From A Highly Dysfunctional Brain

I don’t know where this stuff comes from, but, well, here is an extract from my weird brain.

I was having an extremely difficult time moving my bowels. It was right there, ready to exit the long, brown tunnel, but it was as if it was having trouble moving forward. Stubborn, perhaps? Fear of the unknown, at what lies beneath? Hydrophobia? I was straining pretty hard, bearing down with considerable effort. I could feel my face flush from the exertion. My legs had pins and needles, and I was sitting so long, I feared a blood clot. Dammit, and I had to get up early in the morning to present a thesis on the Deep Resonance, and, Apathy Of Anvil’s Forged In Fire in front of a full English class at the prestigious Dollar General Community College. Full meaning 8, the most in attendance ever.
I gotta get this out! C’mon you sonofa-
The bathroom door opened, and my wife walked in wearing her Kewpie doll nightgown.
“Honey, I gotta pee, bad.”
Her nightgown was bunched up around her crotch, and she was hopping up and down, her face scrunched up in misery.
“Sweetheart,” I said, “I’m having problems. It’s right there, but, it won’t come out. Isn’t there a bucket somewhere?”
“Oh, God, Jimmy, I don’t think I could make it. Please!”
I sighed, leaned back against the tank, spread my legs.
“C’mon, sit.”
“Thanks, love! I owe ya.”
She quickly raised her gown, pulled down her panties, sat on top of my thighs, began to pee.
It was warm, and the sound of the urination, that hiss, kinda got me off. I started getting hard.
“Ah, babe, I’m gettin’ a hard on. Dammit, I’ll never be able to push this out.”
She wriggled her rump.
“Oh, I know, honey, I can feel it. Nice. Oh, it tickles.”
I raised her gown, and placed my hands on her breasts, tweaking her nipples.
“Sweet Jesus.” I whispered.
Just then, Grandma walked in, holding her stomach, complaining about the greasy food.
It was going to be a long night….

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