Question

I was sat in bed last night, doing impressions with my genitals, like you do.
To be honest, I wasn't having much success. I'm all right with 'last turkey in the shop before Christmas'. Easy really, just hoist up your foreskin and think of changing the head gasket on a 1968 Morris 1000. Not much of a challenge.

I was trying for something on a culinary theme. I've often been in awe of ladies achievements in this field, inspite of their limited genital resources ( from a sculptural point of view ).
Well, I say achievements, but really it just boils down to the 'cheese burger', 'kebab' and the 'discarded chewing gum'. Although I'm not entirely sure the latter qualifies as 'culinary'.

Of course there are the exceptions that prove the rule. At one time, it was the talk of the village, what Mrs Evans at number 11, could do with her hugely extended labia. Her repetoir could easily fill a half hour slot. Granted, she did use a few props, the small plastic figure of Princess lyah for instance, for her 'Jabba the Hut' or the suitably painted three foot length of stripped willow for 'giant manta ray' to name but a few.
Indeed, she had considered a stage show, were it not for the commercial consideration of seating arrangements around such a relatively small display.
Which was a pity, because the climax of her show was going to be where, by skillful manipulation of her pelvic floor muscles, she 'walked' herself, by suction alone, up the back of the large laminated pane of plate glass, placed vertically, in front of the audience, that served to protect her from the inevitable drunken, bottle throwing, that usually accompanies such events.

This was in fact, plan 'B'. Plan 'A' was much more ambitious.
Following a chat with Dai Williams, the amateur model plane maker, it was felt that with practice, exercise and some stabilizing fins, she could use her magnificent 'piss flaps' to fly, Dumboesquely, around the auditorium. Sadly neither this project, nor the hugely talented Mrs Evans, ever took off.

Anyway, as I said, I was in the bedroom.....
Mind you, I didn't start there. I had retreated from the lounge. There was a lull in 'Coronation Street' so I'd taken the opportunity to get a bit of practice in.
It was all going well until, during one of my more grotesque experiments, the poodles became alarmed and started yapping and lunging at my groin. I carried on at first, but could see they were gaining in confidence and it was only a matter of time before Baboon But Bobby would 'sound the charge' by ragging my scrotum, and I wasn't in the mood to explain it all down at A & E. Especially, as it was rumored, the nurses there, were still 'tittering' about the time I turned up with the 'hoover' nozzle disappearing into my trouser fly.

I digress, I was in the bedroom, working on the 'hot dog'. A difficult contortion.
As I said, it wasn't going well.
You see the mental demand of achieving the necessary arousal for the 'meat' is at odds with that, required for the 'scrotal plumping' for the 'bun'. What with us men being poor at multitasking, I was beginning to think the whole thing was just a waste of time.
When right then, for no apparent reason, a strange question popped into my head,

'How did people manage to clean wax out of their ears, before the invention of the humble 'bic pen?'