Now the lupins of preponderance are once more in bloom again here at this… this… whatever it is. We are once more strutting our hour upon the stage of the world’s interwebnets dispensing wise words to those sorely lacking such and thencefore sore from over-indulgence in the perverted arts.
Still, I would presume you would not want this banjo to go to waste, so if I could borrow a match or two, I’ll get the fire started and we can cook these sausages whilst we wait for the cake shop manageress to finish buttering the weasels.
Now, far be it from me to cast aspersions on the competence of my audience, or ever to doubt that you have all done your best to manage whilst I have been elsewhere over the last few months. However, I cannot help noticing that some of you were not quite… how shall I say… fluid enough during the warm-up deviations proceeding our early morning orgy yesterday.
I see from some of your downcast faces that my words have uncovered something here, have – some of you, at least – not been doing your daily perversion exercises?
Ah. I see.
You must understand that perversion is very much like a muscle. If you do not keep exercising it, extending it, pulling and pushing at it, then it will go all limp, shrivelled and useless.