Monday, March 12, 2007

Sometimes titles should just shut the fuck up

I'll imagine if people heard about a young fellow what was up in arms about an accident between a chopper blade and his very penis which is now shorn in half (between base and glory fountain) they would raise their one arm as if in karate chop (but bent at the elbow) and slowly raise it up and down all the while saying to their nearest friends, "How could this tragic tragedy have happened?"

I'll further bet that if the same people heard about the same fellow rent in twixt by the same chopper blade AND found out his original length was a sum of one inch when stretched to the most eager foist then they would not raise their hand in choppy chops but instead cock it palm front so as to whisper to their near and dear, "There goes the fellow running about like a furious dog complaining of losing fifty cents down the drain, half his total worth."

Know what else?

Walgreens checkers should not also be part time comedians. When buying condoms and the gent asks, "You know where to put these, young man?"

A good answer is this obvious one: "Why don't you fucking ring my shit, bag boy, and stop rubbing my cock muffins."

The more realistic is the one where you think to yourself in your small voice, "What did he just say?"

And then you're in your car about five minutes later and you're driving home or you're off to beg someone if you can use those fresh condoms on them, and you say to yourself, "WHAT DID HE JUST SAY TO ME?"

And further, "If that asshole EVER says ANYTHING (and ever and anything you say real big like you're about to explode in a gangster manner) like that to me again, it's serious go time and I don't care if they call the police while I'm stomping his skull. Shit. They'll cheer me on. I'll wear my moonboots. They'll give me the key to the city."

But you take careful care to never go back to that particular Walgreens. Don't you.


You do.

That was kinda long and I'm sorry for that.

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