Who Gives A Shit; Road Trip High


So. All of this political crap is happening and I’m wanting to get all angry and shit, but I’m having trouble getting a mad on about much of anything. For the first time in decades, I’m taking a road trip all by myself. No wife, literally no wife, nor girlfriend nor any pets are loading up with me to head East. I’m not taking the Squirt or Yoda and I’m for certain not taking the fucking cat.

I’ve told you guys about the sleeping arrangements here to Mooner’s pet emporium, right? I have a big California King-size bed and a giant closet both, and each are filled to capacity with animals. The closet holds Rush Limbaugh and Rick Perry, closeted gay lovers in both the figurative and literal senses, and the over-sized bed holds the Squirt, Yoda and Honor the fucking cat. I don’t need to make room in the bed for the gay ostrich and giant pig, and for that I’m grateful.

When I sleep, I have three specific positions through which I rotate through the night. OK, I need to throw one of those throughs away. Try this: During the night I rotate through three positions. Position Number 1: Flat on my back, arms straight by my sides, hands flat and palms down, feet with toes pointed slightly down. This is my “start sleep/restart sleep” position. It is vitally important to not tuck the sheets into the bottom of the bed to keep pressure off my big feet. I cramp and have nightmares if my feet feel clamped-in by the covers.

This position is where I do my final thinkings of the day and practice my relaxation techniques to get calmed and sleep.

Position Number 2: I lay on my right side with my hips perpendicular to the bed, arms bent and flat on the bed under my pillow edge and with my head turned laying flat and looking at my right palm faced up, and my left palm down. The hands are side-by-side, my head is cradled in my pillow—the one with the rolled edge and cupped center—and my legs are casually bent. As I sleep, I’ll bend my legs more, or less, to ease any strain on my back or neck.

This position is the one where I spend most of my sleep time.

Position Number 3, AKA “The Fetal Position”: Always on my left side and always curled perpendicular to the bed. This is the position I lay in when I’m frustrated and aches and pains hit, either physical or otherwise. Since my brain always hurts, Position Number 3 is frequented.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “Jesus, Mooner, who gives a shit how you lay when you sleep?” Right?

The reason I told you all of this is because how my body is positioned has lately become additionally encumbered with modifications required as the result of my sleeping with a small female dog, a slightly larger yet still small male dog, and a fucking cat. Each of them loves me and I love them back, and each wants to stake a claim to differing patches of my naked carcass as we sleep.

Squirt gets first dibs since she was here first. She like to be between my legs as I lay in each position. As time has passed, she’s learned to anticipate my shiftings to avoid serious injury. Honor the cat has second choice and she seems to want to be near my head. She tries to lay on all of my pillow that is not covered by my own head. Sometimes this requires her to lay across my neck or over my head in order to put furry cat parts on exposed pillow case.

Yoda takes his choice from what of me is left. His usual choice involves him curled in a tight ball anywhere that he can poke his nose to the crack of my ass. I’ve learned to ignore his breath as it tickles the hair on my butt, but I still jump at his occasional lick.

These sleeping arrangements have caused me to totally lose respect for The Princess and the Pea. “Fuck you, you spoiled little bitch. Shut up and go to sleep.”

So I’m sleeping last night just after the 3:30 am trip to the back yard to take Yoda to pee. I had awakened with mild night wood, so I was able to pee in the back yard with the dog. We climbed back in bed and I lay flat on my back in Position Number 1 to restart my sleep. I bumped into Squirt and she cursed me and moved to my feet, Yoda wedged himself to have his snout at the crease of my left butt cheek, and the cat hissed at me and jumped off the bed.

“Hang your ass all the way over the sink, little lady. Don’t be pissing on my tooth brush again.” I’m finding cats to be somewhat more difficult to potty train than dogs.

Anyway, I’m finally back to sleep and I’m having a sex dream about Roshandra, my ex-wife number five. Roshandra is the only one of my wives I have sexed up post divorce, and she likes me to play “human vibrator” for her. Since that is in the book I can’t elaborate, but let me just say the she and I have a buzzing good time.

In the dream, Roshandra has decided to return the favor, and she’s vibrating on me. She’s got her face buried in my crotch and she’s running a Rabbit of some other vibrator over my pecker and balls. It must be summer in the dream because I’m sweating. After a few wonderful minutes of this play, Roshandra looks up at me and says, “How about a little pain with your pleasure, buzzy boy?”, and she starts pricking my scrotum with needles.

That would be when I awakened from the dream to find the cat laying in my lap, purring like a mother fucker and kneading my scrotum. I blame Squirt for vacating her spot.

Should I be worried about this? What would it have meant if I hadn’t awakened before Roshandra finished the job? Is it bestiality if the animal sex is dream sexing?

I’m thinking that so long as I don’t start fantasizing about it and have cat dreams that I’ll be OK.

But what I wanted to tell you is that even though all of this silly political shit is raging around me, I’m too happy about my road trip to get mad. I won’t need to worry about anyone but myself and I’m going to meet some great people. Friends who (whom?) I have never laid eyes upon.

So, FUCK RICK PERRY and the rest of them too. I’m spending the day fishing and drinking Carta Blanca beer. Manana, y’all.

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4 Responses to “Who Gives A Shit; Road Trip High”

  1. bj says:

    Fuck Prick Perry – But Let The Boy Talk! You’ll need to get rid of all them ‘stretchy-outtie’ positions of yorn but ‘ceptin for Number 1 while yer sleepin’ here to Johnsonville in our little single twin bed. You won’t have to worry about yer feets bein all cramped up ’cause they’ll be hangin off the end of the bed. The only thing you MIGHT have to worry about is … well ….that ‘Spare’ room is where Ruger-the-wonder-dog sleeps. You don’t have to worry about him sleepin’ witcha (unless you get homesick or some shit) ’cause he sleeps on the floor…… BUT if ya’ make a lotta noise or move around too much (or too quickly) it might SCARE my 85 lb. 2 year old GSD …. and who knows WHUT might happen then. But don’t worry yer tangled mind about that shit yet…. jest relax, set yer temper settin’ to ‘Squash’ and suck down another Carta Blanca.

  2. BJ. I think the dog’s virtues should be safe with me. I, Mooner Johnson, do hereby swear that I have never willingly had sex with anything save a woman and my own hands.

    OK, except for that pumpkin that one time and I’ll be there after Halloween, so your Jack-o-lanterns are safe as well. OK, now that I think about it, I did fuck the vacuum cleaner this one time in sixth grade. It was a sexy thing–one of the old Kirbys with the hose attachment with the little soft upholstery brush dealie. And, of course, a cloth bag.

    “No, Mother, I haven’t used your Kirby to clean up any puddin’.”

    What color are the dog’s eyes?

  3. chrisinphx says:

    Hey Mooner, check out this article in the local Phoenix New Times all about Prick Perry and the wonderland that he created…

  4. Chris. Thanks for this. Isn’t it great when people see through the lies?


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