Woe is thingie.

Let it be known that every time I attempt to write anything involving sex of any sort, my fingers seem to have this preprogrammed tendency to type "thing", "thingie", and/or variations thereof.

No, really.

I have witnesses.

If called upon, they shall snicker and point in confirmation, I know it.

Oh, porn. Shall I ever grasp your hidden secrets and plumb your mysteries? Am I forever cursed to gaze at you longingly, an outsider to your inner circle and fuzzy warm feelings? Is there an offering I can make? A sacrifice? I'm down with lambs and virgins, if that's your thing.

...

DAMMIT!