Big blustering blobs of blubbery love

I think love is like scuba diving. But instead of an air tank and all that other mumbus jumbus you’re under water with a tuba. And instead of breathing. You’re just playing the crap out of it, chugging and huffing away and big fat bubbles float all easy does it to the surface and then burp out into the air with a mighty BWAMP! And there’s a Japanese whaling ship nearby and they hear it and the one guy turns to the other guy and bellows in filthy working man’s Japanese “it’s the flatulations of a great blue whale in heat!” And they all go bonkers and just start hurling their spears into the water like they were the samurai’s pyjamas. All WHA-WHA-NEE! And HAAAA! And BA-BA-BA-BA-BANZAI! And then the captain comes out of his cabin in just his nautical leather lowers and the ocean mist and salty sweat is glistening on his bare, beautifully hairless chest and he looks down at these maniacs just waging sweet hunter’s justice on the sea and he screams in the Emperor’s own Japanese, “Will you melon cubes pipe down! I’m tryin’ to write a sweet haiku in here ’bout whalin’ life and I need just one more syllable!”
“But captain, we heard the sonorous thunder of whale fart!” The oldest of the whalers said.
“I don’t give a musical toilet about that. I’m doin’ art in here. Now swab the deck!”

Yep, that’s love alright.

That’s love.

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