Clits-topher Columbus: Lemme Colonize That Pussy Babe

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The year is 1492.

You: A glorious FERTILE, if only a bit coy lil piece of land mASS.

Me: A timid but really chill explorer, someone who would crush a Palm Bay before meeting your parents and then joke about your mother being your older sister.

We start off slow. I storm into your bedroom with all the EARNED entitlement of an Italian casanova who has never been told no in his life. You shriek in what I assume must only be delight at a strange man pillaging into your house.

Now don’t get me wrong, I fully believe that a woman’s personal agency is a loose term at best. I would never not believe in the magical colonial properties of my sperm. Once I get into your panty hamster, you better believe that I’m erecting masts to announce to any and all other chartered navig-HATERS that your body is now my property. No ifs, ands, but absolutely butts.

Now of course we can mince words about whether or not I was the first to enter your grot slot, sure some vikings had come and gone before me, but virginity is just a construct made to make you feel bad about your self-worth. And while I am a firm believer in exploiting you for my own gain and fortune, I do not think that slut-shaming is in anyway acceptable.

Some may accuse me of having an Asian fetish, I was on my way to Japan that night we met. But I’m glad I became aware of the dangers of reducing a culture to a means of getting off. The Eastern World is beautiful and complex but I could just never imagine falling into an imperialistic relationship with anyone but you.

I had to go to bat to prove to my friends that you weren’t flat. Once you got around, anyone could see that you had the curves of a perfect sphere, not an angle in sight. You’re a glorious round planet with a pretty tight rack.

So while we’re being upfront, I wanna declare Europe’s everlasting claim on dat pus. Just don’t text me after 10 because England gets a little moody.

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