All your life have you been burdened with an overwhelming sexual desire? That means you want to be doing it twenty-four hours a day. Why? Why were you cursed with this? You’re not happy. Who would be. Since you can’t get enough (sex), there’s never enough.
This has interfered with your job and career and has caused you to perhaps shun church where you might have eventually (through pleading and sobbing) gained entrance into the Kingdom of Heaven.
Sex! Sex! Sex!
What is it, but a lot of grunting and sweating on other people and writhing around like a couple of worms, you on top, me on top, both of us on top. Me out the window. Running naked through the yard in front of the neighbors.
Castration isn’t an answer. Too painful.
It’s too much. Think of the time you waste on this. It’s all you ever think about. You could be in a car lot talking to a salesman about a new car you can’t really afford…and yep! You’re not paying attention, but thinking about something else (doing it).
Do you think you’re too old to be thinking such thoughts? Bull! The older you get, the more you think. But you’re also active. You do things. You shop the web for sex-related paraphernalia. Sometimes you don’t buy. You just look.
This is revolting. God intended this as a simple act of procreation, and here you’ve gone and turned it into a mental EBay. Anything is possible.
Are you sick? No, because you’re sick of it. If you admit you have a problem, you’re not sick.
Maybe you should run for political office.
Why can’t you just be a rock star? You want to be worshipped, but not for your beautiful body and good looks. Not for those!
In the 1960s in London they used to ask, are you a Mod, or a Rocker?
George Harrison cleverly answered, “I’m a Mocker.”
They could ask you, are you a Floot, or a Nooter? (A Swedish porn film you once saw was titled, “Floot My Nooter”).
You’d answer, “I’m a Footer.”
Androgynously, you’re saying love me! Need me! But not for sex. Not that. Of course you’d still enjoy it. But you want to be valued for your talent…your mind, perhaps for playing an electric ukulele and wearing a battery-powered body stocking made of Saran Wrap.
You could sing songs that were predictions based on your supernatural clairvoyant powers (proven in numerous previous predictions).
You’re not asking for much. Only to be regarded as a supreme icon, a sort of entertainment deity, instead of just merely flesh, to be used and abused by people for their sick, disgusting compulsions.
Of course that doesn’t mean you would ever become celibate.
That would be too much.