A Historic Leap Year Bedtime Story: You’ve Got to Pay to Play

Fellas, today is the one day that you really don’t want to wear deodorant – especially if you’re single or once hooked up with a woman who saw hearts on your nipples instead of androgenic hair.

History deems February 29th as the day when any three-eyed bearded woman, whose weight happens to be more than a double-trunked compact automobile, is allowed to pursue any man of her desire relentlessly for 24 hours and beat the hell out of him until he agrees to marry her.  Refusal of the proposed nuptuals would come at a price.

The tale began some time in 5th century Ireland, when a desperate wench in the heat of unbridled passion finally asked the question to her then inamorato, “What’s love got to do with it?”, which [arguably] later inspired Tina Turner’s 1984 hit single “What’s Love Got To Do With It?”  

The wench, very generous with her “jewelry box,” was pretty pissed off at her gentlemen caller for hooking up with her for her booty without taking up interest in asking for her hand in marriage.  Tired of being labeled a harlot, one night while wrapped in the arms of her philanderer, she finally complained of the sexual unfairness.  Much like today, the man friend spoke from his head in the southern region rather than the northern, and finally relented to set aside February 29th as the day the harlot would be allowed the right to ask for his hand in marriage.  As years passed and their relationship dissipated, four years succeeding their emotionless relations the moll took the sir up on his offer, not discerning the family he had since started with another woman of whom he’d developed genuine feelings for.

The harlot, who had not heard from her ex mister in a few turns of a set of 365 days, 5 hours, 48 minutes and 46 seconds, tracked down her old beau to insist that he honor the promise he made to her in the bed where they lay one February night four calendars passed.  She had ridden a mule to the gentleman’s manor and hid behind a tall horse in a backyard stable with unsubtle patience, awaiting his bride to leave the grounds with their young.  Once the beau was left alone in the abode, she entered the estate, stripped him of his clothes as any honorable 5th century hooker would, and screwed him silly.  With each pelvic thrust upon his, she reminded him of the promise he made to her four years preceding that moment of conscripted fornication.  Now, being a faithful gentleman betrothed to the woman who bore his namesake, the former gigolo refused the harlot’s proposal.  Luckily for him, this woman was scorned in the 5th century and not in present day time.  Although the history of this tale is not completely substantiated, it is rumored that once the proposal was rejected, the harlot forced a razor to the gentleman’s neck and demanded that he repay her heartbreak with a final [tongue] kiss, a silk dress or a pair of gloves.

…talk about a cheap date.

Since then, February 29th has been associated with the day where a woman can be a butch for 24 hours and ask for a man’s hand in marriage or make him pay a penalty for [the proposal] rejection, which if you ask me is a win-win for the woman.  Who’s being unfair now?


Quote of the Week:  “Love is not having to say you’re sorry, unless of course your private parts stink when you’re getting special kisses.”

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