he was out paddling alone one day, relaxing after what was no doubt, a night of debauchery and sin, when he found a small passage among the icebergs. there he found a beautiful fjord so blue and so tranquil, all of which was very soothing to a slut.
but a slut is still a slut. and there's only so many slutty things a slut can do alone in a tiny boat in a fjord. but when he tried to paddle his way out of the fjord, he quickly found the current pulling him back in. the current was finally defeated on the third day, for a slut's will is strong, especially when a night of sick, twisted, godless sexing awaits.
the next day, without fail, the slut found himself out on the sea and back into the same fjord. and each time he tried to leave again, the current got stronger and it got harder to leave the fjord.
so now the slut finds that, even though he still has his slutty urges, he can't fight the current any more. he'll lose. gone are the nights of wistless indecency, replaced with days of blue, shear icebergs. but he doesn't mind as much as he once did. he likes this fjord of his. he gets slutty satisfaction in just mouthing the word "fjord".
but now comes the identity crisis of pornographic complexity. is he still a slut if he's always alone in a fjord?
