Sunday, February 12, 2006

Trapped

So it's snowing...

I'm stuck inside the apartment with my wife and her friend. I could go outside, but its cold, windy and generally uncomfortable. Inside, though is a ticking time bomb. Its just a matter of time until a romantic comedy is ordered On Demand. As I write this, they are paging through a catalogue full of foot creams, body butter, hair products and other vaginal accessories that I need not understand.

Clearly, my situation is dire. As they discuss the pros and cons of having your makeup permanently done, and what color nail polish best compliments their hair, I can feel my penis inverting and heading up into my body. This apartment needs another vagina like I need to stop taking my Valtrex.

"Have you seen Mad Hot Ballroom?"

While that could easily be the title of a porn, it clearly isn't. I'm starting to get desperate now.
I try come up with a good excuse to go into the bedroom so I can at least masturbate to porn, but as our blog putout should indicate, creativity is at an all time low. The awkwardness of walking from the bedroom to the kitchen with a big handful of sloppy wet paper towels doesn't really excite me.

"My sister was saying that Oprah wears Spanks.'"

For those of you not in the know, 'spanks' is something that covers over panty lines, and gives a smooth look - just learned that myself. That's not something I needed to know. That fact will probably push a more important fact out of my brain, like Pujols' road OPS against lefties last year. Or my mom's birthday. Or why I shouldn't eat arsenic.

"Oh, that Santino is so arrogant."

I'd like to take time out to thank Bravo for having the foresight to run a Project Runway marathon today. That's just what I needed.

"I really want to get a saddle for Buster."

Buster is a boxer (dog, not person) that my wife's friend owns. Unless there is another boxer being sodomized right now, I would venture to say that Buster might be the least lucky boxer in the world. As they exchange photos of their dogs (ours does not get dressed up), high pitched giggling and a sense of dread fill the room.

At this point, our neutered female dog is my only friend in the apartment. And she's throat deep in her own vagina right now and clearly not interested in me.

"He's a real man's man with his fake tan."

Thankfully, they aren't talking about me. In fact they haven't really noticed anything that I've been doing for the last hour or so. Maybe that masturbatory jaunt into the bedroom could become a reality after all. My heart skips a beat just thinking about it.

"Sometimes I bleed when I pluck my eyebrows."

It might be temporary insanity. A case of cabin fever. Lack of food. Lack of testosterone. But I realize that my plight of being trapped inside an apartment with two hot twenty something girls might not be the nightmare that I've imagined. If I could only get us playing a game of twister....
A nice game of strip pictionary is just what the doctor ordered. Of course, I can't draw, but that's a whole other blog in itself. I've seen enough porn to know that these things do happen, and I know just how to start them. If I can just get the girls loosened up, get some alchohol passed around I could make something happen. Start a game of I've Never. A game of Truth or Dare. A game of Who's In My Mouth?

"I've got the worst cramps today."

Of course, in the quite likely event that my plan falls flat on its face, I've got some chloroform in the closet.

For me.