Monthly Archives: October 2006

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New Dance Craze

The Foley Pokey

You put your leering in,
You pull your penis out,
You put your lotion on,
And you shake it all about.
You do the Foley Pokey
When you whip a page around,
That’s what it’s all about.

You put your right wing in,
You pull your trick bag out,
You put Clinton’s name in
And you shake it all about.
You do the Foley Pokey
And you turn the blame around,
That’s what it’s all about.

You type some vowels in,
You take your penis out,
You wrap your fist around it,
And you shake it all about.
You do the Foley Pokey
And you give a reach around,
That’s what it’s all about.

You want your penis in,
You send some IM’s out,
You feel those tingles begin,
And you shake the jism out.
You do the Foley Pokey
And you wipe it all around,
That’s what it’s all about.

You put your game face on,
You send you’re sorry’s out,
You blast your last load in,
And you squirt it all about.
You do the Foley Pokey
And blame those not around,
That’s what it’s all about.

Too Much Information

I call days like this weasels rip my flesh days. Have you ever had a tick or something equally repugnant like an in-law or politician touch you and you get skived out for hours afterwards? That’s today. Nothing big just a bunch of crap.

One guy had to tell me about his heart attack and how stressed he was that he hadn’t paid us yet. Ah, pal, did you learn nothing from that explosion in your chest? A fat guy, shirt-less fat guy I’ll add to roil your tummy a bit, leaned on the counter while talking to me and left a moist stench patch. I felt bad for the woman who came in while I was getting a mop (yes, a mop was necessary) and put her bag on top of the slick.A woman told me how bad her vacation was because, and this was the complaint she went on for about five minutes with, she had a bad meal. Not a ‘get thee to the vomitoruim’ bad meal. She just didn’t like the way it was garnished. The cad! Holy shit. Misplaced parsley would ruin your vacation? That wouldn’t even ruin my meal. But I always ask for extra parsley. I’m wacky that way.

Then this one guy walked in. He’s been a tenant for six, eight months now and we’ve had no major conversations so I’ve had no major distress with him. That is until today.

He starts talking about how hung over he is. He tells me he and his wife went to an ‘event’ last night. He put a little too much emphasis on ‘event’ so I knew that was an opener for him. He was about to open up to me. He was about to tell me something I know damn sure I don’t want to hear. But has that ever stopped anyone? No, it hasn’t. And today didn’t look like an exceptionally lucky day for me.

He tells me that the ‘event’ he and his wife have enjoyed so over the years was a swingers party. He begins to explain what a swingers party is but I stop him and say that I have the internet and, even if I wasn’t quite up to speed on the sexual mores of bored suburbanites, I’m sure I could get photographic evidence that would, graphically I suppose, explain it to me.

Even with that time saving device unloaded his conversation was interminable. I don’t know how often your friends tell you about their sexual life but, even if they tell you everything, even you’d find it mighty creepy to have a stranger spinning stories about his wife’s love of certain ‘events’ to take place in specific ‘locations.’

I’m wondering how I’m going to keep a straight face when she walks in next time. But I will say I won’t ever ask her to share a Butterfinger (if you don’t understand that last sentence go look at a Butterfinger candy bar and I’m sure you’ll get the scent of what that meant).

Suddenly, he stops and gets serious. He has a concern he needs to get off his chest. He goes on to say he’s not sure where his wife’s head is at. Oh sure he was fine when they’re porking strange meat every week but now that she wants to start role playing he has concerns.

I could tell he wanted me to get involved in his conversation. After all, if he’s proven nothing, it’s that he likes to share. So I ask,

“Like you dress like Rommel while she’s done up as Mayor McCheese and she complains about your special order? ”

I ask not really caring but I was distracted by his presence. I’m not sure he enjoyed my placing that image in his head but I didn’t care. Look what he was stuffing into my ear hole.

He talks for a few minutes while I stand there wondering why he’s telling me this. I know it happens all the time but it’s never made sense to me. I know they don’t know they’ve just become part of my routine but it makes me wonder if they tell everyone they meet.

“Ah, yes, I’d like a pound of American sliced thin and my wife wants me to dress up like Papa Smurf and beat her with a bratwurst. That reminds me, can you add a brat to my order?”

I can tell he’s wrapping it up, not a moment too soon, when he asks,

“I wonder who invented sex games?”

“Milton/Bradley.” The guy stares at me as I nod enthusiastically. “It was more Milton really. He was a perv. Bradley was a good guy. But Milton. . .” I shake my head and let the image of Pornopoly rattle around his head while he furrows his brow at me and leaves.

Hmmmmmm, Pornopoly. Pass Gonorrhea and get $200. I’m sure if I don’t run into Bradley Milton will purchase this puppy.