Not long ago, after many years spent at a prestigious university as a professor of ancient languages and antiquities, I made a striking discovery that you might like to be made aware of.

I found a new language that came from the ancient world. This new language is identical to the script of many ancient languages but the meaning of some words is very different. For example, I came upon a classic tale (known throughout the spiritual world as a tale of enlightenment), as it was written in this new language. It is made clear by the context that the enlightenment is reached through sexual intercourse. This transformation in the story, as you will see, is all due to a new understanding of the word “strawberry” when found in the new language which, of course, differs from its standard meaning which is taken to be a fruit and is translated as such from other ancient languages. So interesting, how the translation of one word can change everything.

In the classic story, a Taoist monk is pursued by a vengeful horde. He runs towards a cliff where he spies a strawberry. He reaches down and brings it to his mouth, and fully and completely enjoys its succulent juices. At that moment, he achieves enlightenment.

In the new language, which I have called Vulva for no particular reason, the word “strawberry” is replaced by a word meaning “slut” (although to the eye, they are written in exactly the same way). So, as you can well surmise, in the translation of the new language, the story actually suggests that the monk gets laid on the way to enlightenment. This, of course, promotes the idea that sex can be a vehicle for enlightenment and advances the notion that this newly discovered language was that of a highly developed culture, of which you can hear more about in my next lecture.

Moving on, before examining the new translation further, it makes sense to understand why the monk is being chased in the first place. There is no answer for this in the text, so we can only speculate about what those circumstances are. Admittedly, the following is purely conjecture.

Imagine, if you will, the galloping guard, lances drawn, trailing a short mile away, their menacing presence made apparent by a veritable cloud of dust, created by the streaking steeds they employ in their quest to end the life of said monk; who had committed what crime?

Imagine, if you will, something quite innocuous, like watching the queen while she squats, and her big yams straddle a privy pot. The man of the cloth, undoubtedly, feels it’s safe for him to observe uninhibitedly.

Picture his pleasure as he looks upon her spread legs with her gaping cunt on display; the view of her big, meaty lips that he feasts on; the puffy red diamond in the middle of the heavy, black fur of her delta that he wishes upon.

Surely, he strokes himself as he witnesses her stream rain down and, no doubt, though a holy man, he yearns to taste her salty marsh with a tongue that feels long enough to wrap around the curtain which separates the two.

But perhaps, it all comes to naught when he is betrayed by a creaky floorboard. The queen screams, thinking it is a mouse and thus by doing so, sounds the alarm (though afterwards she curses herself for missing a chance to worship with a Brother and his cock).

Or maybe, it happens that this man of God regularly fucks the queen while they both slumber under rose-scented, silk sheets, covered by ermine furs. Maybe, he makes her cells light up as she sees stars during his patterned slow sex approach in which his long, thick penis unhurriedly moves through her royal love canal.

And then, perhaps, one day, while the queen walks through the dark, gloomy hallways of the castle, she finds a huge wooden door ajar. Upon entering, she stands spellbound while watching the monk taking her handmaiden from behind. He is making her grunt! The very maiden the queen has just spent hours with, tribbing away.

Indeed, she is quite lost in the fascination of watching before it dawns on her that this Taoist has changed her status from queen to cuckquean. Surely, it’s logical to conclude that she is thrown into a jealous rage, and becomes indignant enough to send her male lover packing with a royal posse on his trail. I leave it to you, the listener, to determine if the violation of a queen’s ego merits a death sentence.

No matter how it came to be, the monk makes his way to the bright, lush grasses of the countryside with alacrity, pursued, of course, by the queen’s guard. Before long, he is in the mountains, surrounded by a cloud forest, headed toward a cliff where he comes upon, according to legend, a “strawberry”.

Now think about it, he sees a mountain girl with hair down to her knees, writhing on her belly in the grass like a cat in heat. The monk, standing behind her, gasps as he sees her hairy, pink folds beneath her hirsute mound. The girl turns towards him and beckons. In fact, she dares him.

Why not, thinks the escapee, but would there be enough time? The monk does not care because beyond her is the cliff and behind him is the horde. So he thinks, before whatever cometh, why not enjoy this “strawberry”?

The monk makes haste as he strips off his cowl and sports a noble lance. He quickly enters her welcoming, damp, moist vulva. The spirit girl rakes her new partner’s back with her claw-like nails until the blood flows.

The queen’s guard comes into sight and approaches mightily. But they do not reach him before he feels a volcanic orgasm. The monk, perhaps, feels the girl’s taunt body and knows he has a lover in paradise amidst the light of a thousand lanterns.

Of course, I leave it to the reader to decide whether they would like to be enlightened by a strawberry or a horny mountain goddess.