Arnold Zwicky's Blog

(fairly quickly detours into phenomenally raunchy free verse and then swivels again — but in there’s some stuff that’s way out of bounds for kids and the sexually modest)

I was roused from my pastoral torpor this morning by a Facebook ad from the Tastefully Simple® website offering basic preparation directions for Key Lime Cheese Ball Mix. And I immediately fell into a Zippyesque seizure of onomatomania, moved to chanting Key lime cheese ball, Key lime cheese ball, Key lime cheese ball. Then, being the sort of person that I am, I entertained a delightful reverie of citrus-juice-sharp, aged-cheese-ripe testicles and on from there, culminating in that unseemly verse. Then from there I speculated some on why some forms of sensuous pleasure have become particularly poignant for me these days.

Now to spool through all of this. Beginning with the ad.

A concoction of great simplicity. With a name that swings. The ad:

(#1) A Key lime cheese ball (with assorted fruit); I have no problem with the fruit, but the KLCB looks like a blobby space-alien fungus, sadly lacking in cheesy ripeness

Instructions (which could hardly be simpler):

ingredients: 1 8-oz package cream cheese, softened; 1 packet Key Lime Cheese Ball Mix

directions: combine ingredients, refrigerate 2 hour or until firm; shape into a ball, and serve with desired dippers

Obviously, the magic is all in the mix:

(#2) Ingredients (yummy): powdered sugar (sugar, cornstarch), brown sugar, natural lime flavor (crystallized lime [citric acid, malic acid, lime oil, lime juice, ascorbic acid], maltodextrin)

Ad copy for the mix, which wields both the verb pucker and the adjective tangy in its first 5 words:

Pucker up for this tangy, sweet and simple dessert. Just add cream cheese and pair it with Absolutely Almond Pound Cake Mix™ and fresh fruit. It makes a delicious no-bake key lime cheesecake, too.

First, we chant, because Key lime cheese ball swings, and Zippy has taught us the value of repetition (see the Page on this blog on my postings about “Chants, cheer, mantras, onomatomania”). And then if you’re me, enduringly taken with penises and testicles — ok, let’s be direct, dicks and balls, in their roles as sources of oral pleasures: mouthfeel, tastes, smells, the beating pulse of these bodyparts in your mouth. First experienced about 60 years ago, eventually becoming everyday sex for me, performed many thousands of times, with never-diminished pleasure, then being retired (along with fucking) to fantasy status in 2004.

And now inspiring that raunchy free verse, which begins with poetic diction, with vivid imagery, on dicks and balls, and then takes a bathetic dive, drops like a stone into stagey (and assaultive) mockery of Black street talk. (From a dream story of coping with life — I have a lot of those — my counter to an aggressive asshole: “Why yes, I am some kind of cocksucking faggot! How perceptive of you to see through the secret code that pussy-boys use to recognize one another!”)

(#3) I think I need to get a t-shirt made with IMA FUCKIN FRUITCAKE printed on it; but I’d want it to be read as a boast from Zorro the Gay Blade, or as a plain statement of fact (like my GAY AS FUCK t-shirt), not as an angry slash meant to deface my tormentor

Further reflections to come in another posting. It’s been a long day. And everything is happening at once. On the one hand, I am goofily delighted with a mouth full of best-ever fantasy dick and balls, but then it’s also 1870-71, Paris is in fact burning, the Prussians are prowling in our streets, and I’m scared shitless.

This entry was posted on June 15, 2026 at 7:09 pm and is filed under Gender and sexuality, Homosexuality, Language and food, Language and the body, Language of sex, My life, Poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.