Not as perverted as it sounds
Joining the Mile High Club While Eating Pie as Angels Watch on
What I learnt from the Mediums in the last little while
I’m all for hedonism.
The pursuit of pleasure is a noble one, least far as I’m concerned.
The last couple of years have thrown their fair share of fuckballs at us: Covid, War in Ukraine, Minions: The Rise of Gru. Why not seek out pleasure to temporarily forget all the pain?
Everyone’s perception of pleasure — and pain — is different. One man’s orgasm is another woman’s despair. A succulent steak for one is a butchered brother for another.
The only way to make sense of it all is to experience as much as you can and hope you don’t get arrested before your journey ends.
Our own journey begins at the ending, because we have to start somewhere.
Flying, and having sex, are two of the most popular pleasure dreams. For the lucky few, these are written into the fabrics of their lives.
Birds will fly.
Sex dolls will sex.
But for humans, these opportunities may be fleeting.
That is why we must sprout our wings and rub them against each other furiously in a 2-foot dunny to join an illustrious club.
As a regular visitor to Mile High Skies, Victor Cardenas gives us all the juicy details:
For those who aren’t yet romanticised by the idea, or perhaps need a little brushing up on the language of love, renowned data scientist Smillew Rahcuef is here to help.
But as devoted hedonists know, you must vary and increase the dosage to reach the same euphoric heights. Having sex while flying will stimulate multiple pleasure sensors in the body and mind.
But not all.
One area of the body that won’t be stimulated (hopefully?) is the stomach. You may not realise, but the stomach is a hedonic Hercules. Aeroplane food is notoriously un-food like (unless you roll with Coach Tony in business class), so I suggest you BYO pie for when you get it on in the sky.
Conni Walkup Hull knows what I’m talkin’ about.
Do you enjoy jumping on a plane about as much as an elephant would enjoy jumping out of one? Fear not.
Aviatic copulation is not the only orgasmic mode of transportation.
Others do present a certain degree of difficulty, I must admit. But none are insurmountable (so to speak).
Car: Hijack a google earth auto car and make sure you keep the cameras pointed to the outside.
Train: Please. Can it get any more phallic? Most train drivers I know have a perpetual boner as soon as they step on board.
Motorbike: Not suitable for orgy lovers. Solo play might be your best bet.
Space rocket: Hmmn, Elon Musk or Jeff Bezos? I’ll pass.
Unicycle: Bring extra lube. Things can get Krusty.
While those wheel and rocket-based travel modes may be fun, nothing is more hedonistic than the gentle lapping of the ocean’s waves against a wooden hull.
Why do you think everyone takes their clothes off when they get near the ocean?
To feel the soft caress of an afternoon sea breeze.
To yield to the warm current pushing your testicles up towards the sun’s embrace.
To envelop the infinite grains of course sand as they plunge deep within your butt crack.
If anyone knows the pleasure of the ocean, it is the eminent sailor/humorist/cartoonist/novelist Karen L. Sullivan.
Don't be fooled by the title — which may conjure images of an aimless rambler who wanders in whichever direction their farts propel them — Karen is a seawoman who keeps company with seamen.
Unfortunately for hedonists, while a little seaman is magnificent, too much semen can be toxic. Just ask Krystal, who nearly drowned at her local writer’s club meeting.
As any good writer knows, some ideas just aren’t fit to be splashed all over the general public. Safe writing may go against the principles of a hedonist life, but there are enough WTDs (Writing Transmitted Diseases) in the world to reduce the pleasure of reading to a torturous experience.
Luckily for us, Uvebruce has come up with an environmentally sound way to curb WTD transmission. Even tightarse writers will be sure to immerse themselves in his handiwork.. if you know what I mean.
Alas, while used condoms are sure to be at least 37% effective, this does mean they will occasionally misfire.
If there’s anyone unlucky enough to end up with a pre-jizzed pack of love gloves, it is the great Annie Trevaskis.
Always searching for higher highs, Annie recently failed to score shrooms off Medium (Lift your game Coach Tony).
Opting for quantity over quality, Annie gathered up everything green she could find in her garden. Then purchased a 40-gallon mortar and pestle off the internet to crush them up.
Not a natural botanist, Annie accidently consumed a plastic plant, and tripped so hard she challenged a robot to a writing contest.
Always on the lookout for free drugs, Gunner Barrett swooped in and stole her stash. After a bizarre S&M dream about Santa and some guy called Ned, he impregnated his co-worker and had to say goodbye to his dream job at Wendy’s and hopes for the son he would never see.
Darkness descended rapidly.
This story descended from first person present tense self help into third person past tense futuristic apocalyptic fiction. Based on a true story.
Pain replaced death and taxes as the one certainty in life.
Pleasure, once abundant and free, dried up quicker than camel spunk on the dunes of the Sahara Desert.
Nihilists rose to power, climbing up and over the stooped backs of hedonists who could no longer hold their heads high.
Humanity seemed doomed.
But Elizabeth Emerald kept writing in the gloom, her pen as sharp as it ever was.
And when Stephanie Wilson authored a story of hope, beauty, and the shimmering fragility that guides our existence, the darkness never stood a chance.
As we staggered back into the light, our retinas screamed in agony at the glare while our cold skin bathed in ultraviolet ecstasy.
We reminded ourselves of the joy in laughter, love and well-intentioned debauchery. After all, what’s life without the occasional hangover from hell?
A few hesitated, worried what the ‘angels’ may think. But when Miss Catherine La Grange, spinster revealed they were flat chat in the call centre upstairs and didn't give much of a toss what we were up to down here anyway, we loosened up a little.
After that, we jumped on planes and flew through the heavens, fresh baked pies and re-baked frangers at the ready, waiting for the little light above the toilet to glow green.
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