Suggested Audio Jukebox:
[1] House Of Pain “Top O’ The Mornin’ To Ya”
[2] Kool & the Gang “Fresh”
[3] B.V.S.M.P. “Be Gentle”
[4] Does It Offend You, Yeah? “Epic Last Song”
Top ‘o’ the morning to you. I trust you slept well. Don’t mind me, I’m just having the obligatory early morning mug of nectar while catching up on the funny pages. What’s wrong? You appear to be somewhat startled, could it be the bunny slippers? What can I say? I’m a huge fan of Watership Down and, besides, I’m comfortable in my skin and this is mi casa after all. I really can’t fathom out what has you blushing and, considering I wake for shit every morning and don’t perk up until I’ve finished the first of many caffeine shots, don’t exactly possess the brainpower to get to the bottom of it. Tell you what, I really have to get dressed, relieve myself, and grab a smoke, so feel free to join me and we’ll see if we can shed some light on your condition.
Nope, I’m getting nothing and it’s not easy taking a leak with you staring either. Do I have a booger? Is that what has your feathers ruffled? Perhaps there’s an enemy at the gates and I’d be happy to check the barracks if I didn’t currently have my hands full elsewhere. Once we’re done here and I’ve washed my hands of course, I’ll make us a spot of breakfast and introduce you to my cat Mr. Nibbles. I warn you, he has a tendency to come and go as he pleases, but this morning he appears to be pretty communicative so I’m sure you’ll be firm friends in no time.
I’ve still not woken up properly yet so, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll just catch up on a few Z’s while you two get familiar. Fret not as I shall make it up to you in just a few minutes and lay on quite the spread in your honor I promise. You see, while not what you would call a culinary genius, I’m sure I can rustle up something flavorsome to fend off that growling tummy. Tell you what, to prove that I am the host with the most, I’ll knock up two individual dishes and you can choose your poison yourself. Now if only I could remember where I left the tea towel. Anyhoots, bird or flan? What are you feeling?
Neither huh? Well it looks like I’ve gone to all this effort for nothing. Honestly, there’s no pleasing you is there? And there’s me thinking you’d be well up for a drumstick to get your metabolism going. What am I supposed to do with this now? I’ll be eating turkey sandwiches right up to Christmas thanks to you and that’s not to mention the American Pie I lovingly prepared in your honor. I hate to be wasteful so I’m sure I’ll work out a plan where that is concerned as the crust looks mighty enticing. In the meantime, how about a beer? Let’s throw caution to the wind shall we? With any luck, we’ll be thoroughly pissed by lunchtime and that still leaves the whole of p.m. to get our stomachs pumped in the emergency room. If only I could locate the bottle opener. I shit you not, I’d lose my beard if it wasn’t threaded to my chin.
Okay so now you’ve crossed the line. Firstly, I’d been growing that stubble beast for weeks and don’t appreciate you shaving me against my will. Secondly, ouch. Could you not have used your teeth or a work surface to open that Rolling Rock? It won’t taste good you know. Let’s not get things twisted, I do have a bidet and regularly polish the old sheriff’s badge, but I won’t be held responsible for any temporary bouts of blindness and will be sending you the bill for my shredded prostrate. To be fair, I’d actually been saving up for a colonic, but I’m not altogether convinced that this is the work of a trained professional. Last, but by no means least, what the fuck is Wigglytuff doing in my kitchen giving me the beady eye? Some things I’m happy to overlook but surely Pokémon has run its course by now. I mean, how long does it take to catch ’em all for crying out loud? This is hardly the kind of behaviour to earn you brownie points. Indeed, I no longer think you qualify for a dessert and you can’t say you didn’t have that coming. Had I mentioned that the wife is up now? I can hear her moving about upstairs and I’m sure she’ll be disgusted when she hears of your treachery.
If I were you I’d be a boy scout and go smooth things over with the old girl. I’d do it myself but I’m currently bent over with a bottle rammed up my sphincter and don’t even get me started on what Wigglytuff is up to as Pikachu will soon unfriend him on Facebook when he catches wind of his associate’s philandering ways. I’ll leave that one up to your imagination so you can dash upstairs and prevent a tantrum.
Little tip for you, she begins her day with mild indifference as you can see, and doesn’t move along to disgust for a good ten minutes so there’s still time to win her over. May I suggest running her a lukewarm bath? That should have her eating out of your palm as she loves a good soak and it’s also a great place for her to expel any pent-up a.m. flatulence. Mind you, don’t go getting too close to that bootylicious butt of hers as it’s pre-loaded like Hugh Hefner’s Viagra cabinet and you may just wind up with shit breath.
I see you opted for taking your chances and even planted one on her rosy reds, and feel duty bound to inform you that this act could go one of two ways. Granted, your heart may have been in the right place when puckering up, but she’s never been the same since catching I Spit On Your Grave at the drive-thru and I’d like to direct your attention to the bulge of cold steel beneath her bath rug. It’s one thing elbow checking the temperature and ensuring that she has sufficient bubbles to make bathtime fun, but entirely another engaging in what could appear suspiciously like ass kissing from where I’m bent over. All I’m saying is, should you hear a snip and feel an accompanying twinge, the band-aids are in the cabinet.
Yup, the missus has definitely got the hump. Quick, offer her rubber ducky as a sweetener. She loves rubber ducky. I wish I could help more but your earlier insertion took its toll and I’m currently down at the General Hospital awaiting further examination. I’m starting to suspect that initial diagnosis of a fractured wrist and leg was a dash off-kilter but it’s okay as my good buddy Clive has agreed to drop in and perk me up some. Bless him, no matter what happens, he always comes through in a fix and is the first to offer me a flannel wash if I’m otherwise predisposed. Thanks Clive for being such a friend to the end. Speak of the devil, here he is now. Dig on the new cologne Clive. Now what have you got for me there? Science fiction novel? Bag of M&M’s? Please don’t let them be peanut.
Now I’m no clairvoyant, but I reckon Clive’s got a few things he wishes to get off his chest, so how are things panning out in your neck of the woods? I do hope you managed to calm the wife down as she’s murder once she gets in one of her moods and I’ll undoubtedly bear the brunt of it once I’ve been given the all-clear. I also hope the ward rounds are imminent as I can’t bear the uncomfortable silence and, for the life of me, can’t understand what’s got into Clive this morning. Has he not seen a wounded soldier’s musket before? In truth, things have been a little strange between us ever since we went skinny dipping together in Nicaragua.
Funnily enough, the wife has stopped inviting him over for brisket recently. Perhaps she senses that something is up too. One thing’s for sure, whatever you did to get yourself off the hook after the whole bath-gate incident, it seems to have worked a treat. Having woken up next to this woman every morning for the past sixteen years without parole for good behavior, I can pretty much tell when she’s a happy camper and would say her current pose constitutes as one such occasion.
Smiles all round then and Clive has finally plucked up the minerals to fill me in on his odd behavior. It turns out that he cares more than he’s been letting on and I’ve been somewhat bowled over by his kindness. Had he not been on hand to scratch my penile itch, then I’d have gone doolally, and he’s nothing if not thorough. Granted, he may well have squeezed the toothpaste a little too heavy-handedly so to speak, but I guess that’s just an occupational hazard and could’ve happened to the best of us. What are friends for if not to lighten the load on occasion? It doesn’t mean anything sinister is going on. Just two old buddies shooting the shit, doing the kind of stuff that men do when not guzzling beer through a filter funnel and belching the national anthem. Isn’t that right Clive? Clive?
Well I have to say that I’m flattered and really didn’t see that one coming. But alas I only have eyes for my significant other and would hate for her to get the wrong idea about our friendship. There’s always the shower rooms after LaCrosse practice Clive; you don’t have to stop whipping me with that wet towel as I’m fairly assured that is kosher given the testosterone-fuelled setting. But anything else is off-limits I’m afraid as she’s been threatening to split for some time now and, judging by what is being reported back at our once cosy love nest, I don’t fancy calling her bluff as I hear she’s already got one foot out the door as we speak.
I think I know where to place the blame now you know. You see, until you came along, everything was as hunky as it was dory, but things started going Shelley Long the very moment you took that naked selfie and proposed she post it to her Instagram. No offence and kudos on the chiseled abs and hefty biceps, but you’re not really all that well proportioned are you?
Do I have to spell it out to you? But what if I hurt your feelings? Have I not already made myself abundantly clear. You’ve seen the kind of truncheon I’m packing and don’t try telling me you didn’t notice as I caught you staring earlier. Then there’s little old you with a loin so miniscule that I swear I even caught the mounted elk head snickering while your back was turned.
Don’t wish to panic you unnecessarily, but it may be time to start fearing the worst. I may have negated to mention that the wife has a habit of taking matters into her own hands when satisfaction is anything less than guaranteed. That means rooting through her drawers for a little commodity she likes to refer to as The Pink Pillager of Peru. Actually I’m fairly sure it was made in China but wouldn’t go splitting hairs once she fastens that bad boy in place. In case you were wondering, the baby oil is in the bathroom cabinet right next to the band-aids, and you may well be needing both in around seven agonizing minutes time. Think of it as taking one for the team as, after the whole Clive mix-up, I’m not sure I’m up to getting shafted the moment I’m wheeled through the front door.
There is one other tiny little thing that I feel compelled to notify you about and have actually been kind of dreading this one ever since you saw fit to cram a beer bottle up to its neck into my bottom. You remember Wigglytuff right? That small insignificant pink nondescript you met way back at breakfast. Well he’s not the only illegal alien in our household if you catch my drift and, if I haven’t made myself clear enough, then watch out for those laser beams when they splurge forth from my spouse’s ample bosoms as they’ll have your eye out if you’re not careful. I tell you one thing, she puts on one helluva light show and expresses the most delightful lactose in triple fast time. But she also sheds her skin in bed every single night and there’s precious little sexy about that shit.
I don’t know about Wigglytuff but who the fuck is the fluffy little dude in green spectacles? I didn’t invite him either to my recollection. Now, if you will excuse me, my bedpan has needed changing ever since Clive stormed off with the raging hump earlier and I just spotted a nurse whose bedside manner apparently leaves nothing whatsoever left to be desired. Whatever you do, don’t go breathing a syllable of this to the missus as my guts would really tie the room together wrapped around her garters. Here goes nothing. Cooey, over here matron. Oh and while you’re at it dear, would you mind terribly reminding me which of the two sexual organs girls have again. It’s clean slipped my mind. Told you I was concussed.
Great tits, truly a brace of beauties and ideal for the cupping, but that doesn’t exactly answer my question does it? Come to think of it, is that thing even sterilized? I don’t fancy catching MRSA because you were too busy pouting suggestively to follow basic hospital procedure. And don’t take too long tapping the vein either. The blood is somewhere else entirely you see. Do me a favor and hit me up with that title card one more time will you. I’d do it myself but I’m too busy having a blast with the bed controls. Bed goes up, bed goes down. Ingenious.
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