Descartes and the Wench

“Hello? Is this the residence of the Wench?”

“I am the Wench.”

“Ahh, you are the Wench. Wonderful.
I am here to see you and to have sexual inter-course.”

“Are you Descartes?”

“I think so.”

“You think so, or you know so?”

“Well, I think so. I mean, I can’t say with 100% certainty
but when I wake up in the morning and my penis is erect
it looks the same as the day before
and for that reason, even though I am a rationalist
I go off of this perception with the appropriate
deduction to determine I am most likely
the man they call Descartes.”

“So you’re Descartes then?”

“Yes, it ehh… seems to me that I am.”

“OK, well come on in. Make yourself at home,
I am the Wench, of this I am sure.
My rate is 40 francs an hour,
and I am the best.”

“Well, from the looks of you, I must say
you certainly are ravishing.
Your breasts are incredibly well-rounded
the ratio of the radius and pi together
creating magnificent splendor for my eyes
and my lips I do desire to touch them
so lightly… but, how do I know
that I am not being deceived by an evil demon?
How do I know I am not dreaming?
How do I know you are real?
That your boobies are real?
How do I know that I am real!
How do I know anything?”

“You don’t get out much, do you?”

“Uhh… no, I don’t.”

“That’s OK, baby. Momma will take care of you.”

“But, I wonder. It all seems too good to be true,
you are so beautiful, and me, how can I know
for sure that this is all happening?
Ehh, what if the world is just an illusion
a product of my imagination
what if I am really an ant crawling on the ground
or a bird dreaming of spring-time rainbows?”

“Listen, we could discourse on method all day,
but honey, I have things to do, and the clock is ticking
OK, so how about we get to the schtupping?”

“OK, but here’s the thing. I believe that I am both body
and mind, there are two things. The mind, my spirit,
it is not a physical thing, but my body, it very much is.
It is extended.”

“Why yes, I can see that.”

“Oh, Wench. Please excuse me, yes it seems the blood
has flown forth into my penile receptacle
as a consequence of your apparent beauty.

My what a wondrous experiment this is!”

“OK, OK, Mr. Philosopher. Why don’t you go lie
down on the bed and get ready?”

“Yes, of course, I will be the X to your Y
and we shall lie on this cartesian plane
and coordinate ourselves according
to the dictates of arithmetic geometric
logic and planning.”


“I tell you, Wench. My body, it’s a machine!”

“That’s Wonderful.”

“Your beauty over-whelms me. I swear, I must be dreaming.
God, he cannot be this benevolent, I must be deceived,

“Listen, Mr. Descartes, let’s go ahead and
y’know, put the ole salami in the ehh…
in the… well, in my vagina.”

“Believe me, I want to.
But wait, look, no!
My penis its like wax!
At first it was hard, but now it is soft and limp,
how it changed, the primary qualities,
the secondary qualities. Everything!
I knew not its true nature,
how I’ve been deceived!
Curse you devil!”

“OK, OK. Just relax, alright.
This happens to many men. It’s a common thing OK.
Look, Descartes you belief in free-will, yes?
OK believe in free-will, channel your mind
and the blood will flow, OK, we make it hard again.”

“Believe me, I’m trying!
But it won’t stay up!
Oh, I doubt everything now!
What type of man am I?

And if this cannot be, how do I know my philosophy
my religious beliefs, my mathematics,
well maybe not the mathematics, that’s pretty solid stuff,
but the other crap, how do I know its not a bunch
of bullshlackach? Really? How do I know?
How do I know?
Maybe it’s all in my mind!
My mind!”

“Listen, you solipsistic bastard.
You’ve been cartesian circle-jerking me around all day,
OK. I’m a working girl, I don’t have time to debate
with you the philosophy of knowledge,
epistemology, metaphysics, ethics,
the mind, science, geometry.
What do you think I am?
I’m not that kind of woman!”

“O fair, Wench.
I am so sorry. I have been unable to satisfy you
like I will be unable to satisfy Western philosophical thinkers
for the next several hundred years
with my circular reasoning
and shoddy logical arguments,
please forgive me!”

“Descartes, don’t be so hard on yourself.
If only you could keep your peepee-lech
as hard as you are on yourself,
you would have no such doubts
about your manhood.

But alas, it is what it is.
I have now to go and see my next client,
ehh, he is a senator cheating on his wife
but what else is new, ehh?

OK, you can leave out that door yea.”

“What? This door here with the arch
perfectly semi-circle rounded at a perpendicular
angle to the frame-work of the wood…”

“OK, just leave.”

“Yes, I shall leave on this horizontal rug
down your parallel lined hallway
towards the descending staircase
of street proportionate to car…”

“Seriously, I want you
to get out of my house.”

“Ahh, yes, to leave like a thought
dissipating under the enlightenment
of skeptical…”

“Listen, if you don’t leave,
I’m going to get my pimp,
and he’s going to beat the shit out of you.”

“Ahh, yes.
And I go!”