Hm. What's bothering me about this is whether or not the term "milking" is correct here. I mean, yes, it's probably safe to say that the verb "to milk" raises in most people's minds the image of a creamy-faced, red-cheeked farmer's daughter sitting on a three-legged stool and pulling firmly on a cow's dangling teats, massaging from them with her skilled hands and fingers a stream of milk that clangs into a carefully positioned metal pail. It's the action--the steady, jerking pulling on the teats--that's referenced. But to say milking also implies, at least in my mind, that milk is the product. If, for example, the farmer's daughter--who's obviously working up a sweat right now, a sweat that glistens in a light line on her forehead and leads her to unbutton the top button of her blouse, which is beginning to stick to her hot skin and reveal the lean shape of her body beneath--pulls on the cow's teat and, say, grape juice came out, you wouldn't say she was milking, would you? No, you'd have to say she was juicing. Or graping. The process is best explained by taking the noun for what's being produced and turning that word into a gerund, which implies that product's production. Thus, "milk" is produced by "milking," "juice" is produced by "juicing," "sweat" is produced by "sweating," and so on. Therefore, one cannot "milk water."

The problem, of course, is that where this wooden rubber-teated cow is concerned, using the rules I've just defined means that our farmer's daughter (who's unbuttoned another button of her blouse now, good lord this summer heat is just repressive, and the air in the barn is so hot, and as she leans beneath the cow she becomes dimly aware, like an afterthought, almost, of the steady rocking motion of her own breasts swaying back and forth, her sensitive nipples brushing against the somewhat rough fabric of her blouse) is watering. And "watering" implies a completely different action, one involving a watering can and plants. In fact, a watering can would be nice right now. That's what the farmer's daughter is thinking. She's imagining how she could just stand up and stretch her arms back over her head, pull her blouse down over her pale shoulders and raise the watering can above her head and pour the cool, fresh water over her puckering skin. Its shock on her like electricity. Cold rivulets running down the crevices of her body. That shiver of cold and excitement and something else, something like anticipation as she hikes her skirts up to splash her legs, and...

I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I was talking about something else. What was I talking about?

Eli Lapp: "You never had your hands on a teat before?"
John Book: "Not one this big."

In Kentucky, spilling beer all over servers is a favorite activity there.

Pocket Ninja: Hm. What's bothering me about this is whether or not the term "milking" is correct here. I mean, yes, it's probably safe to say that the verb "to milk" raises in most people's minds the image of a creamy-faced, red-cheeked farmer's daughter sitting on a three-legged stool and pulling firmly on a cow's dangling teats, massaging from them with her skilled hands and fingers a stream of milk that clangs into a carefully positioned metal pail. It's the action--the steady, jerking pulling on the teats--that's referenced. But to say milking also implies, at least in my mind, that milk is the product. If, for example, the farmer's daughter--who's obviously working up a sweat right now, a sweat that glistens in a light line on her forehead and leads her to unbutton the top button of her blouse, which is beginning to stick to her hot skin and reveal the lean shape of her body beneath--pulls on the cow's teat and, say, grape juice came out, you wouldn't say she was milking, would you? No, you'd have to say she was juicing. Or graping. The process is best explained by taking the noun for what's being produced and turning that word into a gerund, which implies that product's production. Thus, "milk" is produced by "milking," "juice" is produced by "juicing," "sweat" is produced by "sweating," and so on. Therefore, one cannot "milk water."

The problem, of course, is that where this wooden rubber-teated cow is concerned, using the rules I've just defined means that our farmer's daughter (who's unbuttoned another button of her blouse now, good lord this summer heat is just repressive, and the air in the barn is so hot, and as she leans beneath the cow she becomes dimly aware, like an afterthought, almost, of the steady rocking motion of her own breasts swaying back and forth, her sensitive nipples brushing against the somewhat rough fabric of her blouse) is watering. And "watering" implies a completely different action, one involving a watering can and plants. In fact, a watering can would be nice right now. That's what the farmer's daughter is thinking. She's imagining how she could just stand up and stretch her arms back over her head, pull her blouse down over her pale shoulders and raise the watering can above her head and pour the cool, fresh water over her puckering skin. Its shock on her like electricity. Cold rivulets running down the crevices of her body. That shiver of cold and excitement and something else, something like anticipation as she hikes her skirts up to splash her legs, and...

I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I was talking about something else. What was I talking about?

My gods I love you so much right now.

You know... In a manly way. ~high fives and fist bumps and all that testosterone shiat~

/Goes off to watch lactamania again
//I'll be in my bunk