Hear About the Lass Who'll Sleep with 1000 Guys?

Hear about the lass who'll sleep with 1000 guys?
She'll break the one-day record: wow, what a prize!
That's besides the high fame and income thereof,
Granted to her by Lords Media above,
By them to be covered as just one more feat,
Like a wire-walk, space jump or fast-hot-dog eat.
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So they report in detail the logistics involved,
Which might leave one's stomach fully revolved,
Like the part about the bedroom having two doors,
The entrance for lovers, the exit for corps,
And the long line without of willing kind souls,
Who'll dispense with pleasantries to help with her goals.
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It's funny how the young'ns now take their sex,
It's not so involved, nor all that complex.
You used to fall in love, then jumped in the sack,
Now you jump first and then wait for love's whack,
Maybe it comes -- maybe not -- effort well spent:
You snuggle lotsa frogs to find your Clark Kent.
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Change never changes, thus trends society,
As lovers adjust to the new propriety.
The new regime requires suitors to excel
In the arts of the bed besides looking so swell,
Which must bring on awful nervous attacks,
Charming and performing being two different acts.
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Hence appears the lass cited above:
Why not monetize what was called making love?
And like pot today, calm studies will soon show
That sex does wonders for the mentally slow:
The bipolars, psychos, and depressed all react
With great progression to a romp in the sack.
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This many years on, sex-for-pay the new norm,
With top pros and learned pundits being the new storm.
This thousand-guy lass is but the icebreaker's cut,
Cracking a path through OMG and tut-tut.
Though it's sad and creepy and grim, life it is;
I hope love goes on despite The Urge's dark fizz.