Stewie Griffin Seeks Girlfriend l The Jim Galaxy

Stewie Seek 3-D Damsel

Stewie Griffin Oh greetings, members of the fairer sex, whose feminine charms continue to elude my diaper-wearing grasp, however much my brain has the demented prowess of Hannibal Lecter, Albert Einstein and the creator of Family Guy. I recognize that a woman with an hour-glass figure is supposed to elicit carnal desire in a man, except that I am still a decade away from realizing a functional set of testicles – and may in fact never reach the age of masturbation in that my animator has given new meaning to the term arrested pre-pre-pre-pre-adolescence. Thus the possibility exists that I will spend eternity wanting nothing more from the ladies than a thorough ass-wiping – hold the jokes about my baby penis -- and the occasional breast-feeding (silicone implants are acceptable), to say nothing of an insatiable urge to murder my dear mother, Lois, that hideous slattern. They should name a new tragic Greek god after me, with the learned commentary reading that “much like the mythical Stewie, when little Eddie Jones was awarded a lifetime supply of diapers, Huggies went bankrupt after forty years.”

On the other hand, I am not unaware of the effect I have on the ladies. My William F. Buckley Jr. accent alone sends the painted harlots scratching their hindquarters against the nearest Mobile Verizon kiosk. My head is shaped like a football, with ears at the lateral points, and this unique cranial arrangement provokes multifarious coos from the babes, while dikes want to propel me through a set of goalposts. Human sexual selection has programmed females to opt for the strongest male capable of procuring and thence guarding territory needed to nurture their screaming brood, and thus my talent for aiming weapons of mass destruction turns on these same egg factories with the hormonal force that beset Goebbels the first time he watched Hitler rail against the Jews.

I must confess that there are questions as to my true sexual preference – that is, if I was able to secrete male reproductive juice and not just air from a bicycle pump. True the Buckley inflection borders on the effeminate; and I do have the propensity to give fashion advice to straight men enamored of Wrangler jeans and sweatshirts bearing the insignia of a sports team; and our dog, Brian, and I have shared a boxcar during our occasional travels – yet I also like being spanked by that tramp, Lois, which must mean that I desire a woman with a little edge, if not a whip.

Or maybe this 2-D world of Quahog is too limiting for someone of my vast intellect and sterling accomplishment. What I seek is a lady who inhabits the fleshy realm beyond these animated borders, who can be lover, confidant and muse in my quest for world domination. Luckily, one morning before mounting the height chair for breakfast, my blinding genius enabled me to construct a device that allows crossing over between the two dimensions – therefore the commute will be no obstacle. So what 3-D enchantress is willing to be Dorothea Vader to my Darth Vader?

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