5) Okay, I think she just flipped out and lopped off my head. I'm not sure. It's hard to confirm that sort of thing when you're dead. This totally sucks.
Ladies and Gents, the will-crushing sex appeal of TV's Mario Lopez
Well Goddamn, Mr. I'm-so-fucking-sexy-I-turned-into-A.C.-Slater. What are you doing still hanging around here? Go get a burger at The Maxx, straddle some backwards chairs, comb back your mullet perm, french kiss Mr. Belding and pack your bags for Heaven. You don't have any room for improvement. You've got sex-symbol status and your attractiveness has no peer. What are these strange feelings that haunt me every time I picture you in my mind? Why does my hand reach for the nearest piece of fresh produce? I'll be damned! You've even managed to set a fire in my loins, leading me down the path of my first heterosexual romance with another man. Your carnal powers are that strong. It's a good thing she killed you. This reaction is a sexual defense mechanism for females. I don't really know what a defense mechanism is, but if I had the power to make shit up for an uneducated audience who never questions me, this would be one of those instances where I use it desperately.
The common thought is that if some girl kills you after sex (or even halfway through sex) it means she didn't like it, or that you did something wrong. These are the thoughts of intellectual pansies who spend their time thinking about things rather than doing things. While they're wasting their time questioning the existence of reality or some moron's Cave Allegory, the true intellects don't have time to think about caves, save the one that they sleep in. The Internet connection in that cave insures that we're all too busy stroking or strumming to care if the yummy shudders and secretions are real or not. Personally, I could care less whether the world around me truly exists. There's nothing realistic about hentai, but it still provokes a loving reaction from my body. That's more than good enough for me. So, while the “thoughtful man” ponders his eternally pointless questions, you can bet he's passing up any sort of training for Heaven. Unless they're probing the depths of Ecchi, Philosophy Majors are pondering their way straight to Hell.
The most exquisite orgasm ever
What reaction number 5 really means is, “for the sake of human life, your sexual supremacy ends here, and so you must die!” Like I pulled out of my ass earlier, this is a woman's defense mechanism. A sexual fail-safe, if you will. Your galloping penis and masterful dirty talk (along the lines of “take this dick, bitch” and "“o added preservatives, just my hairy dairy product churning butter, slut-cunt-dick-slop UH! UH! UH!”), well, it apparently got her so hot that her (totally natural) string of orgasms flipped a murderous switch inside her programming. The “destroy sexual partner” program is designed to insure the survival of the female population. And, as they are the chosen vessels of new life, this insures the continued existence for all of mankind. When your targeted cutie noticed the liters of lady liquid shooting from her nipples, crotch and pores, she realized that your powers posed a serious threat to the lives of any woman you would later in life touch. It would be like getting a number four every time you backed that ass up with some piece of eye candy.
Number Fours aren't so good that they can keep killing ladies with their bedroom prowess. Not all women will react the same to a Number 4 when he “spits his game.” A Number 5, however, has so much ability lurking beneath his pants that one taste of his glans transcends any woman's personal taste, prior experience or sexual preference. If the Number 5's were allowed to live, condoms would come with free razors and cleaning tips. As countless girls, every day, would be creaming their crotch one minute and cutting their throat the next. Soon there wouldn't be any women left. While there might be a dramatic decline in yaoi, less visually scarring cosplayers and a general lack of things being kawaii ^__^, Arnold Schwarzenegger can only give birth to so many children before he dies. Without females, human life would swiftly vanish from the earth. This in mind, women have been designed to protect life by killing any Number 5 they happen to ride. No hard feelings, okay? A warning wouldn't have done you any good. No Number 5 escapes with his life for long. Only one has persevered to this day, but it's only once a century that someone like Johnny comes along.
The horriffic connotations of this image are brought to you by the
Tohoku Electric Power Co.This isn't to say that these are the only things that can happen after sex. In fact, you've probably stumbled across several unmentioned reactions, in the quest to rid your body of sperm. Now, you're beginning to wonder just what drinking urine from a champagne glass really means. And what do those tears streaming down her cheeks signify? I think it's safe to say that we all want more bullshit interpretations to justify raping the shit out of some innocent girl in a penguin parka. Sometimes, those crazy artists don't make it easy for us. There are innumerable doujinshi that nicely wrap up a rape scene with our favorite Card Captor realizing how good it felt and, gosh darnit, she could really go for some more brutal cock tearing her vaginal walls apart (man, are twelve year olds sluts, or what?). Unfortunately, for every twenty-six of those, there is one (usually unpopular) doujinshi out there that tosses reality to the wind and leaves the girl a sobbing mess of rape-spank. It's a good thing we have ways of turning that frown upside-down with less than plausible interpretations like: The romantic “Those are tears of longing. She misses him already.” Or maybe “She's a stubborn one. Better rape her again before she kills herself.” And there's always your basic “I shot my load before that page, so it doesn't really matter.” Those three are just the tip of the gigantic, black-barred phallus we call “interpretive hentai,” my friend. There are many things to learn. If you're smart, you won't leave landing a spot in Heaven up to something so fickle as chance. Go now, out into the Internet, and free your mind from the confines of your pants. Let it soak up all the knowledge Japanese porn has to offer. Once you become an Ecchi Slater, you can do anything you want. Your evil big brother will keep the repercussions at bay with his underworld affiliations. Go to class and stab a random person with your pencil. Then ask the Philosophy Professor if his or her degree came with a complimentary bathing suit, because it sure as hell came with a free pass to the Lake of Fire. While you're being consumed by the brilliance of your own wit, don't forget to remind everyone that, should they desire a place in Heaven at the end of this H-game we call life, they had better wise up to the school of ecchi thought and “play more serious!!”
