| Tuesday, January 30, 2007 |
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The stories in my head |
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I have some story ideas that roll around in my head, gathering dust, momentum, details. Yesterday I added a snippet to that collection in my noggin and I nearly peed myself laughing about it last night at FSB. The hubby saw a huge black dildo on the side of the road yesterday and called to tell me about it(isn't that sweet!). Where? I demanded. I drove there and went up and down this short stretch of highway just south of Lawrence. I parked the truck and ran up and down the ditch with a camera in my hand. Someone beat me to it. I thought about calling the sherriff to see if they picked it up. I NEEDED to know about it. I went home, dejected. I want to know the story of how a huge, VEINED, plastic dick ended up on the side of the road. I also want to know how it came to be that it was no longer on the side of the road. Who in their right mind would pick it up? The hubby informed me that Douglas County is full of weirdos like me and that I am not nearly as unique as I would like to think. Sad. The story of the huge member and its journey is percolating in my mind. Could it have been stuffed with drugs like the smuggling dildoes in Son of the Circus? Was there a terrible fight in a car zooming down Douglas County Route 458 between a couple, and while driving erratically, he grabbed her buzzing friend (of whom he is jealous), smacked her across the face with it, and flung it out the window into the cold winter night? Was it part of some erotic treasure hunt leading to a crazy orgy at a nearby farmhouse? Perhaps we should have a contest to see who can write the best story for the wayward dildo. Any takers? My other favorite glimpse of story that I want to use is an ironic tale of a bad man who spits on the ground. I hate spitters. It is disgusting, and unclean. I had a very old health book that cautioned "it is not wise to spit about the home or in public places". I copied that page and hung it up everywhere I could, which was mostly near campus and The Crossing. The ironic part comes in the demise of my protagonist when he slips on one of his own lung cookies that he carelessly deposited on the ground and dies from the fall. Asshole shouldn't have been spitting on the ground - it's not wise.
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| posted by Rosie @ 1/30/2007 09:55:00 AM |
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2 Comments:
At 1:47 PM,
Anonymous said…
I woke up this morning with a bad hangover
And my penis was missing again.
This happens all the time.
It's detachable.
This comes in handy a lot of the time.
I can leave it home, when I think it's gonna get me in trouble,
or I can rent it out, when I don't need it.
But now and then I go to a party, get drunk,
and the next morning I can't for the life of me
remember what I did with it.
First I looked around my apartment, and I couldn't find it.
So I called up the place where the party was,
they hadn't seen it either.
I asked them to check the medicine cabinet
'cause for some reason I leave it there sometimes
But not this time.
So I told them if it pops up to let me know.
I called a few people who were at the party,
but they were no help either.
I was starting to get desperate.
I really don't like being without my penis for too long.
It makes me feel like less of a man,
and I really hate having to sit down every time I take a leak.
After a few hours of searching the house,
and calling everyone I could think of,
I was starting to get very depressed,
so I went to the Kiev, and ate breakfast.
Then, as I walked down Second Avenue towards St. Mark's Place,
where all those people sell used books and other junk on the street,
I saw my penis lying on a blanket
next to a broken toaster oven.
Some guy was selling it.
I had to buy it off him.
He wanted twenty-two bucks, but I talked him down to seventeen.
I took it home, washed it off,
and put it back on. I was happy again. Complete.
People sometimes tell me I should get it permanently attached,
but I don't know.
Even though sometimes it's a pain in the ass,
I like having a detachable penis.
At 2:05 PM,
Wirely said…
Maybe the previous owner left the dildo on the top of the car. Perhaps her hands were full with dildoes and she had to put one or two on the top of the car in order to unlock it. Upon getting in and securing the rest, she forgot to stand again and retrieve her favorite, leaving the forgotton friend to try, desperately to remain on the car's roof, only to be thrown clear at some unforgiving bump in the road.
I'm sure there's a happy ending, though, where the lost dildo is recovered by a lonely heart, bereft and dildo-less. In the midst of soaring violin serenades, the two previously star-crossed lovers are reunited in an eternity of coital bliss.
Perhaps. :-)
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