An Irrelivant Title.

This is a completely fictional recount of just one of my many nights searching for sex on the streets of Alabama.

PLEASE NOTE

This Story is far more exiting read aloud with an

Exaggerated southern American accent.

PREPARE TO BE AMUSED

Ok, so it all started the night of April 25 1999. After another failed attempt at initiating sex with my fat cow of a wife, (who doesn’t like the fact that my definition of foreplay is poking her with a pencil and grunting, “how bout it?”) I walked into the kitchen to get me some cheese and baked beans to soothe my blue balls, (and make her pay for turning me down.)

I opened the kitchen cupboard and removed a can of cheesy beans, opening it and consuming half the can before I realised, that lack of sex had caused my eyesight to start failing, and that I’d just eaten 3 ounces organic lentils that my wife insisted would help to drop our twelve year old boys cholesterol.

Disgusted by my appalling mistake, tears welled in my eyes, so I headed out the front door, hoping to find some worms that hadn’t been contaminated by next doors Agent Orange to calm me down. Having no success, I decided to try the letterbox, on the off chance that some snails might still be hiding out there from the last Attack of the Crows chronicle. I found one, ands just as I was lowering it on to my furry yellow tongue; I saw a cow walking down the street. I instantly felt a growing erection strain against my pants and I hurried out of the gate.

What do you mean that’s disgusting? I was just acting on my animal urges. If you saw a cow walking down the street being lead by a hot blonde with big tits, you’d run after it too.

You didn’t think I was getting turned on by the cow did you? My golly gosh that’s disgusting. Cows are ALIVE! I don’t do alive!

SO anyway, back to the hot blonde, I chased after her and threw myself at her feet, (carefully avoiding being stepped on by the cow) and begged for sex, then and there. The blonde smiled at me, and told me that as soon as he got a chance to shave off his stubble and re-inflate his boobs that he’d be back. I reluctantly agreed to this arrangement, I mean, what would my wife say if I showed up at home with pash rash?

So I sat on the sidewalk and waited, chewing on some gum that I found in the gutter. (Stale minty breath is better than organic lentil breath.) Several weeks later, the blonde returned and had his way with my horribly malnourished body, snapping a few ribs as he went. I don’t blame him though, because my eyesight returned.

That night, I returned to my wife, who appeared not to have noticed my absence (Having been too busy with my son) and for the first night in many years, I had to tell her no. I fell asleep to dreams of hot blondes and dead cows.

The end