Rick Perry Shops For Sex Toys; Ostrich Grateful For Mooner’s Thoughtfulness

 

So. It’s Friday and time to clean up my trashy website. First, I will be announcing the winner of the FUCK RICK PERRY! Haiku Contest on Monday. I’ll take entries into the contest through Sunday. The winner(s) will receive an autographed copy of my new book, Full Rising Mooner.

How many books would I need to give away to become a best-selling author? I think it would be a trip if people started introducing me as “best-selling author Mooner Johnson”[.] What a nice change of pace that would be. “The inappropriate redneck fuck brain, Mooner Johnson” is a little shop worn.

I was going to tell you the names some of the leaders of the contest, and also display their crafty three-line poems. But that would taint the jury pool and nobody likes tainted pools. I do like taints, however. That particular part of a woman’s nether-regions is, well, wonderful.

Maybe I need some sexing. SAC Ellen has been traveling the country working hard to address what Homeland Security calls “Domestic Terrorism”[.] She investigates many of the lunatic fringe who manage to catch the eyes of investigators here to the homeland. I’m trying to get her to investigate the prick Rick Perry and his band of propheteers.

That bunch are the biggest threat to our nation’s security since the Russians parked nuclear-armed ICBM missiles down there to Cuber in the sixties. Which reminds me. When will it become necessary to say “the nineteen-sixties” instead of simply the sixties? Does that time hit the clock when we pass another sixties era—like in 2060 we will be required to say 1960—or is it rather when the majority of our population is born after 1969 and lacks the perspective to grasp meaning?

Speaking of sixty-nine, I took the ostrich Rick Perry to the vet yesterday to have the wooden deer statue removed from his ass. Rush Limbaugh, Rick Perry’s piggish gay lover, had stuffed it up there during sex.

“Jesus, Mooner,” Doc Martin started when he took his first gander at the giant bird’s ass. “I don’t make enough money for this shit.”

“He’s adopted, Doc,” I answered, “and there’s no telling what sort of abuse he endured before he ran away from the ostrich ranch. Maybe they made him live with a bunch of emus. Emus are nasty creatures.”

Doc Martin looked me dead in the eye. “Don’t go blaming your bad parenting on natural selection, Mooner. Rick Perry is gay by choice, not chance, and it’s all your fault.”

I let the comment pass and held Ricky’s head to keep him from macing the vet as he plucked the wooden buck from his ass. I don’t mean the bird would spray the vet with toxic spray, but, rather, he would clock the Baptist asshole with a swing of his rock-hard head. The deer pulled free with a sucking sound—at least the boys use generous globs of lube—and the sucking sound was followed by the disturbing splats of an ostrich shit.

“Dammit, Mooner, he just shit all over my shoes.”

“That’s because you are a Baptist bigot and an ignorant fuckball,” I replied. “Now clean yourself up and take a look at my cat.”

Turns out the cat is about a year old and is healthy as a horse. The only problem with the cat’s exam was when Doc Martin again called me a bad parent. Honor hissed and spit at him and then shredded the hem of his lab coat. When we checked out I noticed a $35.00 entry on my bill to make amends.

I’m concerned about the Squirt’s tooter though. The asshole vet thinks he might need to surgically remove the flap of skin surrounding it—sort of a circumcision dealie. We discussed it on the way to the sex toy store and Squirt told me, “No fucking way,” in German, French, Swahili and what I think was Mandarin Chinese.

Shopping with my crew is always interesting. Taking Rick Perry to buy gay sex toys is a fucking trip. He was like a 350-pound kid in a China closet the way be ran from display to display, gazing at all the items with his billiard-ball eyes. He wanted to try everything in the entire store on, or out, or in. I showed him the big sign that said, “You insert it, you own it!”

“The best we can do is discuss how things work, how you use them and their pluses and minuses,” I told him when he got cranky with the rules. “I’m not buying you one of everything in the store.”

We were discussing cock rings and Honor had reached her limit. The little cat shook her head at us and went out to the truck. I don’t haul Rick Perry or Rush Limbaugh either one in my GTO. Squirt joined the cat at t the truck when the ostrich wanted to know how to use a string-of-pearls.

We finished shopping and took his choices to the checkout stand—four cock rings in various colors , Super X size; an assortment of of rabbit vibrators; a case of the new sensual men’s lube; and a thirty-six-inch two-headed black rubber pecker with studs on each end.

A very sexy younger woman was at the register. She was wearing a rubber thong bikini and had tattoos showing on all the exposed skin up to her ears. Every body part that can be pierced was pierced, she had alligator electric clamps pinched onto her nipples, and she clutched the control handle of a rabbit in her hand—the wire of which disappeared into the front of the bikini bottom.

With a dreamy smile on her face, she said to me, she said, “Please lay your purchases on the counter, sir.”

I did, and the dreamy look turned to one of shock. She looked from me to my bird, then down at our selections. “You are a dirty old man,” she sneered. “You’re dis-gusting!”

“These aren’t for me, little lady, they’re for Rick Perry here, and his gay lover Rush Limbaugh. Rushie stayed home to get ready for some sexing with these toys when they arrive.”

My farm truck is an old one-ton Ford flatbed with full wooden slatted side boards. The framework and planks are all made of thick cedar planks from trees we’ve cleared to expand the garden. It has a slide window behind the single seat cab, so the cat, dog and I sit on the seat and the ostrich sits in a harness in the back with his head inside the cabin. It took me quite a while to get comfortable having his basketball-sized head wandering around the cab of the truck.

It can be quite a shock as you’re driving down IH 35 at 65 MPH and you’re suddenly eye-to-eye with a bird head that sports a shovel-sized beak. Did you know that he can break your leg bones with that beak?

Anyway, I guess he appreciates my assistance in the deer statue removal and sex toy buying trip. His has laid his head on my shoulder and keeps sighing big sighs. Even with my 20% off coupon, I spent almost $200.00 at the toy store and every trip to the vet is expensive for a six-foot tall bird. When he nuzzled my neck and hummed a little, I said to him, “You’re welcome, Ricky.”

I can’t figure why people say I’m a bad parent.

I took the cat and dog fishing when we got back so that Rush and Ricky could have my wing of the house to themselves for a few hours. We packed our Carta Blanca beer into the wheeled cooler and took off. Life in the now high desert. It may never rain again.

Manana, y’all.

Print Friendly

8 Responses to “Rick Perry Shops For Sex Toys; Ostrich Grateful For Mooner’s Thoughtfulness”

  1. The visual of you sex-toy shopping with an ostrich, a dog and a cat is frightening, but as it concerns you, oh-so-normal sounding. I do think you should have taken Rush along too…both partners should have a say so in what gets purchased at a sex toy store. Just sayin’…there’s some stuff in those stores that there is NO WAY I’d consider “using” (or whatever verb is best-suited to describe what it is that you “do” with sex toys) for a million dollars. Two million? Maybe…

  2. Q says:

    Wow. This was funny and disturbing at the same time. LOL! I wonder if Rick lets Rush get on top? Seems suicidal. I agree with Reck that you should have taken Rush along, too. He deserves some input. Wait, that came out wrong.

  3. Reck. I did some shopping for you while I was there. I can hardly wait. I’ve been missing you.

    Q. Don’t get me started on the freak show that is sex between Rush Limbaugh and Rick Perry. I’ve double insulated the doors and walls of the closet and still the squeals and shrieks escape.

    As for taking the giant pig shopping–fuhgetaboutit. Rush can’t control his impulses and he’s consumed by impulses.

  4. sex shop says:

    Wow!!!. very good article written. great job done

  5. admin says:

    Sex Shop. Thanks for the good words.

  6. Allow phonetic typing
    Sex toys is my love! Sometimes I think that I understand only my dildo

  7. SexShop says:

    But it’s better than sex toys shop there is nothing!

  8. admin says:

    DDDDDDD. I have no fucking idea what you just said. However, I condone the sentiments.

Leave a Reply