How is Chelsea’s bed like California? Count the ways.
Let’s talk about the sex I’m not having. There’s a lot of it. It’s copious, the sex I’m not having. It could fill the Houston Astrodome. The bountiful nothingness of the sex I’m not having would echo across the playing field, curl up in the soft seats of the owners’ box, and slither across the visitors’ team’s locker room, where it would turn the knobs of the showers futilely. The sex I’m not having smiles at the camera. It waves the big foam finger, and it builds a human pyramid. It does an end-zone dance.
The sex I’m not having spikes the ball, the crowd goes wild. The crowd is also the sex I’m not having. See those seats, ranging in serried rows, stretching to the rafters? The asses that fill them belong to all the sex I’m not having.