Stella had the most beautiful hair. Her hair was the envy of everyone. All who saw it couldn’t help but gush with wonder and admiration. It was almost as if Stella was a mutation. Her hair was probably why the artist had asked Stella if she would mind posing for a painting.
“Just look up to the ceiling for a minute if you would,” asked the painter.
“Turn your head slightly to the right,” asked the painter.
“Gently frisk your hair to the left. Just a little! Perfect!” said the artist.
“All done,” said the artist. Pablo Picasso put down his brushes.
Stella had the most beautiful hair. It was just a shame she had only one eye and in the middle of her forehead, three ears, and a nose that pointed in two directions at once.
Sophia was an aspiring model. Already she had appeared in a glossy advertisement that was posted in everyone’s mail. She was wearing a brushed cotton dressing gown. Sooo sexy. Her mother had cut out the advert and put it in a scrapbook.
And now the rock star was in town. Sophia was in the foyer of his very hotel. Here he comes! There were other women “hanging around”. Sophia struck up a pose. Kind of casual. Kind of sensual. A liaison with the rock star would enhance her career.
And sure enough. A message came to Sophia: Would she like to spend some time with the rock star in his room?
Fourteen hours later, Sophia reappeared. “I’m so hungry,” she gushed. “Just sooo hungry. The rock star made love to me six times.”
The waiting Press flashed their cameras. Sophia was famous! The modelling jobs couldn’t help but come in now. In fact, it was front page stuff.
Later that day the rock star issued a press statement:
“We didn’t make love; we had sex. And if memory serves me right, it was eight times not six.”