March 23 in the year of our lord two thousand and eleven.
The following is based on a true story. Or did I see it in a movie? Shit, I can’t remember now. If it was in a movie then which fucking one? BRB IMDB. No, it wasn’t a movie. I was thinking about something different. I suppose I didn’t have to type all that. Or this. But I can’t stop. Oh god. OH GOD!!
So, I have been seeing this bitch for about two months now. She’s ugly as hell but doable in the dark with loud music and a nose plug (seriously, what was that smell?). I picked her up on a dare and kept her because they removed the erotic services page from Craigslist and ugly pussy is perfectly acceptable in times of famine. Don’t judge me.
So, me and this skank had a fight tonight. I wish I could tell you it was set off by something manly like coming home with a lipstick covered crotch or accidentally gang banging her two nasty ass sisters (again, perfectly acceptable). No, sadly, this story begins and ends with a toilet. I seem to say that more than someone should.
It was a little after 9:00 in the evening and I was feeling strangely aroused after watching “To Catch a Predator”. I’m not into kids or anything but for some reason fat, bald pedophiles spark my curiosity. Once my boner subsided I realized I had to pee. Without much thought I took my piss and returned to the couch. If I had known that my innocent act of urine expulsion would end the way it did, I would have just pissed my pants.
So there I am, sitting on the couch, thinking about Earl, the sick fuck from the television show as I fondled my balls. I don’t know what it was about him that got me going. Was it his tight, mustard stained t-shirt? Was it his faded, sweat stained Caterpillar hat? Perhaps it was those genes that he wore below his hanging gut that flashed his hairy man cleavage every time he bent over. Well, whatever it was, I had wood again.
In the midst of my riding lawnmower fantasy I was interrupted by a high pitched squawk from the bathroom.
“GOD DAMN IT”, yelled my now ex-girlfriend.
“What is it?” I asked halfheartedly as I struggled to keep Earl’s image in my mind.
“You left the god damn seat up again and I sat on the bowl.”
Without thinking I said, “It seems more likely to me that you forgot to put the seat down.”
Once those words left my lips I knew it was over. I knew that this wasn’t going to end well seeing as how my ex is a pretentious spoiled bitch and I am a misogynistic, egotistical, brute (also known as a man). But there was no turning back. Shit was about to go down. Hard.
“What did you say?” said the cunt.
“It’s a two way street dear,” I explained, “I had to pull the seat up before I pissed. By leaving it to you to put it down I am ensuring equality of tasks in this relationship. Isn’t that what we are after? Equality?”
“Are you fucking serious?” she asked, still in the bathroom.
Flush. (she never did wash her hands. maybe that’s what the smell was.)
“Yeah…” I said.
“That is the biggest bunch of horse shit I have ever heard. Do you have any idea what it feels like to have to sit on that cold toilet bowl every time you have to piss?”
“No,” I said.
“That’s right you don’t. And if you did I bet your ass you would put the lid down.”
“Exactly,” I said. “I would put it down because putting it down would directly benefit me. Do you have any idea what it is like to accidentally piss on the seat because some thoughtless person decided it wasn’t worth the time to put it up? No. I do. And you know why I clean it off? I clean it off because it’s my own god damn fault for not checking first.”
“You can’t be serious,” she said in a way that made me want to smack her.
“Why not? It makes just as much sense as your argument,” I said.
“Why are you men always trying to oppress us women?”
This is the point in the conversation that things began to turn. Up until this point all we were doing was establishing a dominance routine. I had to make it clear that the toilet was mine. She could have anything else in this apartment, but the toilet was mine. I am the master of the throne. Perhaps if I had left it at that things might not have gone so badly. But, as any real man knows, the question asked to me by my girlfriend at that precise point in time was too much for me to resist.
“I’m trying to oppress you? How the hell am I trying to oppress you? You have no fucking clue what oppression feels like, Karen. You’re daddy makes half a million dollars a year and you haven’t had a job since graduating college two fucking years ago. He writes you checks as though it’s nothing. You live in an apartment that I would never be able to afford, you’re a physically attractive (I had to stretch the truth a little to make my point), young white female with a shoe collection that needs to be insured for Christ’s sake and now YOU’RE oppressed because I failed to put the fucking toilet seat down? What?”
“Don’t yell at me,” she said meekly.
“Answer the god damn question!”
And with that she stormed out of the apartment and we haven’t talked since. The moral of the story? Don’t piss your girlfriend off when you’re horny. You just might spend the evening alone jacking off on the toilet to perverted sexual fantasies. (This is the part I thought came from a movie. It turns out I just videotaped myself jacking off and watched it a bunch of times. TMI?).
With Love,
Penis Condom
