Wonderella Problem Continues; Mooner Still Clueless


So. This Wonderella business is getting out of hand. I just finished my sixth emergency Wonderella psycho therapy session with Dr. Sam I. Am-Johnson, and I fear I’m worse off than before my daily session frequency was augmented. I was already on a five-days-a-week schedule for my routine issues so this double-up dealie should be showing some progress by now.

It’s not. In fact I think I’m getting worse. I can’t even begin to discuss with you the results of today’s session because I’m still lost from Wednesday. Yesterday I posted about the problem here to the bloggie, and SAC Ellen read it from her I-phone as she was stuck in traffic. She called to apologize, and told me that she might have jumped the stun gun when she got so pissed about the Wonderella Christmas gift.

“Come over to my place after you guys finish fishing. But drop Squirt off at her mom’s house first,” SAC Ellen told me. “I wouldn’t want her to be traumatized at the sight of what I have planned for you.”

I started to tell her that after spending a few nights listening to Rush Limbaugh and Rick Perry oinking and snuffling in my closet, Squirt won’t be effected in the least with our stun gun sex-capades. My pig and ostrich are noisy lovers.

What I said instead was, “Oh boy, sex!”

We discussed what I should grab from the store for dinner– it was decided that a bison ribeye, baked potato and grilled asparagus would do the trick. Then she phone sexed me for a few minutes. That meant that she was still tied up in traffic.

As we were signing off the phone, I told her, “Don’t shave your legs.”

“Huh,” she said. “Why not?”

“Well,” I started, “if you’ve got a couple days of leg and crotchie beard, your whiskers will tug and pull at the stretchy material on the Wonderella suit. I love undressing you with all of that friction on imitation Lycra.”

Things got so quiet in my phone ear I thought she had hung up. I waited a minute, then said, “Are you rubbing one off? I know it’s been a few days.”

All I got in response for several minutes was dead air. “Hello– earth to SAC Ellen. Mooner to SAC Ellen, do you read me.”

“Read this!” she snapped at me. Then I heard the disconnect and got a dial tone.

I turned to Squirt, who was sitting beside me on the pier as we fished. We had three baited lines and the rods were in holders. I let Squirt watch the bobbers for bites, a task she performs with great relish.

“You going to call her back, Senor Mooner?” Squirt asked me.

“I’ll give her a minute to cool down and then I find out what I did this time. For the life of me I’ll never figure what goes on in a woman’s head.”

After waiting a few minutes, my cell phone rang. It was the witch music from the movie The Wizard of Oz. That’s my psycho therapist and ex-wife, Dr. Sam I. Am’s personal ring tone.

“What’s happening, Sammy babe?” I answered.

“What’s happening is that I’m completing a pre-admission form for Shoal Creek Mental Hospital in your name. SAC Ellen just called to tell me what you did.”

“Huh?” my best response.

“Mooner, you inappropriate asshole, have you not learned anything in your special sessions?”

Now me, I’ve many times gotten myself all tangled up by answering one of those kinds of questions without careful thought. Questions that start with, “Have you not,” or, “When you stopped,” are traps. The “have you not” dealie is the worst of all those trick question starters. It’s got the implied double negative and the tricky trap part all in one bundle. These kinds of questions require careful thinking.

I thought carefully.

“Well, I have learned something. Yes, is the answer to your question,” I told her.

More dead phone air.

“OK, smart ass, tell me what you have learned.”

See, I told you it was a trap.

“Weeeeellllllllll. I learned that a woman needs her man to be sensitive, he needs to listen and he needs to be patient.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth I realized that those were the concepts from my regular therapy session, not the special session.

“Asshole,” she called me. “You are a crazy redneck fuckball, Mooner. Now call Ellen and tell her you’re sorry?”

Have you ever noticed how easily some women are to anger?

“OK, but what am I sorry for?”

This time the silence in my phone ear was preceded by the sound of a phone receiver getting slammed into its cradle on the other end.

“Well Squirt, my fuzzy little buddy. Looks like it’s you and me for another night alone. Let’s have one more Carta Blanca and then head home.”

“Por favor, Bwana Mooner. Me gusta tacos con pesca por supper.”

She’s a seriously cute puppy and a good companion. Manana, y’all.

PS– the link to Wonderella is: http://nonadventures.com

Print Friendly

One Response to “Wonderella Problem Continues; Mooner Still Clueless”

  1. squatlo says:

    Laughing out loud, man… God, I’m glad I found this site! My Squatlo Stories don’t compare!

Leave a Reply