If this is your first visit, be sure to check out the FAQ by clicking the link above. You may have to register before you can post: click the register link above to proceed. To start viewing messages, select the forum that you want to visit from the selection below. |
|
|
Thread Tools | Display Modes |
#1
|
|||
|
|||
Raincoat (Way OT) (Long)
Before I start this lurid tale, I would like to assure you that the
following is the plain, unvarnished truth, completely unembellished with artistic flourishes, hyperbole, or other devices employed by the tellers of tales with the aim of either adorning an otherwise bald and uninteresting narrative or an underhanded attempt at leading the gullible down the primrose path and shoving him over a cliff. In other words, true story. :-| (notice the straight face). Anywho, last summer I bought a Honda CR-V just for bouncing around out in the desert. As it is neither new enough to require frequent cleaning nor used enough to get very dirty inside anyway, it wasn't until yesterday evening I decided to give it a good dusting inside. As there were quite a few nooks and crannies involved, some of which had begun growing some interesting crops, I found one place that apparently had not been cleaned in years. I saw a flash of metal between the back seats, stuck my fingers down in between, and fished out what we euphemistically called a 'raincoat' when I was a kid, upgraded to 'rubber' when I got older, and which is currently known as a 'condom,' still in the original package. I kind of grunted to myself and tossed it into the trash can I had brought along. But when I finished cleaning the interior, I noticed there hadn't been enough debris to cover the artifact. Said package still lay there for all the world to see. Well, maybe not the whole world, but Patty was sure to see it. Here I should digress and inform you that Patty and I had never used one of those things, hence it would look more than suspicious for one to turn up now. The only time I ever saw one up close was when I found two of them in my parents' dresser drawer when I was about five. I had no idea what they were, of course, but my older brother (17) did. He said they were chewing gum. It didn't take me long to find out they were no such thing, much to my brother's hilarity. When I tried to persuade my friend Gerald that they were chewing gum, he just sneered at my ignorance. He said they were to put on your wee-wee so you wouldn't wet the bed. He knew because he'd walked into the bathroom one night and saw his daddy putting one on, and that's what his daddy told him. It didn't take long for me to discover that was false, too, mainly because it was designed for grownups and not little kids. It was like trying to fill a grocery sack with a radish. That remained a head scratcher for years. I would have tried to blow it up like a balloon, but by then I had tried it on my wee-wee and decided against it. By the time I got old enough to realize what condoms were for, I wanted children. Then when Patty and I got married, she told me she couldn't have children. That's why neither she nor I had ever used one. So now I was in a fine pickle. If I threw it away and she saw me, she would want to know what I was trying to hide. If I kept it and she found it, that was even worse. By then I was getting red in the face and tongue-tied just thinking about trying to tell her what I'd found, and, of course, that made me look even guiltier. I got so bumfuzzled trying to figure it out I didn't hear her walk up behind me. Writers of pulp fiction have often used the device of 'ominous silence' to build up suspense. I assure you it exists. Don't tell me you can't hear silence you can cut with a knife, because I heard it yesterday for the first time in my life. That Patty was standing behind me with that rubber in her hand was a foregone conclusion. Little daggers were zapping me right behind the left ear. A dozen scenarios played themselves out in my mind, none of which came to a satisfactory conclusion, 'satisfactory conclusion' being defined as my getting out of this alive: "Oh, I see you have that whatever-it-is I found in the car." Hunh-uh. "Is that yours?" In a menacing, angry voice. Nope; even less. "Where did you find that?" Better, but not foolproof. It had been lying out in plain sight when she found it. "Huh. I wonder where that. . .?" No. I slowly turned around, ready to feign surprise at suddenly seeing her there. She wasn't there; she was still in the house. What had worried me so was my own imagination, and I hadn't even done anything! Weak with relief I walked over to the big garbage can and shoved my find way down deep. If she found it I would blame her brother, John. |
#2
|
|||
|
|||
ROFLMAO!
Glad to see you a)pusting again and b)that you haven't changed a bit! Yowie "David Yehudah" wrote in message ... Before I start this lurid tale, I would like to assure you that the following is the plain, unvarnished truth, completely unembellished with artistic flourishes, hyperbole, or other devices employed by the tellers of tales with the aim of either adorning an otherwise bald and uninteresting narrative or an underhanded attempt at leading the gullible down the primrose path and shoving him over a cliff. In other words, true story. :-| (notice the straight face). Anywho, last summer I bought a Honda CR-V just for bouncing around out in the desert. As it is neither new enough to require frequent cleaning nor used enough to get very dirty inside anyway, it wasn't until yesterday evening I decided to give it a good dusting inside. As there were quite a few nooks and crannies involved, some of which had begun growing some interesting crops, I found one place that apparently had not been cleaned in years. I saw a flash of metal between the back seats, stuck my fingers down in between, and fished out what we euphemistically called a 'raincoat' when I was a kid, upgraded to 'rubber' when I got older, and which is currently known as a 'condom,' still in the original package. I kind of grunted to myself and tossed it into the trash can I had brought along. But when I finished cleaning the interior, I noticed there hadn't been enough debris to cover the artifact. Said package still lay there for all the world to see. Well, maybe not the whole world, but Patty was sure to see it. Here I should digress and inform you that Patty and I had never used one of those things, hence it would look more than suspicious for one to turn up now. The only time I ever saw one up close was when I found two of them in my parents' dresser drawer when I was about five. I had no idea what they were, of course, but my older brother (17) did. He said they were chewing gum. It didn't take me long to find out they were no such thing, much to my brother's hilarity. When I tried to persuade my friend Gerald that they were chewing gum, he just sneered at my ignorance. He said they were to put on your wee-wee so you wouldn't wet the bed. He knew because he'd walked into the bathroom one night and saw his daddy putting one on, and that's what his daddy told him. It didn't take long for me to discover that was false, too, mainly because it was designed for grownups and not little kids. It was like trying to fill a grocery sack with a radish. That remained a head scratcher for years. I would have tried to blow it up like a balloon, but by then I had tried it on my wee-wee and decided against it. By the time I got old enough to realize what condoms were for, I wanted children. Then when Patty and I got married, she told me she couldn't have children. That's why neither she nor I had ever used one. So now I was in a fine pickle. If I threw it away and she saw me, she would want to know what I was trying to hide. If I kept it and she found it, that was even worse. By then I was getting red in the face and tongue-tied just thinking about trying to tell her what I'd found, and, of course, that made me look even guiltier. I got so bumfuzzled trying to figure it out I didn't hear her walk up behind me. Writers of pulp fiction have often used the device of 'ominous silence' to build up suspense. I assure you it exists. Don't tell me you can't hear silence you can cut with a knife, because I heard it yesterday for the first time in my life. That Patty was standing behind me with that rubber in her hand was a foregone conclusion. Little daggers were zapping me right behind the left ear. A dozen scenarios played themselves out in my mind, none of which came to a satisfactory conclusion, 'satisfactory conclusion' being defined as my getting out of this alive: "Oh, I see you have that whatever-it-is I found in the car." Hunh-uh. "Is that yours?" In a menacing, angry voice. Nope; even less. "Where did you find that?" Better, but not foolproof. It had been lying out in plain sight when she found it. "Huh. I wonder where that. . .?" No. I slowly turned around, ready to feign surprise at suddenly seeing her there. She wasn't there; she was still in the house. What had worried me so was my own imagination, and I hadn't even done anything! Weak with relief I walked over to the big garbage can and shoved my find way down deep. If she found it I would blame her brother, John. |
#3
|
|||
|
|||
I've missed your stories, David! Glad you are back!
Best wishes, -- Polonca & Soncek "David Yehudah" wrote in message ... Before I start this lurid tale, I would like to assure you that the following is the plain, unvarnished truth, completely unembellished with artistic flourishes, hyperbole, or other devices employed by the tellers of tales with the aim of either adorning an otherwise bald and uninteresting narrative or an underhanded attempt at leading the gullible down the primrose path and shoving him over a cliff. In other words, true story. :-| (notice the straight face). Anywho, last summer I bought a Honda CR-V just for bouncing around out in the desert. snip |
#4
|
|||
|
|||
A keeper, Dave! ROFLMAO!
Christine (sending it on to the DH) "David Yehudah" wrote in message ... Before I start this lurid tale, I would like to assure you that the following is the plain, unvarnished truth, completely unembellished with artistic flourishes, hyperbole, or other devices employed by the tellers of tales with the aim of either adorning an otherwise bald and uninteresting narrative or an underhanded attempt at leading the gullible down the primrose path and shoving him over a cliff. In other words, true story. :-| (notice the straight face). Anywho, last summer I bought a Honda CR-V just for bouncing around out in the desert. As it is neither new enough to require frequent cleaning nor used enough to get very dirty inside anyway, it wasn't until yesterday evening I decided to give it a good dusting inside. As there were quite a few nooks and crannies involved, some of which had begun growing some interesting crops, I found one place that apparently had not been cleaned in years. I saw a flash of metal between the back seats, stuck my fingers down in between, and fished out what we euphemistically called a 'raincoat' when I was a kid, upgraded to 'rubber' when I got older, and which is currently known as a 'condom,' still in the original package. I kind of grunted to myself and tossed it into the trash can I had brought along. But when I finished cleaning the interior, I noticed there hadn't been enough debris to cover the artifact. Said package still lay there for all the world to see. Well, maybe not the whole world, but Patty was sure to see it. Here I should digress and inform you that Patty and I had never used one of those things, hence it would look more than suspicious for one to turn up now. The only time I ever saw one up close was when I found two of them in my parents' dresser drawer when I was about five. I had no idea what they were, of course, but my older brother (17) did. He said they were chewing gum. It didn't take me long to find out they were no such thing, much to my brother's hilarity. When I tried to persuade my friend Gerald that they were chewing gum, he just sneered at my ignorance. He said they were to put on your wee-wee so you wouldn't wet the bed. He knew because he'd walked into the bathroom one night and saw his daddy putting one on, and that's what his daddy told him. It didn't take long for me to discover that was false, too, mainly because it was designed for grownups and not little kids. It was like trying to fill a grocery sack with a radish. That remained a head scratcher for years. I would have tried to blow it up like a balloon, but by then I had tried it on my wee-wee and decided against it. By the time I got old enough to realize what condoms were for, I wanted children. Then when Patty and I got married, she told me she couldn't have children. That's why neither she nor I had ever used one. So now I was in a fine pickle. If I threw it away and she saw me, she would want to know what I was trying to hide. If I kept it and she found it, that was even worse. By then I was getting red in the face and tongue-tied just thinking about trying to tell her what I'd found, and, of course, that made me look even guiltier. I got so bumfuzzled trying to figure it out I didn't hear her walk up behind me. Writers of pulp fiction have often used the device of 'ominous silence' to build up suspense. I assure you it exists. Don't tell me you can't hear silence you can cut with a knife, because I heard it yesterday for the first time in my life. That Patty was standing behind me with that rubber in her hand was a foregone conclusion. Little daggers were zapping me right behind the left ear. A dozen scenarios played themselves out in my mind, none of which came to a satisfactory conclusion, 'satisfactory conclusion' being defined as my getting out of this alive: "Oh, I see you have that whatever-it-is I found in the car." Hunh-uh. "Is that yours?" In a menacing, angry voice. Nope; even less. "Where did you find that?" Better, but not foolproof. It had been lying out in plain sight when she found it. "Huh. I wonder where that. . .?" No. I slowly turned around, ready to feign surprise at suddenly seeing her there. She wasn't there; she was still in the house. What had worried me so was my own imagination, and I hadn't even done anything! Weak with relief I walked over to the big garbage can and shoved my find way down deep. If she found it I would blame her brother, John. |
Thread Tools | |
Display Modes | |
|
|
Similar Threads | ||||
Thread | Thread Starter | Forum | Replies | Last Post |
Accident update #2 -another long one | GracecatOnl | Cat anecdotes | 50 | November 22nd 03 01:18 AM |
Happier news - Rocky update (long) | Lois Reay | Cat anecdotes | 7 | September 28th 03 01:25 AM |
The Neighborhood Battle (LONG) | Ginger-lyn Summer | Cat anecdotes | 13 | September 19th 03 03:42 AM |
Cheeky's story - long | Lois Reay | Cat anecdotes | 2 | September 2nd 03 11:55 AM |
Gem the Gray Kitten (long) | Annie Benson-Lennaman | Cat anecdotes | 21 | August 25th 03 01:02 AM |