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In This Issue

• Dino-Battle Site Un-Earthed on Philosophy Lawn
• Columbia Bioengineers Make Über-Children for a Brighter West Harlem
• How Thinking Hurts America
• Columbia Makes Valuable Contributions to World
• Letters to the Editor
• North Korea: Major Source of Diabetes
• Frontiers of Soul-Crushing Disappointment... and Science
• If I Don't Get Good Housing, People Are Going to Die
• CS Class For The English Lass
• Science Update
• Poetry 4 Physicists
• Porn Older Than Nana
• Fed Science Fair: Cigarettes Are Bad for Kids and Animals
• Wacky Fun Whitey!
• How Many Licks...
• How to: E-Z Bake Thermonuclear Warhead
• Variations of a Sheep
• Marauding Interviewer
• How Many Licks, Vol. II
• The Staff of 20.6
• THEY Watch

Ted Bredin

Sotheby's auction house recently put on the block the earliest example of written pornography in the English language, John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester's Sodom, printed and banned forthwith in the mid-1670s [true]. The Fed brings you the following passage.

Queene Cuntigratia hath lain upon the floor of her sleeping quarters, free of the clothing she had stripped off in despair at her husband's absence in this hour of most passionate need. (King Bolloxinion had departed that morn, duty-bound to represent Sodom at an orgy in Delhi.) Hark! A knock upon the castle door. Perhaps the orgy had been cancelled? She bounded excitedly down the steps and threw open the door to find-a youth at best five years her junior.              

"Yes?" the Queene inquired, her round, buxom teats visibly startled at their unshielded encounter with the summer wind. "The lavatory, eh, is in disrepair?" quoth the stripling, visibly startled at his unshielded encounter with Cuntigratia's round, buxom teats. "Ah yes, the lavatory..." The Queene recalled the previous eve, how she'd become a battering ram, thrust repeatedly against the cold stone by Bolloxinion's frenzied onslaught. "What is thy name, boy?" "I am Pillicock Buggers," came the timid reply. "Well, Mr. Buggers, I hope thy master hath taught thee well, for the task at hand looketh to be long and hard."

Upstairs, the Queene indicated the lavatory. "I shall be on the bed should thou need something." Glancing up every so often from his toil, Pillicock found Cuntigratia's slender legs spread, wider by the minute, as if to admit a parade of the Royal Cavalry. He ejaculated, "My lady, your candid presentation of that tenderest of fruits tighteneth my breeches. How shall I effect a slackening?" "Mr. Buggers, thou art a pipe fitter. Ply thy trade," quoth Cuntigratia, offering a digital demonstration.

Disabusing himself of his clothing, Pillicock commenced with Queene Cuntigratia an ignominious romp so vigorous as to threaten the structural integrity of the castle. Preoccupied with the relentless battery, neither saw the figure at the door.

Several hours after leaving his castle, King Bolloxinion realized he had forgotten his crown. A royal emissary to an orgy, bereft of his crown! Bolloxinion envisioned his entrance to the orgy meeting with the convulsions of a thousand genitalia from around the world, their owners tittering uncontrollably. "Look," they'd cry, "Sodom's king in pauper's dress! Ha! Let us fornicate mockingly! Yes, with sarcastick penetration!" Bolloxinion turned back to retrieve his crown.

He entered his castle and climbed the stairs to find his chamber door blowing back and forth in the wind from an open window. Each cycle of open-and-closed revealed his wife and a youth in the midst of a new venereal tangle, a lecherous flipbook cuckolding its reader. On every page he saw his wife's resolute feminine grotto attempting to tear from its root the pipe fitter's utensil of utensils, terminology that hopelessly abridgeth the majesty of the stranger's bludgeon.

Forthwith, King Bolloxinion entered his bedchamber and interrupted the proceedings. He demanded of the pipe fitter, "Wherefore dost thou impel thy cudgel so assertively into my wife?" Cuntigratia intervened, "I was despondent at thy absence! My body seized upon this pipe fitter, but my thoughts never strayed from thee!" Hearing this, Bolloxinion grew intrigued. "So, presumably, thou imagined this mason-boy's shillelagh was none other than mine own?"

"I would dream nothing else!"

"And thou, boy, my wife's demeanor was evidence of the same?"

"My King, eh, preoccupied with thoughts of you, the Queene let fly a stream of erotick, eh, stridencies."    

Excited by his wife's ravenous assimilation of the King-proxy's truncheon, Bolloxinion disrobed, revealing his gallant genitals as ever ready to discipline Cuntigratia's namesake cavity. The three embarked on a perspiry undertaking of unadorned pleasure. Cuntigratia so cogently asserted the taut tenacity of her privy parts that her bedfellows began each souse not entirely sure that their appendage would re-emerge.

By the seventy-third hour, the triad had depleted their stores of bodily fluids, and the parched lovers disentangled themselves. Surveying the damp ruins of his bedchamber, the King saw his wardrobe reduced to splinters, the bed an undifferentiated mass of cotton, and in the far corner, a severed arm. Queene Cuntigratia voiced concern for her overripe apricot, dismounted Pillicock Buggers, and lost consciousness. Thus alone with his partner in buggery, King Bolloxinion placed his hand on the youth's shoulder and quoth, "I fear the lavatory could use a bit of mending again. I believe my wife hath handled thy fee."