Perfume for the wife

Well, she wasn’t my wife back then; but Christmas time was coming up and the little lady wanted some perfume. She was specific in the brand; showed me it, made me smell it. But I didn’t write the brand down. It’s okay, I thought; it’s got the same name as a GI Joe.

So my car broke down and I had to get a ride from a friend to the local mall. He swings by and picks me up and we drive out there, all thirty minutes to reach the place.

So we get to the store and I’m looking around at the bottles and nothing looks right. I’m smelling shit, and nothing smells right. What’s worse; none of these perfumes have the name of a GI Joe.

My friend starts to get impatient. “I’ve got things to do, poop,” he says to me.

“I know, I know. I’m going to remember it any second now, I swear.”

“You don’t even know what you’re buying?!” he says incredulously.

“Not exactly,” I say. “But it has the same name as a GI Joe.”

He laughs a bit at this, one of those angry laugh-instead-of-kill laughs.

“Start naming GI Joe’s” I say to him.

He lets out a frustrated breath before starting. “Snake Eyes,” he says.

“Nope”

“Duke”

“Nope”

“Shipwreck”

“Nope”

“Sgt. Slaugher, Flint, Scarlet, Lady Jay”

“Nope, nope, nope, nope.”

“Destro.”

“Destro is Cobra. The perfume is a GI Joe.”

“Oh for christs sake, poop!”

“I gotta get her the right perfume, man. Work with me here!”

“I’m trying, but this is fucking ridiculous!”

A few moments of frustrated silence while the sales clerk moves on to other customers.

“Law”

“Yeah, Law sounds like a fucking perfume, doesn’t it?”

“Fuck you, poop. Buy something now or let’s get the fuck out of here. I have a date to get to.”

Shit. I smelled a few and grabbed one.

Christmas comes and I act like I got the right one, but I didn’t. She opens the box and is like “what’s this?”

“That’s that perfume you wanted,” I tell her.

“No it’s not,” she said.

“Yeah it is.”

“No it’s not.”

“Uh…”

Silence.

“It’s okay,” she says. “I’ll just return it and get the one I wanted.”

“Sorry, I forgot which one it was.”

“Why didn’t you write it down?” she asks.

“I didn’t think I would have to since it has the same name as a GI Joe.”

She laughs. “You’re silly, poop.”

“So what was the name of it,” I ask her. “Cause this has been driving me nuts for days.”

“Ambush,” she says.

Fucking Ambush.

But, as she came to find out at the store; Ambush was discontinued.

There were no other perfumes who had GI Joe names, so she ended up getting something else. It didn’t smell as good as that Ambush stuff, but it was something.

I suck at getting presents.

Chewing Gum

It was on my dresser when I awoke. I just opened my eyes and there it was, a perfect cube wrapped in wax paper. I reached for it, took it into my hand and unwrapped it.

It was the color of a deep red, soft to the touch and smelling of factory-fresh tropical punch. I could feel the flash flood in my mouth and I knew that I had to have it.

I popped the thing into my mouth and allowed to rest briefly on my tongue before I began gnashing it with my teeth. My mouth exploded with a mixture of fruit punch and spit, my mouth became a punch bowl of goodness.

It made me happy.

I stood up with an overwhelming joy as I continued to devour the chewy cube of sweetness; each time I bit down another surge of fruit punch flooded my mouth; as though I was killing something that bled deliciously. I felt a bit savage for it, but it is necessary to sometimes give into ones primal urges.

I began walking, fruit punch orgasms bursting in my mouth. When I reached the doorway I stopped. I must have looked quite heroic in that moment. It was perhaps the most exhilarating sensation of my life. I felt triumphant.

I chewed happily as I walked until, with an experimental flip of my tongue I managed to launch the little wax goodness into the back of my throat. It became stuck back there, wedged in my throat and blocking air flow. My hands shot up quick to grip futilely at my neck. I was choking.

Was I even walking anymore? I couldn’t tell. I guess I was too focused on rejecting this chewy assassin too much to notice if I was still on my feet and moving. I must have been just stumbling blindly. I remember tears distorting my vision and I remember panicking a little.

At one point my foot seemed to have missed the ground and I found myself falling. I banged myself up good as I bounced and bumped and rolled down the long wooden staircase. Somewhere during the ride I blacked out.

The world went black. There was no pain.

A little while later I began to see light and my eyes fluttered open. I tried to focus on a crack in the ceiling, but it kept sliding away from me.

How long was I out?

The pain started to come back and my stomach got sick; the liquid vision getting to be too much for me to stand. I began gagging.

My feet rested on the stairs, twisted at awkward angles. Everything hurt. Nothing was at all pleasant about my predicament.

Well, almost nothing. I felt something cold and oddly shaped between my gum and cheek. It was the most brilliant sensation, but whatever it was tasted like the most exquisite fruit punch I had ever tasted. Most of my body wouldn’t move for me, but my jaw was working just fine.

My teeth pressed down on it and fruity goodness spewed forth. I continued to chew on this glorious work of yummy wonder while staring at the ceiling waiting for someone to come home and find me.

My saliva gushed with fruit sensation and I reveled in what happiness I could find. I figured I would only have to wait a few hours or so, and I could get through it so long as I had this tasty treat with me for the duration. Somehow, as I chomped on that chewy goodness, I still felt triumphant.

Fate and gravity had other plans for me. It fell into the back of my throat again. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore.

The world went black and there was no pain.

Martin Luther King Day

"Happy Martin Luther King Day," I said to my wife this morning, rolling over and kissing her on the cheek.

"Happy Martin Luther King Day," she said to me.

"Martin Luther King Jr was a great man," I said.

"Yeah," she said; "He freed the slaves."

I laughed.

"What so funny?" she asked.

"Honey, Abraham Lincoln freed the slaves. Martin Luther King was a leader of the civil rights movement," I said.

"Oh," she said.


She also once said the following the differences between right and left;

"It's like they are the same, except that they're opposites."

Random Question # 3

So when you eat corn and/or peanuts, do they reform in your stomach before coming out in your poop?

Plime

Tonight plime was down. Which meant I didn't have much in the form of entertainment while at work.

So I figured I would search the internet for interesting sites to post on plime.

But the only one I could think of was plime.com

And it's not worth posting if it's not working.

I've Done it Again

Prepare to be once again utterly amazed by the talent of donteatpoop.

This afternoon I twisted the cap off of my 20oz Mountain Dew. I won. Next time I purchase a 20oz bottle of Mountain Dew, I will get another one absolutely free of charge.

Only about 1 in 6 bottles are winners. Think about those odds for a moment.

What's more, over the last few weeks I have won two other times. Same contest, same odds and it was I who was declared victor.

1 in 6? I laugh at these odds! Try 3 in 21, Mountain Dew.

I'm a fucking champion.

Keep in touch

People move away. It's inevitable, especially in the area where I live. So we promise to keep in touch.

The method of course, is e-mail.

But what happens? Rarely is any actual correspondence shared. It's all jokes and videos and chain-mail.

What kind of fucked up attempt at retaining contact with friends is that?