Love is in the air, or is that fuck fumes? The same difference during Valentines' Day. February makes Madge think of her younger days rolling cigarillos with crack sweat on her once firmish breasts while sunbathing at the local druglords villa in Havana.
Bisket, on the other hand, pines for love she felt from a man in the 70s, Telly Savalas. For all her girlish chatter about Dean Martin, Telly was a man who knew how to stuff her porkchop. Being of Greek descent, Savalas was no stranger to the darker desires that made women flock to him. Moves like the four olive bean flick, Athena's meat wagon, and the Cincinnati alfredo special only fanned the flames of Bisket's appetites.
The sex was good, but Savalas showed his nurturing side when they vacationed in Peru. Telly and Bisket dined at a local haunt enjoying their pisco sours when a guinea pig sat on Telly's shoe. He gently picked up the squeaking fur potato and stroked its head as Bisket's paternal instinct blossomed. After gorging themselves on guinea pig pot roast, Bisket pledged her love by offering her barren field of womanhood to build a family. The night faded into the grunts and belching of really good screwing. In the morning, Bisket awoke to an empty bed. Resting on Telly's pillow was a lone white guinea pig with a note tied around its neck that read, "Who Loves You, Baby?"
The moral of the story? Don't vacation in Peru and pound uglies after gorging on all-you-can-eat guinea pig.