Men think about sex every seven seconds.
That’s what they say.
That means that in the time I’m done writing this sentence, I’ll have thought about putting my P in a V or my P in an A or maybe cloning myself and putting both of my P’s in a V and an A or maybe putting my F in an A while my P is in a V or having my P in an M while my T is in a V or, if she’s bathed recently, my T in an A.
I had no idea the alphabet was so filthy.
The Letter People were whores.
True story.
Whatever.
I think I’m actually above average on the seven second thing. Like, maybe once every 2 or 3 seconds.
SUCK IT, MORLEY SAFER!
This is in stark contrast to Luke Perry, who is one second below average.
8 Seconds?!
Fucking loser.
The problem is that my wife doesn’t think this stuff is funny.
Or appropriate.
Oh..look.
I’m in handcuffs.
But what’s weird is that it’s okay for HER to talk like this at work or with friends, but when I try, forget it.
This is how that goes:
Wife: “At work today, we were talking about all the old nursery rhymes and how filthy they sound.”
Me: “What do you mean?”
Wife: “Like..a lot of them say stuff like, “..when I pet my pussy..” and “..I love my pussy…” There’s a lot of stuff that sounds like they’re talking about women’s pussies.”
Me: “Really? Those rhymes all talk about ‘pussy?'”
* pause
Wife (glaring): “Don’t ever say that word again.”
* sigh
Yep.
They’re handcuffs alright.
And not the fuzzy kind that I have in the trunk of my car next to the can of ether.
The problem I have here is THAT IS HOW I THINK.
You see..in the time it’s taken to get to this point of the post…
I’ve already thought about P’s and V’s and A’s and maybe some BJ’s and DP and DVDA and – in the interest of being really filthy here – redheaded Asian midgets.
It’s how I roll.
But you’d figure she’d know this by now and be used to it.
Case in point:
We were out with the kids the other night at a local furniture store.
Said furniture store has an ice cream parlor AND ‘water fireworks’ INSIDE THE BUILDING.
You know…the ‘water fireworks’ are like the ones in Vegas that you see in the movies except Nicolas Cage isn’t there and my herpes is in remission.
Perhaps I’ve said too much.
Regardless, we are sitting FRONT ROW at the water fireworks, eating our ice cream.
We’re getting spritzed every so often.
At one point, my wife – eating her ice cream – looks at me and says:
Wife: “Ugh..I’m getting wet.”
I look up.
Me: “Wow. Ice cream’s that good?”
* cricket
Um.
Oh.
Wife: “REALLY?!”
Yeah.
Really.
How she doesn’t see this shit coming is beyond me.
She’s just lucky I didn’t say what I was really thinking.
Which involved taking a scoop of that Butter Pecan and doing all kinds of freaky nursery rhyme shit with it.
Oh..OH…
…just thought of a different thing to do!
Wow.
I’ve got that seven seconds thing beaten by at least half.
I’m awesome.
Mental Poo 