Herbert’s Balls

Herbert’s Balls,
By,
William Morgan

“Herbert, it’s not Friday, so, why are you showing me your block an’ tackle?” asked Madge Shrive, Herbert’s wife. More like twig an’ thistle, she mused.

Herbert, wearing nothing but his tatty blue striped pajama top, his hair in such disarray as to defy physics, looking concerned, befuddled, and, embarrassed all at the same time, said,

“Well, look at ’em,Madge,don’t they look funny to you?”

And, that is why we do it in the dark, my love.

She loved her husband. She really did. But, the chance Herbert would be mistaken for Richard Burton ( her favorite actor), would be the same chance of her fucking Richard Burton. She remembered a time when she’d gotten photos developed at that new one hour place downtown. Herbert was just sick at the sight of himself. He was all upset at how he looked. Frail, timid, skinny, his brown, gray hair all over the place, unmanageable, catastrophic really, eyebrows thicker than a forest, a hit-me chin, he just went on, and on about it.

Madge remembered saying, “but, I love you.” She didn’t protest his self description, didn’t tell him that the photo wasn’t that bad, didn’t lie to him. He was a mess of a man, but, she loved him. Deeply. 20 years they’ve been married. June 11th 1955. Childless. Her only regret. Adoption was out. They both wanted their own child. But, either his sperm was as empty as Edward Heath’s words, or, her ovaries had a closed sign when Herbert’s swimmers knocked. They didn’t check. Neither wanted to be at fault.

Not that she was Elizabeth Taylor. More like Else Garnett from Till Death Us Do Part. When asked to describe herself in a telephone interview for a job in a launderette, she said “misshapen’.” Pear shaped was how some people put it. But, pears do have some sort of symmetry, her shape was more abstract. As if Picasso created her when he was suffering delirium . Sure she’s got more than a few pounds than all the other women she’s been around, and sure she has that thing under her chin that looks like a zit had erupted from a tarantula. A wart ? A mole? Witches mark? Who knows, who cares? It doesn’t hurt, and Herbert, when he gets cuddly, likes to rub the top of his head on it. Maybe for good luck. Maybe for who cares? What she has, and what most women want, is a good, solid marriage. Herbert’s always dependable, especially on Friday nights. Even when he’s out with the lads, he’s still dependable on Friday nights. Could be as sloshed as a Russian in a vodka factory. Didn’t matter. Herbert and his twig and thistle always rose to the occasion.

Speaking of twig and thistle-

She stared at her husbands scrotum, and said,”Well, if you mean that they are tiny, ineffectual, and probably share one sperm between them, then, yes, they look funny to me.”

“Oh, very droll, Madge, very droll. Very cutting edge, I must say. What I’m speaking about is that they look, well, strange. They feel strange an’ all. ‘ere, ‘ave a closer look.”

“If this is your way of getting me finally on my knees-”

“Madge! I’m serious! For pity’s sake-”

“Oh, alright.”

She got on her knees, held his balls in her left hand, twisted them this way, and that. “Have you checked for lumps, dear? Wait… I need my glasses ”

“Madge!”

“Honest.You’re right, Herbert. I think I see something.”

Madge left the bedroom,went downstairs to the living room,and picked up her glasses by the TV stand. There was something, she thought. In the bedroom she held Herbert’s balls in her hand, looking at his scrotum from all angles again. hmmming and hawing.

“Herbert, maybe it’s my imagination, but, I swear I see a face imprinted on your ball-sack. When’s the last time you went out with the lads?”

“Haven’t been out with them for a couple of weeks now. Stevie fell, remember? Broke his arm. And Jim, well, Jim’s not allowed out. Not after that incident with the barmaid and a packet of crisps. Molly’s angrier than a slug in a salt mine, she is. And Bob, he’s got himself a girl, see. She’s all that matters. The hell with his friends. A face you say? A face? Who’s face?” Oh my God, please don’t let it be Arthur Scargill. I’ll kill myself.

“Yes, looks like a face alright. Who it belongs to I haven’t quite been able to make out. It’s quite fascinating, really. Doesn’t look tattooed. If it is, though, it’s a damn fine job. The more I look at it, the more it comes into focus. I need to see it better, though. I’m going to have to shave your balls, darling”

“Shave my-now, wait a minute, Madge-”

“Oh,come on now. It’s not like you go to a gym, or shower with other people. Only we will know. We’ll use my razor. It’s gentler.”

She frowned.

“What’s the matter, Madge?” asked Herbert, fearfully.

“Strange,Herbert. I’ve been holding your balls in my hands for about ten minutes-”

“You’ve been holding them longer that that, love. Bloody years, in fact.”

“Holding them for ten minutes, or, so, and you’ve had no reaction. None. Not a stir from His Lordship. Quite dead, in fact.”

“Well, you’re not holding ’em with affection, now are you? You’re holding them clinically, so to speak. Like a doctor-or something.”

“Hmmm, maybe so, dear, maybe so. Still, it’s quite discomfiting. Have I lost my touch, so to speak? Don’t you love me anymore, Herbert?”

His face went pale. “Madge! How could you even- I- well- really! Of course I love you!”

“Settle down, darling. I’m only joshing. Now come into the bathroom, and…, you know what? It might be better to pluck the hairs out, rather than shave. I’ll get the tweezers.”

Herbert sputtered “Madge!”

“Just joshing. Just joshing.” Madge laughed. He sighed. Just a bloody joke to her, he thought. My balls do feel weird, strange, it’s as if they were-what? Alive? Sentient? Herbert giggled. Thinking nads? Guys are always telling me my brains are in my arse, maybe they’re just off a little bit. He laughed, then frowned. She said they were dead, but, Herbert felt power in his balls. Throbbing, pulsating, and it seemed to be growing with each passing minute. He had to admit, he was scared. Not bloody funny at all, Madge. No, not bloody funny at all.

2.

After foaming his balls with shaving cream, and, delicately shaving, she rinsed them off, and frowned again. “Sweetheart? It might be my imagination, but, I do believe that your balls have gotten bigger.” Of course, it couldn’t possibly be right, she thought. Just isn’t possible. Still, they do look larger.

Herbert, always thinking the worse, always seeing the glass half empty, shuddered, and his eyes widened. “Oh my God, Madge, elephantiasis! Oh, no, no, no! Not that! Haven’t you ever seen those documentaries on the BBC? Those men from India practically sitting on these giant boulders that are actually their balls? How could I live with that? I’d never be able to go out. If I did go out, I’d need a shopping cart to carry my balls. And, where would I buy my pants? Who makes pants for men with this affliction? Big Balls R Us? And if I ever get in a fight, what’s the first thing they’re going to do? Kick me in the nads, that’s what! And you know I like to go swimming at the YMCA’s pool. I jump in there, and I’m liable to start a tsunami, and empty the damn thing! Oh, God, Madge. Oh, God, I’m doomed, doomed, Doomed!”

Madge looked at her husband with marvelous disdain. “Darling, please, has there ever been a case of elephantiasis here in England? Ever? No, dear, there hasn’t. And, in those dreadful documentaries that you watch, did any of those men have a face tattooed on their balls? Hmmm? Thought not. No, my sweet, this is something altogether different. I don’t know what it is, but, let me tell you, the face is coming clearer. I can almost make it out.”

“Who is it? It’s not that bastard Scargill is it? My luck, it’ll be worse. It’ll be Enoch bloody Powell.”

She stared at the face for a while, blocking out her husbands sputtering, and whining. Let me concentrate, she thought. It’s getting clearer. But, she didn’t say a word. She knew after 20 years of marriage to let Herbert blow off steam, or else he would go on, and on about it all night. And, she did need to sleep since she had a doctor’s appointment in the morning.

Not a face exactly. Doesn’t look human, to tell the truth. Definitely not Enoch, or, Arthur. Inwardly she laughed. Oh, Herbert, that’s why I love you. Let’s see, just what is it? Looks like an octopus, but, then again, it doesn’t. Hard to describe, really. Those may be tentacles. Is that wings behind it? Otherworldly. Yes, that’s the word I’m looking for. Otherworldly. Monstrous. Now she was getting scared, because it seemed as if it had moved.

“Herbert, darling, I think we’ll have to go to the fhtagn- the fhtagn- oh for heaven’s sake- the fhtagn!”

“Are you alright, Madge? What’s that you’re saying? Sounded like you’re making weird farting noises. What’s a f-f-f-say that again, love, I can’t seem to pronounce it.”

“R’lyeh , R’lyeh , oh, what’s going on? Oh, Herbert I’m scared. I’m scared! I’m Cth-”

The creature moved again, looked at Madge. She gasped as it seemed to look right through to her soul, and it grew, along with Herbert’s balls. She scrambled back away from it as far as she could, hitting her back against the toilet, and Herbert was yelling fearfully “Madge, Madge what is it? What is it? Madge!”

Then she let out a soul shattering scream, slumped to the floor. Her eyes rolled back, her legs trembled, and she began to speak in a strange language that wasn’t created for human throats.

Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn,” she chanted, her voice deep, guttural, contemptuous.

And Herbert’s balls grew, and grew, and he wailed, and screamed in terror as Madge chanted, and then something emerged into our world. Something cold, indifferent.

Then the world grew dark, cold, and lifeless, and the stars blinked out one, by, one as the universe made way for the Great Old Ones….

More ramblings.

Driving every day sometimes gets so fucking banal all you got is weird rambling to keep your eyes open.

She sniffed his shorts, smelled semen. That sonofabitch, she thought, either he’s been fucking around, or he’s back to masturbating. I’m cancelling the internet. How can I compete with all those airbrushed trollops? She had to figure out a way how to count the tissues in the box. When he gets home tonight, I’m gonna see if he wants me. Get on my Victoria’s Secret. The purple lace set. He loves that. Well, we’ll see if he still loves that.
Sonofabitch. I’ll kill him if he don’t want me.
She lay on the bed, forlorn, her fingers flicking her labia absently, the crotch-less panties just a useless garment, a piece of expensive, un-erotic lace. Her husband lay next to her, snoring, wearing his protective, blood red pajamas, no bulge in sight. She sighed. Jack would’ve-no-stop-he’s dead.
What to do? What to do?
Kill him.
Kill him?
Remember?
But, that’s just…well…I didn’t mean…figure of speech is all.
Find yourself a walking, raging boner, then. A young one. College boy, maybe. You’ll have to be a bit more…energetic, shall we say?
I…, wait a minute…, am I talking to myself?
No…, you’re talking to me.
Who’s me?
I’m me. You’re you.
What’s your name?
What’s my game?
Your name! Your name!
Same as it was yesterday.
Oh, you’re infuriating!
Bit like marriage, ain’t it? Ever think that he’s tired of you? Same body, same positions, same fake screams of endearment. Could be it’s like a job to him. Could be it’s no longer a labor of love, but a tedious, tiresome ordeal that he has to get through until he’s able to clock out. Does he still love you? Do you still love him? It’s not sweaty and sticky any more, is it? Passionless, mechanical. A forced fuck. Here’s my semi hard cock, see how I still love you? Oh, yes, put it in my almost desert dry cunt, let it scrape within me, hurt me, see how I still love you? Cum in my mouth, dear, cum in my mouth. Will you please cum in my mouth for chrissake! Don’t you see what time it is? Do you know you taste of piss and bitterness? Do you know he think’s your pussy tastes like cheese and whey, with a tang of iron? Or, how he wishes you’d shave so he doesn’t have to continually spit out dry brittle pubic hair? That he would love to bring a foot pump to bed to try to inflate your flabby breasts? That’s he’s seen better nipples on 100 year old corpses? That-
Shut up! Shut up!
He wants to spank you to spice it up a bit, but he doesn’t want to hurt his hand. Your ass is too big, too dirty, don’t you wash between your cheeks? It disgusts him-
Shut up! I’m warning you!
Warning who?
You!
Who am I?
What?
Who. Am. I?
Fuck, I’m tired, I give up, who are you?
Someone.
What someone?
Can’t you guess?
Me?
No!
Who, then, who? Stop playing these games!
I’m just a girl who can’t say no…
I-what?
Whorehair?
Wait a minute-wait a fucking minute-let me think-that’s familiar, so familiar.
Tireless pussy? Brazen cunt? Walking wet hole?
Jenny?
Oh, she remembers!
Jenny? Jenny Wilson?
Bingo! Give the cunt the clap!
You’re dead!
Oh, yes, that I am!
You’re dead. You’re dead! You’re dead! Get out of my head!
Oh, a poet.
Shut up! Fucking whore.
Jack liked me. Jack fucked me. In every orifice. Jack-
He was mine, cunt! Mine!
No, he belonged to me. He stayed with you because you were good at cooking, and cleaning. He laughed at your pathetic fucks. Feeble fucks he called them. Like fucking an empty jar. Oh-
Cunt! Shut your fucking mouth!
Try to stop me. You can’t. I’m here with you. Took a lot of depravity to get here. Took a lot of pain. Worth it, though. Did you think I would go away by killing me?
I didn’t-
Oh, for fuck’s sake, don’t deny it. He showed me the truth. You were driving the car-
No! Jack was! I swear! Whoever told you that lied! I was with Mom, she fell down stairs. She broke her hip. I was at the hospital! I swear! It was Jack!
You’re lying!
No! Who told you I killed you?
He Who Rules The Pits Of Hell.
He Who-what?
It’s what he wants to be called. I dunno, sounded stupid when I first heard it as well.
That’s so…so, pulp.
He’s got a lot of Weird Tales authors down there.
But, isn’t lying his forte? Isn’t he the Father Of Lies?
No!
Yes! He is! The Devil fucked you more ways than one!
No!
Yes! Your in my mind, scan my memory, see the truth. It was Jack. Jack killed you.
Shit.
See? I wasn’t lying.
Oh, shit.
I’m waiting.
For?
An apology.
Then, I’m sorry. So, so sorry.
For possessing me?
No. For the other. I’ll go now. Leave you be. Go back to scorching pain, and eternal blisters. Find Jack, find him and-ah, fuck-find him and what? Shit,he’s already down there, how do I get revenge? Guess I’ll have eternity to figure something out. Fuck! Death ain’t fair!
Jenny? Jenny! Jenny! Come back!
Then, the world came back, and she saw the scissors, her bloody hand, and she screamed long, and loud as she turned her head and saw her husband’s blood red pajamas soaked in black red blood.

I don’t know. I swear, I don’t know!

“Are those titties?”
“Oh, yes, those are titties.”
“Those are a nice set.”
“Those, my friend, are a great set.”
“Pity she’s my Mom.”
“She’s not my Mother and I’m gonna masturbate to those two awesome visions.”
“I envy you.”
“I’m sure. Wanna go to my place, see if my sister is showering? We can both masturbate to that since I hate the preening cunt.”

Oh, I Wish I Was A Poet!

I need to poop
I need a nap
Close my eyes?
Or, take a crap?
Toilet’s upstairs
Too far away
I’m so tired
Worked hard all day
What to do?
I’m in a quandary
Take a snooze?
Or make some laundry?
Then it hit me
I’m such a dunce!
I can just do
Both at once!
I recline my chair
Unbutton my slacks
Shut my eyes
Try to relax
About to nod off
Dreaming of Meg
Something hot
Runs down my leg
It smells real bad
Must be the curry
Ah, well, I think,
No need to worry
Cos Meg’ll be home
To take care of her man
Strip me, wash me
If all goes to plan
She’s out on the town
Spending my money
this’ll be a helluva
“welcome back honey!”
Oh, the looks I got
When she came home
Her smile disappeared
Her mouth did foam
She stripped me down
In more ways than one
Made me feel small
At what I had done
She scraped my shorts
Scoured and scrubbed
washed, rinsed,and cleansed
Rub-A-Dub-Dub
She yelled and screamed
Threw the shorts in my face
They still smelled of curry
My, Such a disgrace!
You clean like an amateur
I said in disgust
Her face bloomed red
About to combust
Silently she seethed
Picked up a knife
Am I about to be
Killed by my wife?
I take it all back!
I hollered in fear
Your are the best!
My love! My dear!
Besides, if you kill me
Who’ll pay the bills?
You’ll shop no more
Have no more thrills
Put the knife down,
Let’s be like before
And I’ll promise to
Never poop no more
I’ve learned my lesson
I’m now a good chap
Pooping comes first,
Then I can nap.

Brian And Mary

“Do you smell that?”
Mary sighed. Here we go again, rolling her eyes as she popped the lid off a new bottle of Tylenol.
“Smell what, hon?”
“Cat piss. Jesus, it’s strong.” Brian said, gagging.
“We don’t have a cat, dear. Never had one.” Mary emptied the bottle of pills onto the comforter, reached in the drawer for a small plastic sandwich bag.
“You sure? I distinctly rem-”
“We had a dog, and some goldfish. Percy died last year. Run over by that psycho next door. Remember? All that commotion, fighting? Police arriving? Taking you to jail for using the baseball bat on his Mini Cooper? Anything ring a bell?” She passed each pill into the small baggie, humming as she did it.
“I was in jail? All I know is that we had a lot of stuff, Christ, a shitload of newspapers, and magazines, boxes of trinkets, and cuddly toys. Where did it all go?”
“Honey, we have this conversation just about every month now. The cats, all that junk? That was your previous life. You were an old lady named Molly Parsons. You were a hoarder, and a cat lover. You had too many cats, and not enough litter boxes. Your house reeked of cat piss, and cat shit, and mold from all those newspaper, and magazines. You fairly reeked yourself because washing was way down on your list of things to do. You were a sad, pathetic, lonely creature, and you died alone. They found you a month later, face down in cat shit.”
“So, that means I’ll never get rid of this smell? Should I just go kill myself now?”
“No, here’s some Vick’s, rub it under your nose, lay back down, and go to sleep. I have to work a double shift tomorrow” Mary jumped out of bed, squatted, and inserted the baggie of Tylenol up her ass.
Brian was flabbergasted. “What in the hell are you doing?”
“I was a mule in a previous life. Now, shut up, and go to sleep!”

Ramblings

Things That Emerge From My Mind While Driving

Her belly was bloated, colored with black, purple,yellow. She was an outie, her navel about to pop a surprise. Her breasts were like empty Walmart plastic bags, lined with black veins. Her nipples oozed thick green drainage. Her head was next door, not watching CSI:Miami. But, you know what? At a certain angle, with the lights dimmed, she looked strangely erotic. Which made me carefully take a picture, and upload it to Swollenbabes.ru
It got 250 dismembered thumbs up.

What I Don’t Want To Hear When I Take A Woman Home

“Hey, mister, there’s a Tic Tac in your pubic hair.”
“Uh, that’s not a Tic Tac.”

The beginning of a story?

I was googling how to keep flies from laying eggs on my dead wife’s vagina, when there was a knock on the door.

I was watching 70’s porn, got nostalgic.
There’s a little compartment in a wife’s brain that stores every nasty thing you did, or said, to her. 30 years ago, 30 fuckin’ years! Okay, we had a fight, Marge, and me. I walked out of the house, said to her,” takes two paychecks to pay the bills, how you gonna survive, huh?” Marge glared at me, “maybe I’ll just have to prostitute myself,” she said. And I replied, with a bit of venomous mirth, “you’ll have to lose some weight, then, won’t ya.”
30 years ago! And she still talks about it! Oh, my God!
She hasn’t aged well. Went grey 20 years before her time. Gone to fat. Eats so much chocolate, she shits Easter eggs. Watches Dr Phil, Dancin’ With The Stars, and anything with a Kardashian in it. I’m sitting in my easy chair trying to watch the Indians game, and Marge is spewing up all this nostalgia. Her mouth always constantly moving, perpetually forming words that fail to enter my ears because I’ve learned over the years how to tune her out. Once in a while, though, something forces it’s way into my head.
“‘member, George, back in September 24th, 1993, I wore those earrings that you’d bought me the previous Christmas? The ones with the Amethyst gemstones, and diamonds? You didn’t even notice, even with me throwing you hints, an all. That hurt me, George. That really hurt me. I cried myself to sleep.”
Thankfully, I thought.
“Yeah, once again, and again, and again, Marge, I’m sorry, but at least I did notice the one time when you shaved your pussy.”
Man, I was shocked. As soon as I stripped off her panties, hairless pussy.
“What in the name of fuck, Marge! You’re pussy looks like a 12 year olds!” Well, a 12 year old who’s been putting out since she was 4.
“You think I like that? Think I’m a pedo? A fuckin’ freak!”
I was incensed. Then I had an idea. Fuck this. “You lay right there, don’t you move. I’ll be right back!”
I jumped off the bed, went into the bathroom, opened the medicine cabinet, got some tweezers. Squatted. Began to pluck my ass hair. I mean, if you have to blow dry your ass after a shower, you got too much ass hair. So, I plucked, and plucked, enough to get a handful. Then I went downstairs and got some Elmer’s glue.
I’ll fix her, I thought.
She was still laying on her back, sobbing. Ah, fuck. “Shaddup, willya! I’m gonna make it right!”
So I put a little dab of Elmer’s on her pussy, stuck on a few hairs. A lil dab’ll do ya! A dab, a clump, a dab, a clump. Jesus, it was takin’ a long, long time. My dick had gone in a coma. And, pardon the pun, but, I’m one of those people who’s anal retentive. I had to get that triangle just right. Not an obtuse, or an Isosceles, I wanted an Equilateral triangle, but upside down. A real seventies magnificent bush. And the color had to be uniform, the flow of the ass hairs had to be in harmony. When I finally got it to my satisfaction, I heard snoring.
Dammit, Marge!
Hell, I thought, I’ve gone to all this work, by God, I’m not missing out. Asleep, or not, I’m going in!
Maybe if I start eating her out? Might wake her up? Won’t be rape, then? A grey area to be sure.
Fuck it. I went down on her.
And, Jesus Christ, her pussy smelled like my ass! Zest wasn’t doing it’s job. My ass wasn’t Zestfully clean. Gaggin’ I was. Nauseated.
And then I found out that Elmer’s glue doesn’t adhere well to pussy sweat, for a lot of the ass hair stuck to my face. When I ran to the bathroom to throw up, and wash the fuck out of my face, I saw myself in the mirror. I had this weird lookin’ ass hair mustache. Reminded me of the mustache John Holmes wore. Holmes was a porn star. Had a massive cock. Was a massive cock. He used his when golfing. Substituted it for his 9 iron. Even parred all the way. He probably used it as deadly weapon in the Wonderland murders. I remember watching Insatiable, where he was so coked up, he could hardly get it up. His mustache looked just like mine.
“George! George! Are you listening?”
Uh,no.
“George, drone-drone-drone——-”
Time to get back to the game.

Rubber Dolly

My Mama told me
If I was goody
That she would buy me
A rubber Dolly
But when she gave me
The rubber Dolly
It wasn’t the one
I saw in Hustler

I Am Heavy With Child

 

 

Tasty, though.

 

 

 

 

From A Highly Dysfunctional Brain Again

Benny was puzzled, and disturbed.

“Grandpa? Why’s Granny still sitting on the couch? She’s been dead three days.”

Grandpa Beeling snaps his Morning Journal. “You see any flies dive bombing me while I’m reading the paper?”

“No”

“There you go, then.”

A Man Is Interviewed On The Street about the Lottery

“Excuse me, sir? I’d like to ask you a few questions?”
“Yes? What about?”
” Do you play the lottery?”
“Yes, play them all. Big Mega Millions jackpot tonight!”
“Well, we’re interviewing people on the street to ask what they would do if they won the $95 million dollar jackpot”
“Man, if I won that, I’d pay off all my bills. My family and friends would be debt free. I’d Take a vacation somewhere nice and warm, with a beautiful beach, and a deep blue sea. I also order a ton of Extenze.”
“Excuse me?”
” Well, I’m sure you’ve seen the commercials? Natural Male enhancement? I’ll last longer, perform better?”
“Yeeesssss-“
” Well, have you seen the price of it? Way beyond my budget. So, what I did was, I ordered something more along the line of generic, online. I think it originated in one of the Slovak countries, but, the batch I got probably came via Chernobyl.”
“I don’t understand.”
” It had the opposite effect. It’s bloody embarrassing to tell the truth, but, did you ever see those old school films showing the School nurse going through a child’s hair with a fine tooth comb? That’s what it was like on date night. She’d be combing through me pubic hair asking am I gettin’ any closer, hon? and I’d be like you’re not even close, Honey Dew, may as well give it up and get that thing out of your bedside drawer. I just put new batteries in it.”
“Honey Dew?”
“Wha-oh, that’s my pet name for my wife. It’s the second one actually cos she didn’t like the first one.”
“What was the first one?”
“Cunt.”

A Man Is Interviewed On The Street About His Tax Refund

“Excuse me sir, may I have permission to interview you for Channel 5 news? We’re doing a segment on what people will be spending their tax refund on this year.”

“Yeah, sure, and hey, I gotta tell you, that piece you did on skimpy bathing suits during sweeps week? Boy, did I use a lot of tissues! It literally was a real pleasure to watch.”

“—um—ok—thanks?”

“You’re blushing. Must be real bad if I can notice through all that pancake mixture on your face. Why use so much cement? Hide the wrinkles, laugh lines, cancerous spots? You TV people get a discount at Lowes, Home Depot?'”

“It’s—it’s—ah—never mind. Your name please?”

“Miles. Miles Pulsalot”

“Are you kidding?”

“Wish I was. High school was a nightmare. Could be worse, though, could be Miles Suxcocsalot.”

“Ok—Mr—uh—may I call you Miles?”

“Sure, why not, as long as I can call you later.”

“Ack!—cough—sputter—Miles, what are you going to spend your tax refund on this year?”

“That’s easy. A Real Doll”

“A what? A doll?

“No, a Real Doll. Don’t you know what that is? Never heard of it? No? Oh, well, you know what a blow up doll is, yes?”

“Yeeeess.”

“A Real Doll is a thousand times better. More realistic. I’m gonna save a lot of money over time, even if it is expensive to buy in the short term. All my refund’s going to that baby.”

“How so?”

“Well, I calculated how much I spent on crack whores this past year, and, wow, I got the shock of my life. Renting the whore, buying the crack, using all that gas going to the free clinic, antibiotics. A Real Doll’s gonna save me major bucks, plus she’ll be disease free, and I’ll never have to worry about getting arrested, and, or imprisoned for purchasing crack. Never have to see a slum, or ghetto again, unless I accidentally watch CNN, nuthin’ but positive all way around. Why I didn’t think of it before is beyond me. Probably due to all those STD’s. How come nobody’s come up with a chem strip that can be inserted into a woman’s vagina that can tell you whether she’s clean, or not? Focusing too much on boners, I’ll bet.”

“Chr–I mean, can’t you show just a little respect for women?”

“I do respect women. I respect my Mom, and my sisters, Angie, and Rachel, hey, you two, keep ’em closed, remember Betsy and her fertile womb, don’t travel that hellacious road. Betsy’s got more kids than there are pundits on Fox, and CNN. That’s another plus for a Real Doll, no missed monthly’s, no wailing, peeing, pooping blobs of brainless life sucking, wallet emptying shysters who take up space like huge bowel movements blocking a toilet. Flush ’em if ya got ’em, I say.”

“God, I’ll bet you voted for Him.”

“Obama? Sure did. I voted for hope and change, got the same old, same old.”

“You know who I mean—“

“Does his name rhyme with rump, speaking of which, you have a nice one. Round and firm. I DVR’d your sweeps week segment on the best beaches, and that thong bikini was spectacular. TV screen is globby, now with so muc-“

“Stop! Just stop!”

“Oh, yes, I did get a little off track, there, didn’t I? I respect Shelia at work. She’s nice, and kind, and helpful, got a body on her, she does. She squatted down to pick up some papers she dropped and I got a glimpse of her Hanes Her Way’s. Thank God there’s private bathrooms at work-“

“Jesus, how many times”

“How many times, what?”

“Do you masturbate? Seems like every minute.”

“As much as any man, I guess. Ask your cameraman. Hey, buddy, how many times do you stroke it?”

“Don’t answer! Don’t answer!”

“Fine, fine, anyway, crack whores-“

“Sex workers!”

“Crack sex workers doesn’t have the same resonance, loses something, rhythmic I’d say. It wasn’t always like that, you know. I would get a regular wh-sex worker, but every time I dropped my pants, they’d coo, and say “aw, look at the widdle pee-pee, look at the widdle pee-pee!” Didn’t give refunds, either. Now a crack whore, sorry, it’s easier on the tongue, well she’ll not say anything, won’t be no laughing, joking, and she’ll do anything. During the first phase of negotiations, she’ll tell me which orifice is off limits, but as soon as I show her the baggies of Heaven, she’ll strip, lay on the floor, spread her lips, her cheeks, and have her mouth wide open for some-“

“Jesus Christ, you are a horrible man!”

“Why, because I like to fuck?”

“You’re a misogynist! A sexist pig! God, you’re as bad as my co-workers!”

“Oh, slip up there, hey? Lucky this isn’t live, huh. Can edit it out. No-one will be the wiser.”

“Fuck you, you woman hating little piece of shit!”

“Now wait a minute, woman hating? What else is the vagina for, hmmm? Inserting a penis, and expelling a bundle of joyless globs you all call children? You’re married, aren’t you? You let hubby inside, or is it just your fingers, dildos, and various vegetables?”

“How dare you!”

“Cammyman thought it was funny.”

“Leonard, stop laughing! Stop it! Men, you’re all the same! Sex, sex, sex on the brain!”

“My Victoria won’t be like you-“

“What? Who’s Victoria?”

“My Real Doll, it’ll be the name I give her when she’s finally purchased. Now, before your mind goes to the gutter, I’m not naming her after the panties, I’m naming her after Queen Victoria, give her a certain royal mystique, though maybe I should change it since she can’t move on her own, or anything, lifeless, inanimate, so, maybe change her name to Princess Di, well, the Princess Di after the crash-“

“Jesus! You sick bastard!”

“Too soon? Would you like to hear a holocaust joke instead?”

“I don’t want to hear anything else from you, you, you, arrrgghhh, you make me sick!”

“Not gonna make the cut, then?’

“No, Hell no!”

“Ah, well, your loss. Goodnight everybody!”

A Man Is Interviewed On The Street

A Man Is Interviewed On The Street

 

 

“Excuse me, sir? I’d like to ask you a few questions?”

“’bout what?”

“Disciplining your dog”

“Oh, aye, I discipline it alright. Bloody chihuahuas are a cantankerous, pigheaded breed.”

“How do you discipline it?”

“Shock collar. As soon as she squats on the carpet, zap!”

“Oh my-isn’t that rather extreme?”

” If I discipline me kids to behave, I surely can teach that damn dog.”

“Your kids?”

“Yah, two sons, ages 7 and 8, and daughter, 16. Best behaved kids in the world. They’ll never open your fridge without askin’, or, switch the channel on your tv, they behave proper alright.”

“You use a shock collar on them?”

“Leave off, missus. Nah, I put ’em over me knee, pull their pants down and spank ’em!”

“You do that to your children? Oh my God!”

“Well, yeah, pain and shame quickly puts ’em right.”

“You do that to your daughter? Your 16 year old daughter?”

“Yeah, why?”

“She’s sixteen!”

“And? She deserves spec- wait a minute, are you implyin’-wait a bloody minute! Get your mind out the gutter-that’s me daughter- tho, there was one time I got a partial stiffie when I was spankin the 8 year old, but, that’s because there was a classic scene coming up when I were watching Debbie Does Dallas on the VCR-“

“That’s terrible!”

“Oh, I know, but I can’t afford a DVD, or, Blu-Ray player-“

“No! It’s terrible that your exposing your 8 year old son to pornography!”

“Why’s that, then? He’s learnin ’bout the birds an’ bees, ain’t he? And etiquette. I were watchin’ Anal Desires 14, when I hit Tommy on the noggin’ and says to him, I says’ ‘ere see what he’s doin? You knock first before you go in the back door.”

“Oh, my God!.”

“Truth be told. I were on the PC watching some slap and tickle, an I read all those message boards, an’ everyone sayin’ try anal, try anal! It’s fantastic! An’ you know, Ethel, me wee woman, well, she’s more of a layin’ on yer back kinda woman, except this one time we were at Tracies weddin’ an she got a bit tipsy, well, actually, she were walkin’ sideways. We got a wee bit amorous when we got home, and as she laying there, moanin’, or snorin’, I couldn’t quite tell really cos her moans and snores sound the same an’ all. Anyway, I say’s hey Et, any chance I could come in through the back door, and she went, hrrump, which I took for yes, so I did. I’m not sure if it’s marital rape, but, the next week Et was so sore back there, and she did some bleedin’, but luckily for me, she thought it was her ‘roids, and used some cream.”

“That’s awful!”

“It sure is. The smell of that stuff is really strong.”

“No! You misunderstand-“

“Listen, I shouldn’t be sayin’ this, but, you know how you watch some of the old in an out on the PC, and it kinda gets boring after a while? So, you go check out the more, well, specialty sites? Y’know? All that tying up, and peeing, an’ dressin’ up, an’ all that? Well, I got on this site called Animal Love, and it was showin’ some rather risque pictures and film of all these dogs dressed up in frilly knickers an’ stuff, and I read the message boards and everyone sayin’ ya gotta try bangin’ a dog once. It’s incredible! See, Lady, me wee chihuahua, well, I’ve been noticing how she walks, see. The way she has her tail up, in a come hither way. I fear for her y’see”

“You! You! Y-“

” Now, don’t worry, I’ve learned me lesson. I bought KY jelly. She’ll hardly feel a thing.”

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