What Ye Plow, Ye Shall Beef

“Wait one chicken fukin second fukram, what is your sock doing in my glovebox?” said Wilson.
“I was using it to huff the tire inflator,” said Sir Jenkinz.
“Oh. Well throw it away when you are done. If my girlfriend finds that she’ll think I’m back on the huff again and she’ll throw away all the hornet killer.”
“Sorry Wilson, I was pretty fuked up when I got back. Let me look around to see if I left anything else.”
Sir Jenkinz reached under the drivers seat and pulled out a magazine. He popped the trunk and picked up his four foot bong.
“Whoah, some night you had,” said Wilson, “Who was the lucky lady?”
“Can you say eight hookers? I got paid yesterday.”
“Apparently. What, you drive down to the river and have a picnic and then a little plowman’s desert?”
“Very funny. Actually I rented one of those teepees on the Indian reservation.”
“I’ve always wanted to do that,” said Wilson, “maybe I’ll have to get that number from you.”
“Its a piece of cake, just go to the website. There’s all kinds. I ordered the Chief Weaseldick special. Thats six hookers, twenty bottles of wine, a half case of fine blunts, and a fukload of strawberries and cherries and whipped cream.”
“I thought you had eight hookers?”
“Yeah. I warmed up with one one the way. Thats where the dent in the roof came from.”
“Oh,” said Wilson, “don’t worry about that, I’ll have Levi pull it out.”
“I figured you would. When I get my van back, I’ll let you take it out and hump your girlfriend on the roof. There’s a meteor shower coming up next month. Hopefully it will be ready.”
“I told you to go to Golden Joe’s. My transmission was totally fuked up and they rebuilt it for less than you probably spent last night.”
“Oh I doubt that. I got an Entertainment Book from my cousin for Christmas. Probably one of the best gifts I’ve ever gotten. They got coupons for everything.”
“Yeah we always talk about getting one, but not for the hookers. I don’t play that anymore. But I’m seriously considering getting my dick shrunk.”
“Are you talking about getting your dick shrunk again? What does your girlfriend think about this?”
“She’s into it. I figure if I can take it down to two inches stiff then I can save a bundle on underwear and condoms.”
“Really. How much? I mean annualy?”
“At least four bucks a year. Sure that doesn’t sound like a ton, but that shit adds up. If you count all the seconds saved in inconvenience. No more wearing goggles when we make love, no more stepping on it when I go piss at night, no more soggy cieling.”
“Well you do what you have to do, but I would never let anyone near my dong with a sharp object.”
“Oh, they do it with radio waves now. Actually its a very simple process. You can get the home kit on the internet. Its got a DVD and everything. You can see the demo online. Anyway, I gotta finish waxing, I’m taking Marla out tonight.”
“Fresh. If you want that number to the teepees, let me know.”
“Tits bro, I will.”
“See ya.” Wilson turned on the water and sprayed down the car. He applied a fine coat of turtle spunk and polished it with the orbital polish master. Marla walked out of the house.
“Was that Sir Jenkinz?” said Marla.
“Yeah, he just came by to get a screwdriver.”
“Did you let him borrow our car again?”
“No. Baby I’ve got to finish this so that I can take a shower.”
“You did. You let that ratscratcher borrow it. Did he fuk it up?”
“The car is fine. He needed it to take his great aunt to the hospital.”
“Sure. If you believe that tripe than I’ve got a swamp for you to drain in Cleveland.”
“Baby, I’m almost done. I’ll be inside in a couple of minutes.”
“Alright. I’m gonna get ready then.”
“Wait for me to shower, though.”
“Sorry, you lost that privilege, remember,” said Marla. She walked back into the house and turned on the shower. The bathroom steamed up and smelled like rotting farts. Marla closed the door and poured some cold cranberry juice. She tuned the stereo to her favorite station. Radio Poongristle, an eclectic mix queefs and beats. She stripped down to her underwear and laid back on her exercise ball. The song ended and the VJ announced the time.
“Its six forty seven, time for intervals,” said the VJ, “and a one and queef and a two and queef and a one and queef and a three and queef. Now keep going while I switch the record.”
Marla queefed for a bit and then got tired of it. She went into the bathroom and pissed and then got into the shower.
Wilson turned off his buffer and dropped a little water on the hood. It looked good, just like in the infomercials. The water beaded up and slid right off. In fact he could barely see where Sir Jenkinz had dented the roof the night before. Wilson drove the car back into the garage and popped the hood. He opened the radiator and snaked his four foot dick down into the inner workings. At first the car started caughing but then the motor slowly started to purr. Wilson jammed his dick further down and now it was half way to the engine block. He plunged it back and forth and then pulled it out. It was covered with soot and grease but the car was running much better now. He walked out to the curb and spun around in a circle. The grease flung onto the sidewalk and into the street.
Mrs. Knudsoftie slid open her front window and yelled at Wilson.
“Looks like you could use a little cleaning up. Why don’t you come inside and I’ll scrub that appendage till it barks for mercy?” she said.
“No thanks. I’ve got to get ready for my date.”
“Well if you ever get bored, you know where to find me.”
“We both know that will never happen Mrs. Knudsoftie,” said Wilson, “did you still need that crescent wrench?”
“Yeah, I’m still having trouble with the hamster cage. Everytime I fix it, Carlton chews through the wiring again.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
Wilson walked into the house and jumped into the shower. Marla was washing the conditioner out of her hair.
“Honey, the drain is stuck again.”

  • By grasshead, April 24, 2005 @ 11:59 am

    fuckin tits, I say, fuckin TITS

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