I am reminded of a ballad I once heard in my youth. Two bards relate an erotic conundrum of the highest order; for her physical aptitude, one poet is burdened with exorbitant wealth. She is showered daily in extravagant gifts and given the luxury of a college education. The other has long-transcended her station as a dancer and is now an artist of great renown, her voice bellowing through every cosmopolitan corner of the western world. Yet they are, both of them, cursed in their search for a lover. Who can say how long they have searched for a suitable partner? Each artist, yearning and hungry for companionship, painstakingly crafts a metric by which their perspective suitors will be measured: they require ample riches, physical prowess, and a command of the erotic appetite. The demand is fashioned with shocking, but stouthearted honesty. no detail is spared. In the end, only a man who can truly inspire ample feminine arousal, even to the point of excess, will be rewarded the gift of the verse-makers’ most intimate attentions. Tell me, Will… if you heard this rallying cry, would you be prepared to meet its call? Would you, too, bring a bucket and a mop for this wet ass pussy?