Burning The Extra Large Rubber; Mooner Buys Dave’s Condom Supply

 

So. Things around here are moving quite smoothly if you ask me. Mr. Dave, the well-enhanced randy old geezer Gram kidnapped from the Whole Foods market is fitting seamlessly into the fabrics that are the Johnson family women. I’m not keeping score, but my mother would, if appearances bear true, be the only woman over forty to not yet bed Mr. Dave. Mother looks like a kid in a candy store every time she is in his proximity, but she still has that, “I didn’t get any candy yet” look.

My participation in the calming of my household to date has been to pay the living expenses of those sleeping under my roof, cook the dinners, and make a run to the big Walgreen’s pharmacy over to US 183. The one there to Braker Lane.

“Go ta tha one there to Braker Lane, Mooner. Git them Trojan Claudius Maximum jobbies. They’s holdin’ a case fer me at the back desk. Tell ‘um Ramoner sent ya,” were my Gram’s precise words. “An make sure they don’t try ta give ya any a them cut-rate jobbies. Dave needs the real thingies.”

“Who the hell is Ramona?”

I had to ask.

“Oh hell, Mooner, Ramoner’s that gal what was a guy what had that giant pecker an’ cut it off. Terrible waste a manhood. Me an tha P-cubed use ta do tha tag-teamer on ‘im.” My grandmother got a forlorn look in her eyes. “An then he decided he wanted ta be a girl. Said me an’ Penelope hepped him make his mind up.”

Like I said, I had to ask. And let me add, “Of course you and Penelope Paxton-Parades helped him decide.” I can only imagine the damage my Gram and the P-cubed could inflict upon a young man during a three-way.

After my shower with the dogs this morning, they wanted to watch the Animal Channel. We’ve been discussing how to help Yoda learn proper Johnson family potty habits. There was a special running on the Animal Channel about canines, so I turned the family room TV to that station and left them with it while I went to get SAC Ellen. The SACster has just returned from New York City where she helped review the City’s security plans for New Year’s Eve.

We sexed, and thoroughly at that, and made the stop at the Walgreens store. She said she needed a few things and would go in with me. I went to the back of the store to give my password code, “Ramona”[,] to whomever I found back there, while my lover worked her way around the store. I found a nice lady in the way-back at the pharmacist’s counter, “Louise” it said on her tag, so I said to her, I said, “Good afternoon, Louise, Ramona sent me for a package you’re holding.”

“Does this Ramona have a last name, sir? We sort everything here at Walgreens by last name.”

“Nope, just Ramona. You know, she called you to set aside a package for me to fetch for my grandmother?”

“I don’t know anything about a package, mister.” Things weren’t as seamless here as at home.

“Well,” I said, “would anyone here know about a package for Ramona?”

“Hey, Gertie, you got a package for a Ramona somebody or this guy’s grandmother?” This was yelled, basically, at a plump woman doing stock work maybe six aisles away.

“Only Ramona I know,” Gertie blasts back at Louise, “is that real nice young man who had us special order those real big rubbers. Oh, wait, there’s also that Ramona on that Housewives TV show.”

Gertie looked somewhat perplexed for a second, then added, “Except I’ve seen that TV Ramona’s husband, and he don’t need no giant sized rubbers. I got a nose for that kind a deal.”

Now Gertie is walking my way, staring at my crotch with a lazer-eyed stare with every step. “Move your hands, mister. It don’t look like you need the big’uns but I can’t tell for sure until you move your hands. I can help you choose the right size for maximum pleasure.”

“OK, look, ladies, like I said, they aren’t for me… I mean it isn’t that I wouldn’t buy that kind if I was buying for myself, but, well, these are for Dave, the guy from over to Wortham’s Sanctuary. He’s staying at my place and is in need of a supply.”

“Oh,” said Louise and Gertie simultaneously.

Then Louise said, “I was wondering why he wasn’t there to sign for his order Friday afternoon. It was my turn to deliver his order to Wortham’s.”

“Well, I’m here to pick up his order.”

The ladies giggled at some private joke between them. Louise rang up the sale while Gertie fetched the condoms. Gertie returned with a large double-shoe box sized carton that had “Trojan Magnum XL- Extra Large Condoms” emblazoned all over it in bold black lettering. I guess a man who needs extra-large rubbers likes to advertise the fact.

I had Louise put the $400+ charge on my AmEx card. This was when I caught a glimpse of SAC Ellen, as I was signing the credit slip. She stood off to my blind side with her basket clutched in both hands and a smile creasing her face ear-to-ear.

“I’m a Special Agent in Charge for US Homeland Security, ladies,” Ellen said as she walked over and flashed her badge. Have you completed your transaction with this man?”

“Yes,” from Gertie, and, “All I need to do is wrap this box for him, sir,” from Louise.

“Don’t worry about the box, ma’am. I’m going to quietly walk this man to the front of the store, pay for my purchases, and take him away. Please don’t alarm anyone. He’s harmless as long as he doesn’t open that box inside your store. Once that box is open…”

The ladies gasped. Gertie said, “Be careful Special Agent. He does look dangerous.”

SAC Ellen grabbed me by my shoulder and said, “Pick up the box, Mr. Johnson, and please follow me. And bear in mind that I have a stun gun issued me by the federal government and I know how to use it.”

She perp-walked me to the front, hand held on her tazer harness all the way. When we got to the front she said, “Will you stand there quietly sir, or do I need to cuff you to that rail?”

“I’ll be good,” I answered.

This was fun. Everybody sort of stood away from us but not too far. A crowd of people was gathering, looking between the fancy federal agent—purchasing mouthwash, toothpaste, deodorant, cotton Coet Pads, and a large bottle of KY Warming Lubricant—and me, as I held a case of super-duty rubbers.

She paid her bill, turned to me and pointed, and said, “You- in the car,” and she perp-walked me to the car.

When we got to my GTO, parked twenty spaces from the door to protect it from getting dinged, SAC Ellen said, “Get in the passenger side, sweetie. We don’t want to break the spell now.”

I don’t know if there is a federal agent anywhere in America who drives a 1967 GTO to work, but it didn’t seem to matter to the crowd at Walgreens as they followed us all the way out. The SACster started the car with her set of keys and burned rubber as she took off. After a block she started laughing and then me too.

“Oh my goodness but I needed that.” SAC Ellen has been going almost constantly for months and she really needs a break. “Did you see that one lady eyeballing you?

“I think that was the lady I told about last summer when I got tazered at the Barnes and Noble Bookstore.” I’d gotten tazered while doing research in the kiddies book section.

We rehashed the prank from one end to the other and laughed it up at length. The condom box was sitting between us and my curiosity got the best of me. “I’ve never seen one of these things, let’s take a look.”

I opened the box with my pocket knife, and cut one condom from its sleeve. It was in a gold foil-wrapped disk about the diameter of a bread plate. I cut the foil and pulled the condom free.

“Holy shit,”I exclaimed, “I can fit my foot in this fucking thing!” I wear a size thirteen wide shoe.

I stuck my hand inside the rubber and rolled it up my arm where it stopped just short of my elbow. “Holy shit,” was about all I could say. My mind started wandering to just exactly what was going on in my household with an old man in residence who needed, and could still use, the condom on my arm. I began to worry that the Johnson women would fall behind on their chores.

Ellen kept glancing sideways at the big condom as she drove us home. “How old is this guy Dave anyway?” she asked me.

“I need a Carta Blanca,” I answered.

Please think about purchasing my book from over there ===}}} Manana, y’all.

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9 Responses to “Burning The Extra Large Rubber; Mooner Buys Dave’s Condom Supply”

  1. squatlo says:

    Your story reminds me of the one Ron White told about “Squirrel Man” on the cruise ship…

  2. melanie says:

    wow. that was something. now i am REALLY looking to hearing about the christmas festivities. does the guy have a tumor for a penis or something?

  3. admin says:

    Squat. Exactly. Envision Ron’s story as they went to the nude beach.

    Mel. I’m making an attempt to mearly report news as it’s told to me. But it sounds as if Dave is simply a zoo keeper in the large reptile section, if you get my drift.

  4. admin says:

    OK, everybody stop the fucking presses. AS the Administrator for this tangled mess of a website, I was just required to type “Senne emasere” because that last comment contained the word “nude”[.] Are you fucking me?

    Fuck CAPCHA and fuck computer programmers worldwide.

  5. mel says:

    Just saw this article (DO watch the video. It will not disappoint.) and it made me think of you.
    http://www.thepostgame.com/blog/dish/201112/saturday-night-live-under-attack-thanks-tim-tebow-sketch

  6. admin says:

    Mel. I checked this out. Assholes. Pat Robertson is everything that is wrong with Christianity.

  7. squatlo says:

    A buddy of mine who’s a very devout individual (despite being one of the most ruthless practical jokers alive) told me to watch the SNL skit of Jebus and Tebow and let him know what I thought. Well, I watched it, and thought it sucked. Not because it was sacrireligious or disrespectful, but because I didn’t find it funny. At all. And I despise Tebow and all the proselytizing through sports he represents. Been a while since SNL did ANYTHING really funny, to tell you the truth.

    But you can count on Robertson and the holy roller crowd to jump on anything remotely threatening or critical of their ilk, because they thrive on the false impression that it’s “us against the world!” on every issue.

    When you sum up all organized religion with “My imaginary friend is better than YOUR imaginary friend!” it all makes more sense.

  8. admin says:

    Mel and Squat. I have but one thing to say re: this issue.

    Fuck Pat Robertson and ALL if his ilk, each and every one!

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