It was a beautiful spring day in 1947 when Barb and Joe moved to their orgasm farm in scenic Virginia. Though they had spent years studying orgasmic farming methods, they decided that nothing could compare with hands-on experience. Barb and Joe were tired of being armchair scientists. Ready and eager to practice what they had only read about, they settled down to business. At first the farming was a struggle. Barb complained of feeling plowed under. Or too hot and sweaty. She was not accustomed to physical labor. Joe enjoyed farming so much, he didn't even stop for meals or sleep. Once Barb ran home to her mother. Joe had to beg her to return to the orgasm farm. Things were a little rocky, but Joe was determined that their relationship would become better without the use of any chemicals or hired hands. People laughed at them then. But Joe was a good man, patient and relentless. Willing to try again and again to plant an orgasm or two. His hard work paid off. That was twenty years ago. Today Barb and Joe have the most prolific orgasm farm around. They work well together and love what they do. Their little youngsters skip merrily in the verdant pastures. Barb and Joe know that someday new generations will carry on where they left off. They know others will come to enjoy it as much as they do.
from the archives; first posted March 17, 2008.
Vintage Andrews, falling somewhere between Swiftian satire and Julio Cortazar's fables, ending with a hopeful future that, with the distractions of modern technology, sometimes seems doubtful. Her work once again proves that humor reveals the human condition better than the political verse and poetry written by so many contemporary sourpusses.
Posted by: Peter Johnson | November 18, 2023 at 12:28 PM
Nin,
You're way too young to be on Antiques Roadshow, but you're still a National Treasure.
Posted by: jim c | November 19, 2023 at 06:10 PM