I do not consider myself addicted to masturbation. I self-administer once or twice a day, so that any time you look at me, I have either just done it, or am just about to go do it. But as a self-professed sociopath, I don't find that I am much of a deviant in this area. Most people, modern surveys say, (healthy, normal people) slap Sam semi-regularly: either a quick jerk for stress relief, or prolonged bouts of fingering the flute for the sheer stimulation and the wicked titillation of ejaculation sinsation. Who am I to fuck with science?
Dr.s Masters & Johnson (I like those names) ended their 39 or who-gives-a-shit-how-many year marriage to pursue differing life goals. The lady wants to retire and get on with their lives and travel and shit, and the old guy, who is obviously a pervert, wants to keep up the research, clearly because he likes asking a lot of people questions about their sex lives.
I say enough is enough! If you're still a horny old dude at 70, then go home and screw your wife. While you're at it, why don't you eat the dried up, scummed out old bag's prune-wrinkled, withered twat? Then, after diving into her putrefied ether chamber, you will, by the smelly old pussy gas, be rendered sufficiently demented as to become aroused, with your lanky old dangling liver-spotted varicose love utensil.
And who's to say that greasing and sticking a screwdriver up your butt isn't normal? The quaint little perversity of John Waters' "Pink Flamingos" speaks to the Divine nature in all of us. Ha.
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I've changed my comments settings to allow for anyone to comment. All comments are welcome, even spineless potshots from anonymous posters. Please, by all means, give me the tongue lashing I so richly deserve. I promise not to hunt you down and melt your keyboard with my plasma cannon. I won't, however, promise not to pout and make that face you can't stand.