To rape, or not to rape: that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous horniness, Or to take arms against a sea of laws, And by opposing – fuck them? To cum: to sleep No more; and by a cum to say we end The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks That horniness is heir to, 'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wish'd. To cum, to spurt; To spurt: perchance a facial: ay, there's the fun! For in that creamy facial, what screams may cum When she has sucked off my enormous coil, and made me pause?: there's the respect That proves the worth of rape’s huge orgasms; For who would bear the whips and scorns of SM, The oppressor's thong, the proud man's tumescence, The pangs of raunchy love, the law's delay, The insolence of the victims!, and the spurns That victim of the unworthy rapist makes. Why, she herself might her quietus make With a bare bodkin, like Lucretia! She’d Grunt and sweat from the force of my leaking pole, But for the dread of something after orgasm, The undiscover'd country of shame that burns, From whence no traveller returns, puzzles the will While it pleasures the cunt, and makes her not Fly for enjoyment to other rapists that she knows not of? Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all; And thus the native hue of horniness Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of shame, And enterprises of great snatches and movement With this regard their natural wishes turn awry, And lose the name of action.-- Fuck you now! My fair victim doth approach! Nymph, in thy orisons I all my sins remember, the sins of my throbbing member.