Before the Clown Stops Queefing

Billy Joe Pooloafer was probably the last guy I expected to see climbing off my wife. Our breakup had started some five years ago. I remember the exact moment, I was headed out of town on a business trip. If you’ve ever had people come to your door to sell you magazines, thats called a mag crew. I ran one of those. I would recruit homeless people, kids who had run away, people with no hope left, anyone who couldn’t get a normal job. I’d drive them to different towns in a huge old school bus that was supplied by my boss. I won’t tell you his name, only that he and half his entourage had been driven out of the country over ten years ago. Currrently he lives in Uruguay on a giant plantation. Anyway, I was leaving to take the mag crew out the next morning so that night I made my wife a nice dinner of breaded chicken and a double size bottle of wine. We drank and mowed through the chicken and then started frolicking on the stove. We turned the burner to low and we were kissing and then I ripped a fart accidentally. She stopped kissing me and started gagging. Earlier that day I had eaten a ton of wasabi peas and a bunch of unripe nectarines. She ran over to the sliding door and opened it to breathe fresh air. When she was done I was laying on the couch with my underwear off. She looked at me with disgust and told me to take a shower and not to forget to shove the soap up my ass. I went to my computer instead and whacked it to some downloaded porno.
We didn’t speak to each other for the rest on the night. In the morning when I was ready to leave she finally said something. “I may or may not be here when you get back.” Well that was some quick thinking I told her and I left.
That night I tried to call her from the road and just got a busy signal. I took it as a sign that we were not on speaking terms so I hit the bar with some of my crew and we kept drinking and drinking. I heard later that I passed out under the pool table. My workers had carried me back to the bus on their shoulders and hosed the puke off my clothes.
The next morning I tried to call again and she answered.
“Jacob, its fuking six thirty in the morning,” she said.
“Baby, first thing, I wanted to apologize for ripping that fart.”
“No you’re not, you were laughing.”
“I wasn’t laughing. I was shaking in embarrassment. Anyway, it’s past. I can’t wait to get back home and see you. You’ll still be there right?”
“Yeah. I’ll be here. We’re gonna have some talking to do though.”
“I know. I’m gonna try and change, its just hanging around with all these losers all day effects me.”
“I’ll see you when you get home. I’m gonna get back to sleep.”
“OK. Bye Snookums.” I hung up the phone and took a swig of menudo smoothee. We had a real good pull that day. A couple people from the crew never returned though. We headed to the next town the following morning.
On our fifth night I took everyone out to dinner at Fuckys Beer & Tits. I had the pelted vartsteak and a huge mug of Fire Piss. One of the crew, Helga, started playing footsies with me. I kept pushing her foot away until she took her shoes off and rubbed my inner thigh. Well I got a little excited an pulled out my pud. She pulled off her stocking and started caressing my wang. I kept drinking and eating and then I busted a nut covering the entire underside of the table. I stuffed the general back in and ran to the bathroom. I heard screaming and clanging iron back in the dining room and when I came out there were three dudes in chain mail armor with swords and crossbows fighting back a huge chlorine smelling white slime. I put a hundred on the cash register and we took off back to the KOA.
The next morning we headed back home. I dropped the winos off with their earnings at the liquor distributors. The junkies got out at the alley behind Safeway. And then Helga and I stopped by the river for some brisk skinny dipping. We replayed the previous night but this time I only felt guilty. I stopped early and told her that it wasn’t right. She got pissed and pulled out a bike chain and started swinging it at me. I grabbed it and ripped it away from her. Her hands were bleeding so I covered them with petroleum jelly and wrapped them with galvanized fencing. She apologized and I dropped her off in front of her uncle’s.
I drove back home rehearsing what I was gonna say to my wife. I didn’t want to apologize anymore. What I wanted to do came straight from that movie with Mikhail Douglas where he opens the door and the girl throws herself at him and he tears her clothes off and she tears his clothes off and they cornhole till the cows come home. It didn’t happen quite like that. When I broke the door down with my dong she was there alright, but she was already partially nude waiting for me. Or so I thought. I ran over and jumped on her. But while I was in mid air a band of gypsies emerged from behind the door and grabbed me and stapled me to the ceiling. My wife was stapled to the floor with a kiwi fruit in her mouth and a celery stick out her ass. The leader of the gypsys pulled his mask off and he had three ears.
“This is your lucky day, Mr. Krevoks. Your wife and I were just talking about you. Now if you’d kindly give us the combination to her chastity belt we’ll be going.”
“Forty seven.”

  • By Yep, May 14, 2005 @ 4:20 am

    Fuck yep!

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