Dear Amritsar,
My boyfriend wants me to finger his…hind hole while feeding him Cyrullean Goat eggs and singing Cyndi Lauper’s “She Bop.” Could he be a Nastrugal Flartfloogie?
Paula
Hey, Babe,
Would there be a problem if he was?
Dear Amritsar,
No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.
Paula
Hey, Babe,
Are you absolutely sure you’re not prejudiced against Nastrugal Flartfloogie? Because, you know, after the incident on Pfaff 10007, human beings went a little crazy about the alien beings, attacking their embassies, burning their ambassadors in Effigy (it’s a small town south of Detroit), making them the villains in such some day to be classic films (in their producers’ wildest dreams) as Die Hard XXVII: Constipation Dies Hard and The Nastrugal Flartfloogie Dies in the End.
Prejudice of this nature would be wrong. A wise man once said: if you do unto others, they’ll do the same back unto you. Or, unto your back. Or, something like that. I remember a lot of untos; otherwise, I wasn’t really paying much attention. The guy was a little self-righteous, and Amritsar finds that a real turn-off.
So. Prejudiced much?
Dear Amritsar,
No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. And, no.
Paula
Hey, Babe,
Okay, then. With that issue settled, I feel very comfortable that my answer to your question will only be used for good.
According to Captain Louis “Call Me Lou” Albano, writing in the Journal of Exobiology, Exophenomenology and Tic Tac Toe B (No Hamlet Jokes, Please), the behaviour you describe, while rare among humans, is not unheard of.
“Some men get pleasure out of having their, umm, rear portholes fingered,” Captain Albano wrote in an article called, “The Nastrugal Flartfloogie at Home and Abroad: Not Just for After the Kids Have Gone to Bed Any More!.” “That part of a man’s anatomy has a lot of nerve endings that can help bring a man to…umm…I mean, that can make him…err, well, that can…give him pleasure, okay? Jeez, I’m blushing like a bride on her wedding – no, sorry, didn’t mean to go there!”
Captain Albano argued that men could also take pleasure in listening to the music of Cyndi Lauper. “It’s upbeat, it’s bubbly, and you don’t have to have a vagina to find her sense of fun infectious,” he wrote. “What? Why are you looking at me like that? What’d I say?”
The sticking point may be the eating of the Cyrullean Goat eggs, which, as Captain Albano pointed out, have the consistency of asphalt palm trees and taste like castor oil with a sulfur chaser. “You’d have to have a strong constitution to eat them without wanting to gnaw off your own intestines,” he admitted. “But, I suppose there are some men who dream of an intestineless life…”
How can you tell if your boyfriend is really a Nastrugal Flartfloogie? For one thing, they have a habit of circling a bed 12 times before getting into it. If your boyfriend circles the bed clockwise, he may be a Nastrugal Flartfloogie. If he circles the bed counterclockwise, he may just be a Scientologist. If he circles above and below the bed any number of times, he may be a demon. Consult your local Priest. Then, a carpenter.
For another, music by the band Frijid Pink makes their hands swell until they’re the size of a compact car. Trying this could ignite an intergalactic incident, though, so I would keep it as a last resort.
Oh, and they have a tail. Nastrugal Flartfloogie tails are not small, subtle appendages, like a snail’s eyestalks or an oil executive’s soul: they start at four feet and could be as long as 12 with a tailwind (you’ll want to keep a large supply of air freshener on hand for just such an eventuality). A prominent tail is a sure sign of a Nastrugal Flartfloogie, since human beings detach their tails when they reach they age of consent and only wear them to St. Swithin’s Day funerals.
Dear Amritsar,
A tail? I…I…I…I…I…I…I…I…I thought that bulge in his pants meant he was really happy to see me. I mean, sure, it was in the back of his pants, but I thought that meant that he was really, really, really, really, really glad to see me (and, you know what they say about five reallys). No wonder he insisted on making love in the dark – I thought he just had really fast hands.
Bastard! I’m gonna dump him faster than Research in Motion stock on the latest Blackberry sales report!
Paula
Hey, Babe,
Good to know you’re not prejudiced.
Send your relationship problems to the Alternate Reality News Service’s sex, love and technology columnist at questions@lespagesauxfolles.ca. Amritsar Al-Falloudjianapour is not a trained therapist, but she does know a lot of stuff. AMRITSAR SAYS: cafes where you have to turn in your technology to spend an hour with other people? Personally, I don’t see the attraction. When the power grid collapses, we’ll have all the time in the world to spend away from technology with other people. Too much time, if you ask me…