Botanist’s Dream

Ophrys bilunulata, the cunning seductive temptress of Central Europe, discloses her arching figure, velvety hair, and fragrant scent; twisting the palpating heart of the male Andrena flavipesi to such a wicked degree that the loins of A. flavipesi swelter and pulsate, diverting A. flavipesi from his scheduled flight and into the waiting appendages of O. bilunulata. There he is lost in a maze of bliss: poking and turning, rubbing and nudging, licking and humping. A. flavipesi loses all self-control. For him to stop now, an envious murderer must slit his throat. Their dance continues while O. bilunulata responds to his every whim, a true goddess of ecstasy. Then, in a few seconds, the deed is done. The legs of A. flavipesi, exhausted, buckle under his own weight. He rests upon his mistress, looking out across the green landscape, collects his thoughts, and continues upon his intended path.

We have just now remotely experienced the unbridled passion of a male honeybee ejaculating onto the petals of the “prostitute orchid,” as referred to by botanists. Thanks to thousands of years of co-evolution the “prostitute orchid” has successfully mimicked the seductive design and scent of the posterior region of the female honeybee, stinger not included, to encourage its own selfish repro-ductive goals. The male honeybee is the humble recipient of this Darwinian gift. While God gave Man the faculties of reason, he gave the male honeybee an inviting home in which to shove his pollen attracting willy.

I question the uniqueness of honeybee-floral relations, however. Should not all beasts have reciprocal floral receptacles to thrust within? To that, I answer with a resounding YES! Yet, my assertion catapults me to a lone island away from my comfortable circle of botanist friends, who fear such statements will turn “Botanic Academia” into a wretched playground of pine tree humpers.

Man deserves better. Dilapidated gym socks, overly delicate tissue paper, and motorized suction/filtration devices are objects of the past. The future of erotic self-stimulation rests within our gardens. My calls for reformation, however, are not a mandate to haphazardly sling our wangs into the wilderness. (Masochists should be kept at bay.) The movement for hominidal-botanic pseudocopulation is an orchestrated strategy to insure proper erotification of flora that will fulfill the desires of future generations.

Do not expect immediate results. The first fleet of men will encounter complications. The path we travel is uncharted. Only through vigilance and an unified goal will we ever achieve Man’s Prostitute Orchid. The first generation will not make much progress, nor will the second. However, when we reach the 10,000th, then, my friends, we will feel our flora slowly conform to our phalluses. They will be lush, sturdy, soft, and moany. They’ll grow tall and large, gripping our asses as we pump with careful delight out in the open wilderness. We’ll move from plant to plant, remembering those that bring us pleasure and destroying those that cannot compare. Thereupon, in 100,000 generations or more, history will look back at the initial flora lot and thank us for a job well done. Manual self-stimulation will be outdated and floral-cock-gripping, leaf-ass-holding, and sweet titty-berry-eating are the future. To the garden my brothers. To the garden….