Six degrees of Masturbation
Some of you may already understand the concept of Six Degrees of Seperation, but since this is eBaum's World, most of you probably don't. To the latter I'll suggest Google, although your grasp of that concept upon which my concept is based on is in almost no way vital to understanding my theory. But still, maybe it would be nice for some of you to learn something -- I know you won't from the rest of this post.
So here it is, I'll make it simple: Just as Six Degrees of Seperation makes a link between you and billions of other�lifeforms, as does my idea; except that my lifeforms are harder to see, and are better counted with trillions.
It is my belief that atleast one man out of every six whose hand you shake has recently masturbated with it, and simply wiped, not washed, his ejaculate off -- some may not even bother with either and opt to just leave it crusted down their fore arm hair and between their fingers. Maybe they rubbed one off under their desk at work and just wiped the excess sperm onto the inside of their pants. Perhaps they quick jerked it in the bathroom during Christmas dinner. Maybe they're masturbating right now, ready to blow their load all over the keyboard.
Now, perhaps the sperm is dead; OK, most likely the sperm is dead, but, in death, it will still be carted around from hand to hand, run through hair, rubbed on backs, poked in eyes. You probably just swallowed some with the BBQ sauce you're licking off your finger.
And with each of those faitful one in six, a small part of our crusted life essence is passed along. Invisible children playing on the cuticles of the world.
In my business I shake hands a lot. A part of me is probably still in Japan, Russia, Switzerland -- always spreading with each new handshake. I'm on your sushi, in your vodka, part of your chocolates.
Dead, but always spreading.
Shake my hand.