F-day Ends With A Pffft; A Missing F-word Tragedy


So. My plans for a fully-fulfilled F-day came up one F short. Not that any of the f-words planned into yesterday were minor in nature, but the one that was dropped was my personal most important. Fishing- great. Fried food- tasty and fresh from the Catfish Parlor. My original plan was to have some fried fowl, but Honor the cat went totally batshit crazy when we passed the Catfish Parlor on US 183.

It was Squirt’s fault. My diminutive translator was doing a tour guide patter as I drove her, Honor and Yoda down US 183 on our way to find a fried chicken joint. As we passed the catfish place, Squirt says, “And a la derecha es la Parlor de Pesca Gato. They have tout ce que vous pouvez manager every Freitag.”

“I don’t want all you can eat fried catfish today, guys. I want fried chicken to prime my pumps for when I go to see BJ and Squatlo and the Reckmonster in November,” I informed my GTO full of animals. “Besides, we’re having fish tonight for dinner. You know the rules.”

I make all my pets eat what they catch, and the morning’s fishing trip had been quite successful.

Honor the cat hissed and spit at me, and then she made this yapping noise I’ll call speech. It was disquieting. “Did the cat just say something?” I asked Squirt.

“I think she said, ‘Help me to kill Mooner and we’ll have fried catfish.’” Squirt asked the cat to repeat herself, and then confirmed the original translation. “Yep, only this time she mentioned shredding your nut sack rather than actually killing you.”

See what I mean about cats? Fucking cat.

Since I trust my pets to be true to their words, we had catfish for lunch and then headed to downtown and the national headquarters of the pompous prick, Rick Perry, presidential organization. I ordered children-sized “Fuck Rick Perry!” tee shirts for the guys and a manly-sized pink one for me, and I had three “Fuck Rick Perry!” tote bags filled with the bumper stickers. Each of the dogs and I carried a bag and handed-out the bumper stickers and the cat acted as security.

I really did not want to be arrested because the big f-word finally to F-day was to be a heavy dose of sexing with SAC Ellen. She was due to arrive sometime after her late flight arrived from Cleveland. An arrest might have spawned an extended stay over to Sheriff Wozniak’s jail and I needed the sex. With that in mind, we quietly went about the task of bumper sticker distribution.

Except for the one nice lady who slapped my face, and the cat-shredded white sock on her left foot, that f-word was completed without serious indecent. Next time we go down to fuck with Rick Perry we want him to be in town. Then we’ll try for some serious airtime and anti-Perry publicity.

So we handed out $200 worth of stickers in just an hour and I loaded the guys back into the GTO to head home. We decided on fish tacos for dinner and needed some tortillas and avocados for that. It was as I stood in the check-out line over to the flagship Whole Foods store in downtown Austin that I got the call. “Hey, baby,” I answered the call ID’d as SAC Ellen. “Have I got something planned for you!”

There was one of those pregnant fucking pauses on her end of the line, then, “Oh man, Mooner, I’m really sorry.”

“Fuck, fuck fucking-fuck!” I might have said a little too loud. The people around me put space between us.

“I’ve been held over to Sunday, sweetie. They want me to evaluate a threat from one of the militia groups up here in Ohio. I won’t make back to Austin for two more weeks.”

“Fuck, fucking-fuck.” This time I almost whispered. “Call me when you have time.”

I got out of line and walked over to the personal care section and got a twelve-pack of Ivory soap bars. I’m going to need to start alternating hands when masturbating or my right arm will be twice the size of my left. I’ve always preferred using my right hand, which my chiropractor says explains my strange skeletal twist.

Now it’s Saturday- Carta Blanca beer and BBQ day. I’m taking Gram’s Ferrari over to the race course to see if I can aggressive-driving my frustrations away. Manana, y’all.

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2 Responses to “F-day Ends With A Pffft; A Missing F-word Tragedy”

  1. bj says:

    Sorry your Special Agent In Charge didn’t make it in but sounds like you had a pretty full day without the sex part. That shouldn’t count as an F werd though ’cause if it’s sex wit’ yer sweetie …. it ain’t … uhhh …. EFFING! heh Also careful with that shit about passin’ out them Bumper Stickers and tote bags while Rick the Prick tiene ventaja de campo. Them Security guys fer the Prick ‘er ex ‘Xe Services’ fuckers who miss their old past time of ‘Water Board the Smartass’ and ‘er just wushin’ to play again!
    Ok ….. also also …. ain’t Ivory Soap …. though 99 & 44/100ths% pure …. ain’t that a lil’…. aaaaah … Caustic on yer nether regions there? OK …. so …. I’m fiddin’ teh change yer life …. AND help get rid of that skeletal twist. Getcher self a baggie see …… whatever size ya’ need …. see …. experimentin’ that part is fun … getcher self a baggie …. put yer favorite lotion (mineral oil is LOTS cheaper fer those with chronic wank syndrome) inside the baggie …… go to yer bedroom ( or a room with a door that locks!) … slide yer uhhh …. erect …. uhh ….PICKLE …. inside the bag ….. pitch a piller on the floor next to yer bed ….. get down on yer knees ….. and stick yer pickle filled baggie between the mattress and the box springs. Inna minute ‘er so you’ll ferget all about yer Ivory Soap method. You’ll have teh do somethin’ different teh get both arms back the same size though …..
    ps: It ain’t no use if ya’ don’t get the boost…
    the boost you get from Loostners ….
    Loooooooooooost-Ners ….

  2. admin says:

    BJ. We need to talk about your sex kit. I smell a marketable product springing from your wicked brain.

    “She looked so helpless lying there, spread-eagle on the floor, so I beat the eagle off and gave her mouth-to-mouth rescessitation.”

    “Oh, you mean Nancy?”

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