Stop drooling over Britney. She can't even decide on a cup size. She always talks like she was freshly kicked in the face by a horse. Dream of sinking your tongue into Pink's ass. Leave Britney to fumble around with her tard giggles and Easy-Bake Oven. Pink is the only respectable pop masturbatory fantasy choice.

My tastes always seem to go against the grain. Other yambags squirting over Madonna, I was dreaming of getting tossed around the bedroom by Joan Jett. Grrrrr, Joan Jett, dark eyes, scruffy danger hair, raspy voice, looking generally like a criminal. She could throw a dog collar on me.

Springs to mind that I never turn on the fantasy chick projector while getting my groove on. Never understood that. Both of my brains are content to concentrate on the pussy at hand. Besides, when you try and superimpose some celebrity's face you can't pay attention to the yummy grimaces and snarls your own ladyfriend is making. That's preferring to watch orgasm face on video instead of live on stage. Plus chicks never just come out and say what they want, they feed us clues. Mucho clues in the face kids.

I'll save the cast of characters for solo boners. Its a volumous roster, with no boundaries of dimension, time, or reality. Like Doris Day circa "The Pajama Game". Or an animated versions of Milo Manara and Guido Crepax comic book sirens. Mostly, I wax the weasal to visions of the extra talented chicks I have slept with.

Whence the fucking commences, I only need the spread in front of me, no need to circulate through imaginary buffets.