K, K, And K Kardashian’s Kamel Toes Displayed; The Commentor Formerly Known As Theo Returns


So. I’m headed off to South Austin this foggy morn to give more books away in coffee shops. I’ve taped the Author’s Request disclaimers into some books, signed them to: “Whomever you are”[,] and then penned my John Henry at the bottom. I’ve got a handful of books ready to go, and I’m going as soon as I finish this writing. To catch a glimpse of what book I herein speak to, click over there to my Bloggie Roller ====}}}} and you’ll find a video book trailer, Clarion four-of-five stars review, and Amazon sites for a paper-paged book and Kindle, both.

And maybe I’ve got a handfuls of book, each book with a John Hancock, and I might should have said, “To catch a glimpse of what book I speak of herein…”

I’m somewhat scattered, smothered, covered and extra-crispy with ADHD-fueled brainwaves. As my longtime readers know, I am visited by recurring-themed camel toe dreams on a routine basis. At least once each week the female dromedaries pay visit to my sleepy time. I get frequent overnight stays from actresses and political figures and even Queens and shit. For as long as I’ve had these dreams, I’ve never encountered pseudo celebrities. I’ve never had a visit from the Kardashian sisters.

Until last night.

I’ve been happy to lay claim to the fact that those three apparent nitwits and their nitwittier mother have been off the radar screen of my subconscious dream brain. I don’t have anything against them as I love pretty dumb women just as much as smart women and women without great physical beauty. I don’t have anything against them, I simply don’t want to waste valuable focus on them.

If you have ADD, you know how valuable a little focus can be. We sufferers like to make our focus count.

This dream likely grew from seeds planted at dinner last night. Gram cruised down to College Station over the weekend and returned with her Ferrari packed with Aggies. Freddie, a space science major from the Philippines, is a talky little fucker that even the Squirt can’t understand. When I asked what the cute little chatterbox said this one time, she said, “Oh for shit sakes, Mooner. I can’t tell if he’s speaking Tag A Log or Bikal. You need to call the Reckmonster on this one.”

Squirt went on to tell me that for starters there are over 7,000 individual islands in the Philippines and that there are sixteen different MAJOR languages spoken there. “Then,” Squirt told me, “you have all the different dialects. Like the Bikal has Bikal Central and dozens of regional Bikal slangs. It’s a fucking linguist’s nightmare!”

The second young man my randy old grandmother brought home was Dave, a pimply-faced eighteen-tear-old bovine husbandry ag student who is not to be confused with Mr. Dave. Mr. Dave, the giant-peckered older gentleman of Johnson Manor, is on an extended visit over to the house of P-cubed. Mr. Dave has managed to quench thirsts around here for now, so the ladies of my house loaned him out to Penelope Paxton-Parades—Gram’s best buddy.

Anyway, we’re sitting at the dinner table last night when the subject of booties came up. Sister and her wife Anna the Amazon were here, and Dave couldn’t keep his eyes off Anna, my ex-wife and my lesbian sister’s wife now. Gram was editing his watching of Anna’s ass and grew tired of it. She gave Dave the Evil Eye and said to him, she said, “What ya lookin’ at, sonny boy? I thought ya said ya was all tuckered out.”

Dave grimaced but held his back straight. I admired his spine in the face of the Evil Eye. “I’m worn right on down to the bone, Mrs. Johnson. But Anna looks like Khloe Kardashian except with Kim K’s bootie and that beautiful blond hair. Is that your real hair color Ms. Johnson-Johnson-Johnson?”

Now Sister’s face started the twitch towards an Evil Eye, but Dave saved his own bacon before I could intervene. “I don’t mean any disrespect, Ms. Sister, it’s just that your wife and you both look like famous people. I, simply said, like Khloe Kardashian’s looks better than Demi Moore’s.”

If you would buy my fucking book and read it, you would understand the full width and breadth of calamity Dave avoided with his further explanations. And why nobody asked young Dave what he was doing with my bony old grandmother if he liked his women plump is a second answer you’ll find should you read the book. But I’ll not give additional enlightenment for free at this time. What I will do is tell you that sometime after 3:00 am last night, I had a celebrity camel toe dream. OK, a pseudo celebrity camel toe dream.

In this dream I was sitting at a coffee shop in South Austin looking over the crowd to determine who to approach for a book giveaway. I guess I was in a South Austin coffee shop because I had already planned today’s visits. I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to see who it was, but was forced to turn and look up. Waaaay up. It was Khloe, Kim and Kourtney K., and Khloe was in the lead.

“We want a free book, Mister,” they all three said in unison. Their unified voices were a chorus of estrogen and sex and youth. “We’ll show you our booties if you give us a book.”

“Well, ladies,” I explained, “I like butts, and a lot of like at that, but your booties are not what will attract my affections, it’s your camel toes. I’m Mooner Johnson, and I’m a pocket meat man.”

They all three giggled in unison and invited to to join them in the private room at the coffee shop. I didn’t know coffee shops had private rooms but this one does. I followed them back and admired the three world famous and world class booties every step of the way. Nothing, and I mean nothing, can beat the look of a well-groomed camel toe as it does the pocket rumba when its keeper is strolling towards me. But have to admit that this trio of asses gave cause to reconsider.

“OK, ladies,” I said as the tuxedoed attendant pulled the curtains shut behind us and I sat in a deep-cushioned chair. “Show me what you’ve got.”

I’ve got an observation for you guys. I think I can now say with a reasonable certainty that, “Big bootie in the back—robust camel toe leading the way.”

I was squeezing and tugging as I inspected the girls’ worthiness as recipients of free books. Then it dawned on me that these three young women gross more annual income that Guatemala.

“I’m sorry, ladies” I told them. “These appear to be world-class tootsies. If all I get is a peek and a squeeze, you’ll need to pay for books.”

Kim says to me, she says, “Oh, Mr. Johnson, I thought you’d ne-ver ask.”

Me, I’m dream-thinking what it was, specifically, that I asked when Kim hiked her already-hiked short, sequined dress over her waist and hooked her thumbs in the edge of the deep maroon-colored thong she wore. “Close your eyes, Mr. Johnson, and open them when I say ‘When'[.]”

I squeezed my eyes tight and might have started shaking. My mind started running through all the previous times I have been waiting for a woman’s panties to fall. Each and every one of those times I opened my eyes to a different wonderment. I tried to find a prior visage that I felt would match this one and came up empty.

I heard the rustling sound that tight ladies undies make as they are removed over two legs, slowly. I heard a deep intake of breath and then felt its hot, humid air as it was slowly released towards my face. The “shoosh” of air stood the hairs on my neck into bristles. The cushion of my seat depressed on either side of my head, and I sensed rather than felt soft fuzz approaching my face.

To my self I thought, “Do I stick my tongue out- yes or no?” I answered to myself, “No, not on the first date.”

Just at the moment I felt the feather-light contact of fine hairs on my chin, I heard, “When!”

I jerked awake with Honor laying across my face with her belly parked my mouth. “Shit, Honor, you managed to ruin my best camel toe dream in months.” Actually, it sounded like, “Thith,”

Fucking cats. Would somebody please remind me why I even have a fucking cat?

Good thing I have first date rules in my dreams. Manana, y’all.

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9 Responses to “K, K, And K Kardashian’s Kamel Toes Displayed; The Commentor Formerly Known As Theo Returns”

  1. squatlo says:

    I was misled by this post’s title into thinking you had heard from our friendly troll Theo again. But I guess that ADHD thing kicked in before you got around to writing about it. False advertising at its worst. I’m so disappointed.

    That cameltoe shit’s gonna get you in trouble one of these days, Mooner…

  2. What a little trivia hound that Squirt is! Actually – I believe there are actually over 90 different dialects native to the archipelago nation of the Philippines…but who’s counting?

    And camel toes? Ugh, Mooner. Just UGH. They’re actually quite GROSS. You need to get a different obsession. Camel toes just skeeve me out – thinking of that junk all packed in too tight – a fucking yeast infection waiting to happen! Yeeeeeeesh.

  3. squatlo says:

    Whoa, Whoa, Whoa!!! Hold on a damn minute, Ms. Reck… let’s not get hasty. I happen to be one of those people who is quite intrigued by a lovely cameltoe display. Maybe not to the point of Mooner’s obsession with all things labial, but I’ve gotta admit the sight of a well-formed CT has made me stop in my tracks more than once. In fact, I once got into a lengthy discussion with a woman who (for some reason) agreed with your take on things, and when I told her I thought CT’s should actually be encouraged, perhaps even elevated to the “next big thing” in fashion (since we can’t get transparent tops past the Fun Police), she pitched a bitch. Called me a perv… like that’s a bad thing, or something. The same woman was quite happy with my perverted ass when I was focusing on her happy ass in the privacy of our bedroom, but apparently my having spoken lovingly of cameltoe displays was crossing a line.

    If more women proudly paraded their CT’s in the public domain we’d have lower crime rates, there would be no world hunger, and peace on Earth would be more than a Christmas card slogan. Not sure how all those things relate to cameltoes, but I believe it would be such a wonderful turn of events the rest of our problems would just fade from memory. At least from mine and Mooner’s.

    You should consider being a trendsetter for peace, Michelle! Hike ’em up and let ‘er shine!

    What’ya think, Mooner?

  4. Squat. You have managed to wave Democracy’s flag for every hetro-sexual man in America. I’ve wished for a dream visit from the Devine Ms. Reckmonster, but alas…

    What many people forget is that most modern fashion highlights a woman’s T&A and not her C&T. I say to all you ladies-

    “Wear them like a codpeice!”

  5. chrisinphx says:

    Im with you Reck, we dont want no Yeasty Poping Fresh Crotch Rot to be this year’s version of swine flu…however a few more moose knuckles might not be such a bad thing.

  6. Oh thank GAWD, Chris…finally the voice of reason!! (well, except for maybe the moose knuckles thing – unless it’s strictly the object of humor – as in we’re laughing at your moose knuckle, NOT admiring it!).

    Mooner and Squat – y’all are not right. Do I SEEM like I would be the kind of chick who would parade around being the poster child for Monistat?!!! No. No. No. Lemme let you both in on something: THE BEASTIE YEASTIES (aka “Yeast Infections”) are NO FUN. And one of the ways that you can get a rabid case of the beasties is to wear stuff on your nether regions that is wayyyyy too tight, which produces the desired “camel toe” that you guys lust after. So, I still say – the camel toe is a public health enemy!!!!!

  7. squatlo says:

    Reck, there you go trying to “logic” your way out of making the world a more peaceful, verdant, and beautiful place. If wearing your clothing too tight in the nether regions were a problem we’d never have allowed bras or thongs to become standard issue garments! Why, we’d have floppy women in granny panties everywhere you turn! Tight jeans? A health hazard? Puh-leeze… this is yet another way in which women deny men –nay! Humanity itself! of the life-giving nectar of imagination fodder!

    Instead we’re forced to “dream” our fantasy moments, like Mooner does whenever Kathy Griffin and Chelsea Handler visit his thoughts. (only in his case he sometimes gets the Queen and the Pope involved, which I’ll never understand, but hey, Mooner, we love you regardless~!)

    And, for the record, life itself would suck without the yeast you so easily dismiss. No yeast? No bread! No beer!

    If you won’t play along, at least stop turning the rest of the women against us! Jeez…

  8. admin says:

    Chris, and Reck. Another fine point seemingly forgotten in these discussions is the fact that yeast infections are colonies of spores, and spores require dark, dank and moist environments to thrive. By bringing her major mound out into the sunlight will help fight yeast infections and thus help a lady avoid that smell of beer-gone-bad.

    I have consulted with my best buddy and international spore expert, Streaker Jones, and he assures me that, and I’ll quote him here, “Ain’t the display, Mooner, it’s the wrapper.”

    Simply stated, it’s when pocket poochies are tightly-wrapped in tightly-woven fabrics of dense manmade fabrics that conditions become yeasty. Might I suggest you try a rewoven hemp fiber cotton styled fabric thong such as the one produced by If You Can’t Smoke It, Wear It. It’s Product Number 9 on page sixteen of this Spring’s catalog. I think the cool pink color would be especially nice with Reck’s skin tones.

    I don’t have a good sense of how gay men like to men’s toes displayed, but I have a feeling that the cool pink color works there as well.

    Squat. Well said, sir. OK, except for the Queen/Pope part. You act as if I have some control over what happens inside my head. Imagine this. You are the lone day care worker with a class of sixty two year olds. Control that, mother fucker.

  9. squatlo says:

    Mooner, while I do sympathize with your plight (the ricochet rabbit brain activity) I’m not certain you aren’t at least PARTIALLY to blame for some of your dream-sequence cast of characters. If I spent a lot of time ranting and raving about the Queen and the Pope, and took the time to write about them once a week, I’m sure they’d be justified in stopping by to clutter up my dreams. On the other hand, if that were the case I should be dealing with Noot and Michele Bachmann in my dreams, and I’ve never had a visit from either. Thank you Jebus.

    Reckmonster is determined to be obstinate about displaying her CT, and I doubt the color or texture of the fabric housing the exhibit would make any difference. Some people are givers, others are takers. You can’t expect a booger every time you pick your nose, you know?

    Let’s just enjoy and marvel at the offerings from the givers of this world. Rejoice, they walk among us!

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