What if making the sponge fuck gives it a unquenchable taste for coitus? And what if the sponge's insatiability leads to a rampage of vibrant and cartoonish rape?

It doesn't seem like you've thought about these things at all. So I say don't make the sponge fuck.

I write about psychology, philosophy, and society. Also a part-time moose masseuse. Hit me up if you need me to de-knot your elk.

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