Florida: The Stick It Where The Sun Don’t Shine State

I recently moved to Florida because I thought it would be fun to live in a state that is shaped like a penis.  You can imagine my disappointment when I discovered that I’m surrounded by newlyweds and almost deads.  Not to mention the bastion of idiots who zip-line over live alligators, stop for fast food during police chases, and fall into sinkholes.  I guess that’s what I get for thinking with my vagina.

Of course, now my vagina is so full of cobwebs it’s not doing much thinking.  In fact, it’s not doing much of anything at all.  I pictured that upon entering the state of Florida, there would be glorious fields of ripe cock as far as the eye could see, fresh for the picking.  Clearly I was mistaken.  If you remember mythology, Icarus flew too close to the sun with wings made of wax, then plummeted to his death in the sea.  Oh, how high he flew, and how far he fell.  I equate this to my journey from hope to despair upon coming to the realization that there is a severe penis drought in this state.  Like the wings of wax, my chances of getting laid are melting away.  I’m fuckin’ dying over here!  Only my death will come from lack of human touch at the hands of the Sunshine State.  I may even combust from harboring too much pent up sexual energy.  This truly is a sad state of affairs.  Death by involuntary celibacy.  Can you imagine?  The horror.

I have devised a theory to help explain how this tragic penis shortage came to be.  As I moved to Florida with its overtly phallic peninsular shoreline in hopes of finding more things of a deliciously phallic nature, perhaps others do not find this so welcoming.  And by others, I mean straight men.  Maybe subconsciously, straight men avoid this area because they don’t want anyone to stick anything that is shaped like the state of Florida where the sun don’t shine.  My thought is that these men have headed for the islands, being subconsciously drawn to places that are shaped like breasts.  In order to find Mr. Right (or hell, Mr. One Night–at this point I’m not picky), and avoid what appears to be the almost certain death that awaits me, my next move may have to be to one of these islands.  While it would be a certain sacrifice to relocate to a tropical paradise, it is imperative that I do whatever it takes to ensure my survival.  Finding an island with a volcanic structure in the center seems best, for this would most accurately exemplify the nipple/areola relationship.  I must begin my research immediately.  Suggestions are welcome.  Maybe a working girl can win…

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