A satanist was sad because he couldn't get it up.
He tried blue pills, internet grot, ginseng, indian snake charming... but nothing could make his lazy winky come to life.

He prayed to the dark lord for a solution, and a voice came back "Fool. Seek you the dancing of the lap variety. Hurry ye to the Twirling Butt gentleman's club."

And lo, the gyrating strumpets within cured his slothful goolies.

You see, the devil finds twerk for idle glans.

Pearoast of one what I done on teh links many moons ago....
( Draconacticus Reject shampoo. Demand real poo!, Tue 8 May 2018, 11:02, Reply)