"Oh yes!" Suzanne said. "We must remove the pants. Surely you as an artist knows what nude means."
"I just want to take them off myself," Warhol protested.
"Then do it! You move so slow."
Warhol took off his pants and his blubber thighs bounced and jiggled.
"What a handsome lad you are!" Suzanne exclaimed.
"I'm really not."
"You are! Now recline on that couch for me. Yes, that's good. No, turn over. Lie on your belly. Stick that big walrus butt up for me to see. Oh, yesssss!"
Warhol found himself in a not particularly comfortable position, up on the sofa on his knees with his chest on the sofa and one arm trailing to the floor while the other was trapped against the sofa.
WHACK! A sharp pain in his behind! Suzanne had hit him with something!
"What was THAT for?!" Warhol complained.
"I am sorry! Forgive me! I see a big butt like that and I must spank it. I know! It is a sickness, a curse. I am so sorry! Can you forgive me?"
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