A delicate matter

A delicate matter

The sweat poured down Rogers’s forehead, it followed the wrinkles in his face like drainage canals and dumped into his eyes.
“Damn it!”
This was going to take a steady hand one false move and that would be all she wrote. He grasped the tab and slowly inched it along the track. Each click taught Roger a new verb in the vocabulary of pain. This was it, only a little further and he’d be home free. With a deep breath he took hold of the metal strip once more. One fast pull and a banshee scream later; Roger sat in the middle of the bathroom floor holding his bloody testicles. And for the remainder of his days he would live by the motto- “Look before you zip!”

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Keyed

Keyed

            The couch cushions flew through the living room hitting the far wall with an unsatisfying thud.

            “I know I put them right here when I came in the door!” Bill shrieked like a pissed off big-foot. “Where are my damn keys?”

            On his hands and knees he peered into the void beneath the sofa; hoping beyond hope that they were there. But the gap beneath the love seat left him wanting. He stood still for a moment and then ran to the bathroom. Frantically he scoured the area around the lavatory sink; no sign of them there. Then down on all fours, in his own piss stains, he felt around the back of the toilet. No dice. The bookshelf, kitchen sink, and dining room table all came up dry as well.

            Bill a somber looking statue, hand on head and confused, just stood there.  As he got ready to check the recliner for the thirteenth time his wife came into the room.

            “What’s all the racket in here?”

            “I lost my frick’n car keys AND IT”S DRIVING ME INSANE!”

            Cheryl walked over to the refrigerator, reached on top, and pulled down a set of keys with a large rubber football on the end.

            “They’re right here where they’re supposed to be.”

            Bill was in utter amazement, silent for a good solid minute, and then the storm arrived.

            “Since, when the hell, did my car keys, ever, ever, go on top of the refrigerator?”

            “They’ve always gone there.”

            “No, they go on the coffee table by the front door. I put them there myself. Why do you always have to move my stuff? Can’t you ever leave things alone?”

            “Here are your stupid keys.” Cheryl threw the keys to him and started to walk away.

            “Oh, no you don’t woman! Now you listen to me! From this moment forward, if I put something somewhere, that’s where it goes! If I put a book on the table, that’s where it goes! If I put the laundry basket next to the toilet, that’s where it goes! If I put a bass on my dick, you better leave that shit alone, because bitch, that’s where it goes! And listen up sister; my car keys go by the front door! And when I go to find them, they better be on that coffee table from now on!”

            Cheryl’s hands were on her hips, her foot tapped, and she was biting her lip; your basic pissed off beyond the point of no return wife.

            “Ok, woman, now I’m going to ask you a question, and I want you to tell me the answer. Where do my car keys go?”

            The viper was ready to strike. Through corner of her mouth she hissed, “They go on top of the refrigerator!”     

            Bill’s chest deflated, his balls shrank, and he grew a vagina. He placed his keys on top of the refrigerator and walked past his wife. “Glad we could have this little talk.”

Ninja Stink

Ninja Stink

            The can food section went on forever. Or at least it seemed that way. Cheryl stopping every third can down the line checking the brand name against her twenty cent off coupon. I mean is it really worth this much time? Two dimes….give me a break! Finally past the green beans, three more steps, and-

            “Oh, look cream corn; I’ve got a buy one get one free for this!”

            Cream corn, are you kidding me. Its predigested corn kernels. I can chew my damn corn. I just want to go home. The sound comes from behind, the cart’s wheel spins around and around as it emits the squeak of insanity. There must be some way to escape this hell.

            I feel this afternoon’s lunch swimming in my belly. It awakens with a low growl. I clench as tight as I can but to no avail. Slowly, yet silently the vapor is released from my clapping cheeks. I look to the left at the woman coming towards my wife and , then to Cheryl; neither have detected the toxic fumes. With the grace of a feline I whisk around the corner without being noticed. I poke my head down the isle as the woman passes to watch the unfolding drama.

            Cheryl looks up from her coupon pouch and sniffs the air. The woman behind her puts down her can of asparagus and looks my wife in the face. They give each other a polite smile. Then the woman looks away and scowls then rushes away. Cheryl just stands bewildered.

            I walk back to the cart where my wife has resumed her hunt for bargains.

            “Hey, babe- oh, God, What’s that smell?”

            “Some woman just farted and ran off down that way,” she said.

            “That’s disgusting.”

            “Tell me about it. Oh, look dill pickles are half off.”

            I smile and follow her to the pickle shelf. I am a ninja.

Chicken Little

Chicken Little

          Having a small penis is a disability. Look I know it sounds like just something people with small tally whackers say to make themselves feel better; but it’s true. You start life off just like any other boy; happy content to ride your bicycle and climb trees. But before you know, it here comes junior high school and with it puberty, and girls, and sex, and all those other little things you use to hear your parents whisper about when you where around.

          I noticed for the first time that something was wrong in the boy’s bathroom at Palo Christi Middle School. Joe stood beside me shaking his giant snake until every last drop of piss dribbled out into the urinal reservoir. I couldn’t believe it the thing was a monster. I barely had enough room on the shaft of mine to grasp it with two fingers. What was going on? I thought at first perhaps I had a rare medical condition that would slowly turn my cock into a vagina and perhaps boobs would follow. (This would not have been so bad because at least I could still fondle my tits.) After finding out there was no such disease I had to face the facts. I had a tiny pecker. 

          I did everything I could for the next four years to keep as far away from the shower room as possible. If news of this got out, I’d never hear the end of it. While football players walked through the locker room with their giant trophy dicks wagging for the whole world to see; my petite boner and me would dodge the gym teacher who would make me expose my secret to the world. (Why to men’s locker rooms; not have shower curtains?)

           It got bigger but not by much and by the time I was twenty I had a full five inches. (Hard) But I was still on the watch for those who may find out my horrible secret and tell of my terrifying disfigurement.  There were other consequences to the small peter besides the paranoia. There was the pissing through the toilet seat when you sat down to take a crap and soaking your boxers. And every time you forgot to button your fly your little wanker was sure to peer out at the world through the barn yard door.

          I was fortunate enough to marry a good woman who never mentioned the smallness of my worm. But still day after day I live with the knowledge that my penis could very well be the smallest in all existence.

Sometimes you just have to go

Sometimes you just have to go

            Having one bathroom can be quite an obstacle for a husband and wife. Especially when I’m the husband and my wife always has to go pee. More often than not I find myself on the outside of the door pounding with tightly clenched fists.

            “Are you almost done?!” I scream. My butt cheeks sealed tight like a pair of mechanical jaws; desperately holding back the coming apocalypse.

            “I just got in here. You’re just going to have to wait your turn.” Her muffled voice taunts me from the other side of the door. I’m sure that I can hear a soft condescending giggle.

            The toilet flushes and it gets harder to suppress the tide. My teeth grind together and I start to pray. The door opens and I rush the stage knocking my wife out of the way.  The thunder echoes from the tile walls and the splash against my bare bottom is followed by sweet relief. I hear my wife from the other side of the door.

            “Oooooh- you better spray something.”