Fellow Internetians, we apologize for the laps in postings, we’ve actually been holed up in our L-shaped bungalow for the past week because Pop In Pooper finally found out where we live. He set up shop outside the front door with a months supply of L.L. Bean catalogues and a long intestine full of revenge flatulence. If it wasn’t for the mini Cu Chi tunnels we built back in ‘93 we might never have made it out to the Internet café. Phu!
Speaking of bodily fluid malfunctions, check out the faulty gas cap on today’s entry – Boozy Bed Wetting Guest. This guy’s bladder control is about as safe as putting a piano-playing baby in a rusty MacClaren stroller. There you are trying to be a good high school/college/military/NAMBLA buddy, letting Ol’Hounddog crash in the spare room while he’s in town for the Bi-Annual Vacuum Salesmen Conference, only for Rummy McRummison to come back from the Bissell mixer so smashed that when he does finally pass out, there’s so much of the captain on the sheets you’re going to need a Wet Vac. Sure he’s sorry and he’ll pay for new sheets, but everyone knows that matters about as much as Carrie Prejean – buddy just pissed all over your mattress. That shit is like herpes, it ain’t going away. Ever. You might as well just turn your new giant urine sponge into a sidewalk trampoline for the homeless and cut your losses.
The only way to stop this pullout sofa soiler is to take some serious preventative measures. Think of your fist as a condom and BBWG as a giant virus-filled shaft – the next time he shows up at your front door, the best thing to do is roll a couple of right handers tightly around his head. To be clear, we mean punch him in the face.
