"Are you guys talking about masturbation?"

Lisa and I glanced at Ken. His eyes were dancing in their sockets.

"Sorta," I smirked. "We were talking about that Seinfeld episode where Jerry, George, Elaine, and Kramer have a contest about…"

"The master of your domain episode!" Ken scooted his chair closer. "I loved that episode!"

"I can see that," Lisa stated.

"So what are you guys talking about?"

I leaned back in my chair. "It was supposedly based on a real contest that Larry David had done."

"Who's Larry David?"

"One of the main writers of Seinfeld," Lisa added. She took a sip of her coffee.

"It's true though."

I regarded Ken with an upturned eyebrow. "What's true?"

"That if we didn't masturbate for a while, we'd get cranky."

"Ha!" Lisa snorted. Some coffee squirted out of her nose. Ken and I hollered as she wiped her nose and mouth. "Bastards…" she muttered.

I took a sip of my mocha carefully, as to not follow in the same fate. It was hot, but oh-so-yummy; I couldn't resist drinking it despite burning my tongue.

"That's not true," Lisa finally managed to utter.

"Sure it is." Ken gestured toward the rest of the café. "Everyone here has to masturbate regularly, or else they'd build up stress with no method of release."

"I don't think everyone out there actually masturbates. What about nuns?"

"I'm sure they do it."

"What about priests?"

"Everyone. Everyone's got to spank the monkey once in a while."

I laughed. "I kind of agree with both of you."

Ken nodded. "Yup. Flog the log."

Lisa shook her head. "How can you agree with both of us?"

"Grease the pipe," Ken continued.

"Well, I do think that masturbation is a good method of stress relief, but I also think that there are people who probably don't masturbate, because of their religious or cultural beliefs."

"Honk the horn."

"Yea, see," Lisa nodded. "Like priests and nuns."

"Love the Muppet."

"Although," I injected. "I think just about everyone has masturbated at least once in their lives, either intentionally or accidentally."

"Milk the moose."

"I disagree." Lisa folded her arms. "Just like you said, some people wouldn't do it because of their religious or cultural beliefs. I think those beliefs are so strong that they'd never even entertain the notion of masturbating."

"Do the Han Solo."

I put down my coffee. "But what about when they're young? Puberty's hitting them. They're confused, going through changes, growing hair in funny places. Before they even know what they're doing, I'll bet they're noticing that a bit of rubbing feels kinda good."

"Beat the bishop."

"I think those cultures teach children that masturbation is wrong at a very early age. So they know not to do it."

"Choke the chicken."

"No way!" I shook my head. "That's like teaching sex ed. Cultures like that wouldn't do that."

"Yank the yo-yo."

"They do. They educate their followers about all kinds of carnal sins at an early age, to prevent the very kind of experimentation that you're talking about."

"Whack the weasel."

"I dunno about that. I highly doubt that. Where are you getting your information from?" I asked.

"Twist your crank."

"I don't know. Where are you getting YOUR information from?"

"Whip the one-eyed trouser snake."

Lisa and I both stopped. We turned towards Ken and watched him in silence. Somewhere, outside, a tumbleweed rolled by.

"Tenderize the tube steak."

"Slap the salami."

"Tug the slug."

"Pump the python."

"Jerk the gherkin."

"Where the hell are you getting all of these from??" Lisa demanded. Her nostrils flared.

"Oil the glove."

"He's starting to scare me," I mumbled. Lisa nodded and we scooted our chairs away from him. He didn't seem to notice.

"Pet the lizard."

"Mangle the midget."

Lisa and I looked at each other. Without a word, we picked up our cups and backed away from the table. Ken just kind of looked into space with a daze.

"Play a little five-on-one."

"Pound the flounder."

"Let's never talk about this again," I told Lisa.

She nodded frantically. "Yes, never. Ever."

"Lubricate the love monkey."

"Slap the purple-headed yogurt pistol."

We walked out of the café without looking back. If other patrons were looking at us, I we didn't notice; we just aimed for the door and marched. I think Ken continued his list alone. How, ahem, apropos.

. . .

Are the the master of your domain?