I'm less concerned
About fitting into the world
Your world, that is
This marks the third anniversary of me quitting my law career and writing this blog.
In honor of this auspicious occasion, I will share the following story from last night.
We were dining at the Ale Works, a local establishment here on Main Street.
Being the local celebrities that we are, we knew a number of people there.
It's hard to ignore us when we walk in, what with all the flashbulbs, helicopters and paparazzi tracking our every move.
(Side note- I once got pulled over by a park ranger in a Wisconsin State Park for doing triple the 15 mph speed limit.
It was the day after Princess Diana died, and I was making fun of them for having to drive 120 mph to escape people who were ... *gasp* ... taking pictures of them.
I was yelling about the paparazzi and driving fast, much to the amusement of my friends in the car.
When Ranger Rick came wide-eyed up to my window, he said, "I have NEVER seen anyone drive that fast in this park. WHY WERE YOU DRIVING SO FAST?"
I said, "Would you believe I was trying to get away from the paparazzi?"
He was wearing one of those wide-brimmed hats. He did not have radar, which, being a prick lawyer, I asked to see. He sputtered and told me to slow down.
The paparazzi are a scourge on this fine society.
/side note)
Back to the story:
Stanette was talking to one group and I was talking to another as we slowly moved through the bar area.
I saw our friend, let's call her "Trudy."
Trudy works for a plastic surgeon. We haven't seen her in a few months, and during that time frame, she got what we affectionately refer to as "tuba titties." (Trans-umbilical breast augmentation, for the uninitiated.)
"Trudy" was wearing one of those bathrobe-style sweaters, so I couldn't really check out her goods. Besides, gentleman that I am, I made a heroic effort to maintain eye contact and make small talk that didn't involve the words "tuba" or "titties."
We got through the pleasantries, and Stanette joined us. Trudy looked at Stanette and said, "Wanna go to the bathroom?"
I said, "Can I come?"
Ha ha. Nice try.
So, they proceed to the bathroom, go into a stall and release the hounds. I am told they are spectacular. While (I imagine) they were admiring, fondling, bouncing, groping and giggling, another friend, who we will call "Rachel" came in the bathroom.
Rachel soon joined them in the stall for some admiring, fondling, bouncing, groping and giggling. (For all I know, a pillow fight and some heavy breathing happened, too.)
Rachel said, "You work for a plastic surgeon?! Did you get a good deal?!"
Trudy said, "They were free, honey."
Rachel turned around, started smacking her own ass, and said...
"I work for the school district! They give me free grilled cheese! How does it look on ME!!!"
*True story. Swear to God.
I always wondered what goes on when women go to the bathroom together.
"Rachel" is my hero.
In honor of this auspicious occasion, I will share the following story from last night.
We were dining at the Ale Works, a local establishment here on Main Street.
Being the local celebrities that we are, we knew a number of people there.
It's hard to ignore us when we walk in, what with all the flashbulbs, helicopters and paparazzi tracking our every move.
(Side note- I once got pulled over by a park ranger in a Wisconsin State Park for doing triple the 15 mph speed limit.
It was the day after Princess Diana died, and I was making fun of them for having to drive 120 mph to escape people who were ... *gasp* ... taking pictures of them.
I was yelling about the paparazzi and driving fast, much to the amusement of my friends in the car.
When Ranger Rick came wide-eyed up to my window, he said, "I have NEVER seen anyone drive that fast in this park. WHY WERE YOU DRIVING SO FAST?"
I said, "Would you believe I was trying to get away from the paparazzi?"
He was wearing one of those wide-brimmed hats. He did not have radar, which, being a prick lawyer, I asked to see. He sputtered and told me to slow down.
The paparazzi are a scourge on this fine society.
/side note)
Back to the story:
Stanette was talking to one group and I was talking to another as we slowly moved through the bar area.
I saw our friend, let's call her "Trudy."
Trudy works for a plastic surgeon. We haven't seen her in a few months, and during that time frame, she got what we affectionately refer to as "tuba titties." (Trans-umbilical breast augmentation, for the uninitiated.)
"Trudy" was wearing one of those bathrobe-style sweaters, so I couldn't really check out her goods. Besides, gentleman that I am, I made a heroic effort to maintain eye contact and make small talk that didn't involve the words "tuba" or "titties."
We got through the pleasantries, and Stanette joined us. Trudy looked at Stanette and said, "Wanna go to the bathroom?"
I said, "Can I come?"
Ha ha. Nice try.
So, they proceed to the bathroom, go into a stall and release the hounds. I am told they are spectacular. While (I imagine) they were admiring, fondling, bouncing, groping and giggling, another friend, who we will call "Rachel" came in the bathroom.
Rachel soon joined them in the stall for some admiring, fondling, bouncing, groping and giggling. (For all I know, a pillow fight and some heavy breathing happened, too.)
Rachel said, "You work for a plastic surgeon?! Did you get a good deal?!"
Trudy said, "They were free, honey."
Rachel turned around, started smacking her own ass, and said...
"I work for the school district! They give me free grilled cheese! How does it look on ME!!!"
*True story. Swear to God.
I always wondered what goes on when women go to the bathroom together.
"Rachel" is my hero.
Labels: tuba titties
posted by Joe at
9:16 AM
3 Comments
