Y’all know what tomorrow is, right? Sure it’s old Barry Obama’s inauguration, absolutely, but you know what else? It’s day seven of the ‘Spunk Shuns Sex’ event right here in my pants and it can’t come a minute too soon.
I hope ya’ll excuse THAT pun.
I’m at the stage now where, whenever I so much as hear a lady’s voice, an oak tree blooms in my pants. Even if that lady’s the chick at the DMV who resembles Gene Wilder.
I just survived a weekend of being up to my neck in the ladies and not being able to do a damn thing about it. It’s a cruel world, I just live in it. It’s all about harmony you see. Tony and the ladies go together like crackers and cheese. Or Sonny and Cher. Or Jeremy Piven and an asshole convention. It’s just the way the world is and I am powerless to change it.
So tomorrow night at midnight I got me lined up with a fine lady named Josephine. Josephine and I are meeting up for cocktails and some laughs, but not a single appendage of my own will touch her fine wobbling flesh till that clock strikes midnight, you can be sure of that. Then all bets are off. Just like I’m hoping her pants will be. (You might notice I’ve quit being subtle, y’all, because this is an emergency.)
I met Josephine on Friday night at my show. She was propping up the bar all on her lonesome, in some pastel pink slacks, like my mom used to wear in 1973, and a lilac blouse. I noticed her because her ensemble matched my fuchsia shirt.
Well that and the fact her fine pumpkins were making that blouse work hard at keeping the buttons on.
She actually wasn’t that interested at first. Seems she found my lines ‘corny’. What the shit, lady?
I told her, ‘Sweetie, you must be hormonal or something because those lines are tried and tested nuggets of pure genius that have gained me some fine, premium ass in the past!’. She replied, ‘Tony, you are as insignificant as the head of a mouse’s dick.’ which confirmed she wanted me and didn’t want me to know. I talked her around though. I always do in the end.
She’s pretty fine. Mid-thirties, pear shaped ass that fills a chair when she sits down and those fine twins up top I mentioned earlier. Y’all know I’m more an ass man, but a guy notices all a lady’s glories, yes Sir. Plus she wants me bad seeing as how I refrained from putting out both Friday and Saturday and she totally thinks I’m playing hard to get.
I told her, ‘Doll, my buddy and I have a bet going but YOU can bet your fine ass that the second the bet is over, I’ll have you bent over the hood of my car in the parking lot screaming for Jesus.’
What can I say, I’m an old charmer. Also I’m horny, unable to act on the horny and therefore completely unable to be gentlemanly about it.
I guess we’ll see tomorrow night, 12:00am Mountain Time, oh yeah.
If you’ll excuse me, I have to go polish something.