Fresh Scraped Skull Entertains Pets; Photos To Follow


So. I’m up early Sunday morning and even having lost an hour to DST, I’m a full five hours ahead of schedule. The reason I’m ahead of schedule is because I no longer possess a full head of hair. I had my head sheared for charity yesterday at the Saint Baldricks Foundation event, an action that left me looking like Rob Reiner.

I’ve always liked Rob starting when he was “Meathead” on All In The Family. He’s made some great movies and written great things too. And he’s a fine human being, so I’m OK that I look like him. I wish that I could say “People Magazine’s Best Looking Man of 1975, Rob Reiner”[.] We’re handsome SOB’s but not that handsome.

I grew a week’s beard in advance so that I could fart around with my looks after the shearing. The after-shearing results were not quite what I had in mind. But as soon as I got home I grabbed a sixer of Carta Blanca and headed to the bathroom to experiment.

OK, stop. I’m getting way fucking ahead of schedule on this train trip. Let me back up and first tell you why I was up five hours ahead of my planned wake-up call. I was asleep last night and dreaming about sex. This sex dream was one where I was on display at some sort of sex club. I was in a line-up of men and we were all standing in nothing but thongs and sneakers with, or without, white cotton socks.

I always wear nothing but white cotton socks due to a foot fungus problem that can only be controlled by wearing white cotton socks and then smearing mentholated petrol jelly on your toes. I tried all the expensive medications and treatments for twenty years and nothing helped heal my smoking hot, nasty and smelly feet.

The menthol grease trick was told to me by a Viet Nam vet I met at a taco truck a few years back. I was standing in line, wearing sandals to air out my blistered feet, and a man was standing at the counter at the end of the trailer eating fish tacos. At least I think I remember they were fish tacos. That particular taco trailer has great fish and smoked pork tacos both.

“Dude,” the man said, with that sound in his voice you hear in emergency rooms, “that’s some ugly fucking feet.”

“No doubt,” I answered, “and burn like a constant hot oil treatment.”

“Vicks Vapo Rub is the answer, dude.” He then went on to tell me about catching the Jungle Rot on his feet from slogging the muddy Terra Firma of Viet Nam when it was the rainy season. “And, Dude, it’s always the fucking rainy season in Nam.”

Anyway, I’m standing in this lineup of thonged and sneakered men at this sex club and the lady choosers are eyeballing us up and down. The men were arranged in order of descending heights except that Dr. Marcus Bachmann was out of order. One of the women remarked that Marcus was out of order and I said, “No shit?”

I was surprised at how tall and also overweight he was. I was second in line between Liam Neeson, the actor, and Milton Berle. Then was James Woods, Ron Jeremy and then Mr. Dave. I realized that except for Marcus and me, all the men on stage either had confirmed, or were reported to have, giant peckers. Me, I’ve seen Ronnie’s on screen a time or two and as for Mr. Dave, I’ve seen that thing in the flesh. For the rest, I’ll take rumor’s word for it.

I was proud to be standing in this line even if I didn’t measure up to their standards. The ladies were standing at the foot of the stage ogling us when the announcer says, “OK, ladies, lets start the bidding.”

Men were auctioned off starting with the short end of the sticks. I didn’t pay much attention to things until it got to be my turn on the block, but I did hear the word “thousand” quite often. “And what do we have to open bids on Mr. Mooner Johnson, ladies? Do I hear five dollars… Five smackeroos, anyone?”

I won’t bore you with the rest of the bidding part of this dream as it is unimportant. What I will tell you is this. The winning bidder was Mrs. Leticia Browningwell, my former school teacher and wife of The Right Reverend Dr. Browningwell who pastors Mother and Gram’s Baptist church. What the fuck she was doing in my dream is unsettling. I’ve had many nightmares wherein that old bag played a key role, but as I said, this was unsettling.

So, in the dream, Leticia says to me, she says, “Mooner, honey, do you know why I bought you?”

“No, Mrs. Browningwell,” I answered. I always call her Mrs. Browningwell to her face.

“Well, son, I want you to get down there and rub your head beard on my stuff.”

When I didn’t move fast enough, she said, “Do it right now, buster, or you’re off to Principle Gibson’s office.”

So, I jumped to the task and I was rubbing my newly-bald head over her thighs and pubic mound and Leticia was starting to lather up. If I had ever thought about it before this dream, I would have thought her to have a dry well, if you know what I mean, and if I had ever thought on the subject.

My head was starting to go from damp to slathered when I was awakened by giggling in my ears. Squirt, Yoda and Honor the fucking cat were licking my head and laughing their furry little asses off as they did.

“Honor says your head feels just like her own tongue, Bwana Mooner, ha- ha- ha.” The Squirt had tears in her eyes from the humor in my thick skull. “And Yoda thinks licking you head is like when he tried to eat sandpaper that one time the other week,” and she “ha-ha-ha’d” some more.

That was at three am and why I’m awake.

I took before, during and after pictures of my scalping and will get them posted here as soon as I can figure how to get them out of the fucking camera and off to Squatlo for processing. It’s been a few weeks and I can’t remember how to do it. Trying to do it is what I did for the first four hours I’ve been awake this morning.

But I’m in a good mood. It appears the rain is lifting for today and I’m ready to party! The pets are all stir crazy and want to go fishing and SAC Ellen will be in town for one full day. Rush Limbaugh and Rick Perry are in a new lovers’ spat over their sex toys and the fucking cat keeps shredding my dirty underwear out of boredom. I figure a few hours tormenting the fish will brighten all our moods.

After I shave my skull again, we’re going to the dock for some fun and games and then the SACster arrives for lunch to brighten my mood. I didn’t tell her I was shaving my head. She’s gonna be so surprised. Manana, y’all.


PS- please buy my fucking book, Full Rising Mooner, available by clicking over there ===}}}

Print Friendly

2 Responses to “Fresh Scraped Skull Entertains Pets; Photos To Follow”

  1. Granny Ook says:

    Oh Mooner, what can I say? Your life makes NO sense… but it’s entertaining. I found the blog of a Texas lady with attitude who hates (P)Rick Perry as much as you do, in case you haven’t already discovered it…

  2. Granny. How’s it hanging, kid? No sense is close to nonsense, and nonsense is my middle name. Actually, my middle name is Einstein, and that makes even less sense.

    I have seen Miss Jaunita’s rants and she is quit the ranter. I’ve visited her place but she seems to find me inappropriate. Go figure.

Leave a Reply