The Polymorphous Perversity of Pure Consciousness

What is polymorphous perversity? I'll tell you what it ISN'T first. It isn't a penis-enlarging device made with toxic slag, thumb-tacks, tea leaves and eggs dug out from under a leatherback turtle. It isn't a customized butt-plug made from a painstakingly carved hunk of sandalwood rubbed down with illegally purchased whale blubber. Polymorphous perversity refers to your body's erotic response. If you're polymorphously perverse, your entire body is one enormous, unwaveringly repulsive erogenous zone.

A polymorphously perverse mutant like yourself will respond sexually to stimulation applied ANYWHERE on your malformed corpus. You will, for instance, experience arousal if I accidentally lick one of your double-jointed elbows with my coated tongue. Or if I absent-mindedly caress the roof of your halitosal mouth with the bulbous stump of my forefinger. Or if I dig my knee in the small of your back and vigorously scratch your occiput with steel wool or a serrated knuckle-duster.

Your average peckerhead on the street is NOT polymorphously perverse. His erogenous zone is rigidly confined by genetic fiat to his tiny, bent wiener flayed pink by excessive masturbation. Your average schmuck will NOT be aroused if you rip open his shirt and run your chin-stubble across his flabby, worm-white gut. This schmuck will NOT be aroused if you jam your hog snout in his left armpit and work that snout around. Why? Because his body as a whole is NOT an erogenous zone. Only his sad, raddled pecker is.

The founder and grand patriarch of psychoanalysis Sigmund "Bite Me" Freud made polymorphous perversity the subject of his geriatric scribblings. Old Sigmund discovered PP (polymorphous perversity) while psychoanalyzing a duck-billed platypus named Werther. The platypus belonged to a friend, a recently lobotomized trapeze artist with a missing septum and a single, cavernous nostril. The trapeze artist was concerned because young Werther had quit eating his daily meal of beef-enriched tapioca pudding mixed with honey-fried truffles.

While analyzing Werther, Freud discovered that he, Werther, was fiercely pan-sexual. Touching his bill, or his webbed feet or the fleshy curve of his back induced an explosive cluster-orgasm. A cluster-orgasm results when several orgasms occur at once, in parallel, and not sequentially as in a standard, workaday multiple orgasm. Freud was stunned and impressed by Werther's cluster-orgasms. Werther in turn was stunned and impressed by the size of Freud's partially desiccated Sigmund. Love stirred in their hearts and they eloped after burning down Freud's Vienna clinic and hurling the trapeze artist off a nearby precipice ("trapeze THIS, bitch", said Sigmund as he sent his old friend plunging a hundred feet to his death).

But why am I going on about polymorphous perversity? I'll tell you why if you pull up your pants and get my third teat out of your mouth. What concerns me solely and entirely is the polymorphous perversity of pure consciousness. Polymorphous perversity per se refers to your body as an EROGENOUS zone. Your body as a large, malodorous, two-legged penis. The polymorphous perversity of consciousness refers to your body as an EIDETIC zone. Your body as a large, two-legged BRAIN.

If you have acquired a polymorphous perversity of pure consciousness (PPPC), you are no longer thinking with your head alone. Which is to say, your thoughts are no longer confined to that quivering lump of bicameral bull-slop lodged in your cranium. Your entire body has become a thinking organ, a reeking, ambulatory cerebrum. But most of you have NOT acquired PPPC. How do you go about acquiring PPPC if you haven't already? Easy. You achieve INSTANT NIRVANA by putting into practice one or more of the six thousand techniques featured below.

In my next post I'll talk about my own PPPC and some of its many symptoms. Symptoms that involve nipples, eyeballs and profuse lactation of a dense, luminous, colostral fluid called Somarasa. I'll also begin listing, at long last, the techniques that'll have you soaring up fully clothed into the pink, fragrant, thousand-petal orifice of Instant Nirvana. Till then, sit naked in your front yard, rub apple preserves on your gut, point to your neighbor's poodle and yell: HIPPO ALERT!!!