Anyway. So here we are again. Isn't his nice? Isn't it cosy? Put that aardvark down and come and sit by this nice warm roaring fire, throw another salesman on it if you still feel a bit cold. After all there is no point putting your clothes back on, not now, is there? At least, not until you've had a bath and washed all the mayonnaise off.
You know, sometimes I think I may be getting a bit too old for all these sexual perversions. My back aches the morning after, and these days I find it hard to get that excited about lubricating the weasels, especially that tricky bit just behind the left ear, and as far running through the woods trying to chase down a wild dental technician or a feral hair stylist… well, I don't think my heart is in it any more.
Perhaps, my little protractor, we ought to give up the sexual perversions and take up a new hobby, one more in keeping with our advancing years. For example, something like stamp collecting, knitting, extreme neighbour criticising, political assassination, or something of that ilk. Something that allows you to put your feet up in an evening, and not necessarily in the tupping shackles we normally utilize in our little games where I dress up as an insurance salesman and you wear the sea lion outfit. There is, after all, far more to life than extreme sexual ecstasy utilising strawberry jam and a marmoset or two.
For instance, there is a whole universe of non-Euclidian geometry out there just waiting for us to explore it. So, put your cardigan on my little protractor, and I will dig out my dusty old book of log tables and we will set off together to investigate all its wonders.