Wednesday, January 17, 2007

Peru and Bitches and Snakes

What a break. What A break. I went to Peru with my family.
Peru = crazy, Peru + Family = fucking looney tunes on blotter acid.

Before I left, my girl’s best friend called me up to wish me a bon voyage.

“…Oh, you don’t have to bring me back anything. Have fun, just relax, lucky dog, you get to go to Peru,” then her voice iced up and she said, “Cheat on my friend and I’ll rip your fucking balls off.”

“Uhm…gotcha, bye, thanks.”

Can I get a “WTF?”

Where did that come from? I’m not exactly what one would call a “Lady’s Man.” I’m not Don Juan material so to speak. I have the lust equal to a frustrated raccoon dog, but I’m not rich and not super-handsome.

Besides, I don’t get into the cheating racket for a couple of reasons.

1) I love my girl and wouldn’t want to be THAT guy.

2) My Girl has a lot of friends, a lot of hot friends. If I started buttering more than one piece of toast she would put out the "girlfriend APB" and I’d be done in Los Angeles. I’d have to move to some weather station in Antartica and shtoop Penguin broads that hadn’t heard the news that I’m a jerk.

3) I’m a pussy. I’d crack under pressure. I mean, there’s men who think nothing of it. They go to Thai “Massage” parlors to get their “poison” extracted out. You know guys from back East and stuff, with hair on their shoulders and aggressive toupee’s. Guys that gobble surf & Turf. Guys named Vic and Tony who still use “aftershave” and shit. They probably don’t think of it as cheating, “What’s the difference, it’s boom-o bang-o, I’m out of there. It ain’t my wife, it’s a piece of strange. You can’t love strange, it’s exercise. You think too much.”

4) I’m not married. That could also be another reason I don’t cheat. People develop callouses when they get married. Big, fat, hard married callouses. After seven years of marriage your wife doesn’t discover you’re an asshole, she knows you’re an asshole. She’ll tell you that too. Then maybe one day, you’re in Chicago for some lame corporate seminar. The ones with team building exercises. You swing down to the hotel bar for a nightcap. And you’re sitting there making schlep talk with the noodnick bartender, just burning down the clock until the “buzz” kicks in. And then some local hussy with rich talk sidles up and listens to your schtick. You’re in the Midwest, the double whiskey sour makes its presence known, and you tell the hussy what you do for a living. What have you got to lose? Unlike the old lady, the hussy actually doesn’t roll her eyes when you say you’re the “Manager of Client Services.” A couple of more drinks, a little calamari, and boom: you’re sitting at the edge of the bed in your undershirt and nothing else. She’s in the bathroom moving shit around and you’re cursing your dick and male pride. Damn. How the hell did I get here?

No really, how did I get here? What a bizarre fantasy. I’m not even married. Anyways, after two weeks on the road, a guy gets a little backed up. I was in Peru for 16 days & it’s impossible to gawk at chicks when you’re two Feminist Aunts are around. It’s like being in prison. Me and My Cuz had to develop code signals and “eye talk.” He was in double jeopardy because his pregnant wife was on the trip.

Now I know some of you broads are going to ballyhoo this with extreme prejudice. You Estrogen Powered Vehicles are probably laying a thick portion of the old How Could He’s. How could a devoted husband of 5 years look at other women in the midst of his Prego-better half?

Survey Says: EASY!

Damn Easy. It ain’t a choice. The proof of devotion and respect is that he ain’t obvious about it or making any in-roads with the chippies. We're window shopping to use the favored parlance of women. We'll always look. Even married, even when the bloody soldier can no longer march, all the time, the eyes are on recon. That’s just the way it is. Besides, I’m sure “Old Prego” ain’t averting her eyes when man meat comes a-walking. Sheeeeeeit.

Anyways, we had various moves. One was stoking an invisible beard like Pai-Mei from Kill Bill Vol. 2. When you stroked the beard, you were in deep vulva contemplation. Another was the “Wall Eye.” A very wide, side glance, that makes you look sort of like the “Wall Eye Pike.” Or a third was twisting and invisible moustache like a villain.

The famous Pai-Mei

Anyways, after two weeks of Girlfriend famine we got to see some native dances. Now, all white people know that native dances are sexy. That’s why native dances were preserved by the whites, because it was fucking hot. Imagine all those scurvy sailors buggering each other, and then they land in the Amazon to these chicks with grass skirts? I mean I new there was going to be skin. As soon as the MC announced “Native Dances” I got on the edge of my seat and my entire head morphed into a wolf head. I was like, “bring on the skin.” And they didn’t disappoint.

Ah here she is. After two weeks of a "traffic jam" my car was ready to go. Mmmmm. native sweaty girl. Mmmm she's holding an anaconda. Just the right smattering of kink. I was sort of marinating in a filthy mind when the ICY VOICE CUT THROUGH:


OFF OFF OFF off off o..

And so down came the drawbridge for Medicine Bear and tried to forget about the dancer. I could sense My Cuz's tension a table away.

My Cuz staring at semi-naked women, trying to applaud as if he was only interested in the cultural aspects of the dance, lest he gets bitch slapped by his prego-wife. Notice the "taught" face and neck wrinkles, straining to hide the surging inner sexual tension? Is there any resemblance between him and the Walleye Pike?

Anyways I stayed the course on the trip and my balls are intact. Unless, you consider being reigned in by My Girl's best friend actually means I've already had my balls ripped off.

Over and Out,