It’s 8:41 and Doug had already been on the road nearly 45 minutes, for what’s normally a 25-minute commute. And with traffic as it was, he couldn’t see making the office before 9:10, maybe 9:15. Maybe later.
On most any other day the accident, the rubber-necking, the roadwork—none of it would have been that big a deal. On any other day it would have been annoying—sure. An inconvenience—certainly. But today, of all days, it could well end up calamitous for Douglas Croton.
All this shit had to happen today, didn’t it? Had to be the day we’re closing the goddamn Collins deal!!! he thought to himself, as the pocket-sized goats pranced along his arm, from shoulder to fingers, and back again.
“Oh Honeeeeeyyy…I’m home! And I found this fantastic robe at T.J. Maxx! Isn’t it just darling?! And doesn’t it make me look so slim and sexy? And guess how much it was! No guess…”
Charlotte zoned out of the conversation, as that unsettling feeling welled up within her once again. Maybe it was nothing, she half-heartedly hoped against hope. Maybe I’m wrong! Maybe I’m wrong, and my mom, sister and all of my girlfriends are right about Christopher.
Yet, no matter how hard she tried to focus on him as he giddily told of his new favorite color of nailpolish while curling his golden locks around his index finger, the thought overtook her once again: Might my husband be gay?!
Calling all ladies. Yeah, that means you, dollface! As of right about…NOW…Chuck Ivory is a free man! Free to roam the sexy singles scene once again, and roam he shall. Grrrrr…
Check the hair. Check the glasses. Check the lollipop. Now check this: I’m a wildcat on the prowl, and you, my dear, are lookin’ like one savory piece of female flesh to me right about now. Hot stuff! Mee-owww!!
So, if you don’t mind cleaning up after a guy who has little or no control over his bowels, and are longing for the kind of tender touch that will make your toes curl, then don’t walk—run—on over here, pronto. Capice? Just be careful not to slip on my shit.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll tell you what…” mumbled Walter as he lit his 99-cent cigarillo, its weedy stench stinging Timmy’s nose. “You give me, say, five bucks—no, no—make it three, and I’ll drink a whole bottle of Drano, right in front of your little classmates. How’s that sound, kid?”
Back on the Cessna, the fellas were having a grand ol’ time, slapping each others’ backs as they chortled with delight over their prank. Somehow, they convinced Jake that it was okay to do his first skydive solo! But they only pulled the prank because they knew that out of anyone in their circle—hell, maybe anyone in the whole state of Missouri—Jake had the wherewithal to pull it off. He had been trained well, and they knew that he too would laugh, once they met up with him back on terra firma.
Just then, Kyle, through tears of laughter, managed to utter, “And instead of a parachute, I filled his pack with toiletries!!”
“I’m Santa Claus, and I’ve got a little something in my sack for all the good girls out there…if you know what I mean. Do you? Are you catching my drift here? It’s a double entendre with a sexual connotation. “Sack” could refer to a bag filled with toys—the kind Santa Claus carries. But because of the fact that I’m young and handsome and making no attempt to actually look like Santa, except for the hat and collar, “sack” could be referring to my underpants, and the little something, my penis. Except it’s not little, at all. It’s very big actually. Anyway, as it turns out, my sack is indeed a big bag filled with toys. I’m a eunich.”
Good ol’ gramps. Of course, we make sure to keep him confined to a dark room most of the time, where we force-feed him bran products. But every now and then the daft buzzard manages to slip out of his shackles and make his way to the basement, where we’ll find him flailing away at an enema filled with his own urine. Crazy coot! We do love him though, and boy can he take a punch!
Gabe viewed the ad with some skepticism at first, but after getting to the part about feeling “like Superman,” he was hooked. After all, what red-blooded male doesn’t want to pretend that he’s strong, without actually having strength? And is there a guy alive who wouldn’t want to be able to hump a plank upon which seven sturdy men sit, while remaining a total weakling?!