Humor Life

Shakespeare and Porn Stars

lingerie figurine

By Harmony Hobbs of Modern Mommy Madness

I am a woman, a writer, and a giver of blow jobs. Not to anyone but my husband, by the way. So don’t get any crazy ideas.

Recently, after working hard on an essay and only a few hours later working hard on administering a sexual favor, it occurred to me that writing and blow jobs have a lot of similarities. Both require concentration, hard work, and stamina. There is usually a payoff, but it’s always delayed.

Let’s explore this further.

I have to be in the mood to write a good essay. If I try to write when I’m not in the mood, nothing works right … much like in the bedroom. But what happens when I am in the mood, and I strike in the moment? MAGIC. I pound it out like the goddess that I am, and walk away knowing I just rocked some shit. Hard.

Becoming a great writer requires a lot of practice. A person might be born with a talent for writing, but without consistent application, will likely never attain greatness. It is the same with the blow job. Some people are simply born with a natural ability to eat dick. A small percentage actually make a career out of it, instead of settling for it being just a hobby. I daresay, porn stars and Shakespeare have something in common.

Writing is hard work. If you aren’t a writer, you won’t understand what I’m talking about. Just go ahead and skip to the next paragraph where I talk about blow jobs again. If you area writer, then you’ll catch what I’m throwin’ down: amazing ideas don’t just write themselves. Words don’t artfully form on the page at will. It takes time. It takes thought. It’s labor-intensive.

Writing is hard work.

Blow jobs are hard work, too. Like they say, it’s not called a “job” for nothing, honey. (Who are “they,” anyway? Prostitutes? They get paid for sex. I wish I did.) My TMJ always flares up after a blow job, but I’m willing to pay that price because my servitude always pays off in the end. After recovering, the Mister will happily mop, run errands, take the late-night feeding, whatever I want, because I put his penis in my mouth and let him ejaculate in it. I may walk away with a popping jaw, but I can prop my feet up for the next few days and relish in a job well done.

Now, if I could only get editors and publishers to rub my feet and tell me I’m pretty, or maybe even throw me a hundo … all would be right in the world. ASSHOLES.