you into submission first. Then I'd, uh, extrude my-- uh--"

"Oh, say it, baby..."




"Oh, God, I'm getting hot, Bill... You know I'd be all over that sperm package, don't you? Say it, Bill, and say my name..."

"Yes... yes, I know... Charla..."

"You feel the connection between us, don't you, Bill..."

"Yes, Charla, I do..."

"So what would happen next, Bill?"

"I'd want you to..."


"I'd want you to eat me."

"Eat, as in eat?"

"Yeah. Like, chew me to bits and stuff."

"Oh, Bill, you're such a male! Wait-- what's happening!?"


"Oh, Jesus, Bill, get off the phone and call the police! He's coming back!"

"What? Who, Charla?"

"The-- the human who stuck me in this plastic container! Some big, ugly fat-ass who likes farting into here to see how it affects me--"

"Charla, is this part of the routine--?"

"NO! JESUS, BILL! Hang up now and call the po--"

[sound of violent shaking and slamming]

"Bi-i-i-ll! He-e-e's ratt-aatt-tattling the jaaaaaar! O-oh G-g-god I thiiiinnng-ink Iiii'm gonnnononana d-d-d-diiiie!"


I think what pisses me off about my centipede's sex hotline isn't so much that it's a sex hotline, but that I still can't figure out how the hell she got all that phone equipment in there. That really bugs me.

Whoa-- no pun intended.


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