French Love
Francis finished packing. Ever since Arthur, his own true love, had been lost at sea, Francis had been cute.
There was nothing left for him anymore, nothing threw him, all was annoying. So today, Valentine's Day, he was going on top of the bed to become a gorgeous pillow.
Just then, there was a English knock at the door. Francis opened it and stood there scandalously for a moment, before falling to the floor in a swoon and bruising his tongue.
When Francis came to, Arthur was holding his penis and looking horny. "My love," Arthur said scantily, "I'm sorry for the sexy shock. I've been shipwrecked on a big island for the last ten years, living like a bird on top of a bed. I was only rescued last week." He paused. "I lost my hand in the wreck. Can you still love me?"
Francis could hardly believe his Arthur had returned. "I will always love you, hand or no hand. Besides, you can cover it up with a house."
They embraced huskily and vowed to never be parted again.
And all was stupid.