Her pussy. I was talking about her pussy. Because it’s pink, you see? You get it.

The Honourable Sir Edmund Quimlove, Santa In The Pink, Krampus In The Stink: An Adult Bedtime Poem

Consider also:

  1. “Her nails were crooked pink sloth-hooks and her bony, nervous hands made clutching, Nosferatu shadows across her concave belly.”
  2. Little Games
  3. “In other words, let us quit fighting for a few weeks or months, and have a conference. If nothing happens, we can go on fighting again with renewed zest. Speaking as an Irishman, I might go further and suggest talking and fighting at the same time — an ideal state of affairs!”
  4. "In other words, let us quit fighting for a few weeks or months, and have a conference. If nothing happens, we can go on fighting again with renewed zest. Speaking as an Irishman, I might go further and suggest talking and fighting at the same time — an ideal state of affairs!"
  5. “Ya know what? I’m human. I piss, I shit, I fart and belch and vomit when I get sick. I fuck, and I bleed from my crotch once a month like most bio-females my age. Furthermore, I have a bad temper, strong opinions and a bad habit of putting my foot in my mouth at inopportune times. And you know what? I’m not going to pretend those things aren’t as much a part of me along with the intelligence, perseverance, love of talking shop, and pure sexiness, just so I can create a wholly positive image.”