Congratulations, You’re a Smoking Hot MILF!
An award acceptance speech
Wow, you’re a mom! With that bod? You deserve a prize for that.
I don’t remember entering that competition. Will you please remind me, what did I win?
Oh, just the title you say?
Let me get this straight; I’ve earned the label of fuckable, in your eyes, random-man who-stumbled-upon-my-picture-online. Luckily I already have a thank-you-speech prepared especially for this occasion:
Dear stranger, thank you so much for calling me out and handing me this badge of honor. If you weren’t just an avatar on the interweb, I’d bow down to kiss your feet right now, while telling you that this is, in fact, what I’ve strived for my entire life:
Ever since I was a little girl, I dreamed to grow up to be someone desirable enough to be fucked by a man—in spite of motherhood.
The fact that a woman can be fuck-worthy, post-childbirth is unheard of. The very act that makes woman a mother is no longer her own, once her purpose has been fulfilled. The intended biological outcome of sex erases woman’s sexuality.
Motherhood devours woman, chews her up — the maiden and the whore — and spits her out—now a matron and Madonna — saintly at best, yet never sexual:
A MYNLF (Mother You’d Not Like to Fuck)
Woman, like most electronics, is designed with planned obsolescence that comes into effect once her job is done. Void of value, she’s now obsolete and to be replaced by a newer model.
Every now and again, against all odds, woman manages to remain current after her assumed expiration date. This extraordinary achievement is awarded the trademark MILF (Mother I’d Like to Fuck). This tag can be bestowed by any man who sees himself fit to pass such judgment, and should be received with the most graceful of thank-yous, seeing it’s one of the highest tributes attainable to woman.
It’s therefore with great pride that I accept this decoration. Truly, I’m touched! To further express my gratitude, I created my very own badge for you:
It’s called DILB and stands for Douchebag I’d Like to Ballpunch.
I know, it might not sound like a compliment at first, but I tell you, it’s quite the distinction indeed. See, most douchebags I encounter are not even given the time of day. A select few cause me to bat an eye — if they’re lucky. But you sir, are a special kind of douchebag, so rare that I’d happily muster the energy for a proper strike. And further, so unique that I made you my muse: my divine inspiration for this piece of writing—and that, darling, is truly a rare acquirement, reserved only for the most preeminent of pricks.
So once more, from the depths of my gut, thank you!
[Patiently awaits return-thank-you-speech…]