Ro-bear Posted March 25, 2008 Share Posted March 25, 2008 Normally I find dick stories rather tiresome, but this new one from my darts buddy Kevin is pretty good. I play darts at the Checkered Flag on Fridays. We drink beer, tell jokes, and play darts. It's a lot of fun, actually, especially if you a paunchy married high school English teacher with kids whose life was long ago sucked away by responsibilities. But I digress. Kevin likes to go to the Nascar races. Kevin is what you would call a redneck. We all love him to death. Kevin likes to drink. A lot. He's cool on beer, he's a riot after a little weed, but when he gets likker, he's a pain in the ass. You can't do a damn thing with him. Anyway, after the nice race weekend, it's time to pack up and go home. Problem is, someone has given Kevin a gallon of moonshine (friendly stranger), and Kevin has cleared the handle. Kevin does not want to go. People begin to pack things up, and Kevin impedes the process by grabbing stuff back out of the truck. He knows we won't leave a bunch of expensive stuff, and he doesn't think we will kick his ass over it, but we are not so sure. Fortunately, Kevin loses his balance and lands in a sticker bush. Try as he might, he cannot extricate himself. He curses for a few moments, then he just makes himself as comfortable as possible. He realizes that help will not be forthcoming until the loading up is complete. When the truck is loaded, it's time to go. Kevin complains, but he knows it is in vain. He gets in the truck. Kevin wants a joint, but police are everywhere and traffic is going nowhere (ever been to a race?) He can't toke, so he sulks and begins to root about for some food. His foraging turns up a bag of chips and some hot sauce called "Satan's Blood". He chows down as we all give silent thanks for the respite from his bitching. Sadly, it was to be short-lived, soon to be shattered in a way no one could have predicted. Kevin needs to take a piss. We dare not pull off the interstate; we'd never get back on. Someone hands Kevin an empty two-liter vessel and says, "Have at it, Buddy-ro." "Hell no!" cries Clyde, who owns and drives the vehicle in question. He is well aware of Kevin's lack of dexterity in such situations. "Go piss on the shoulder, you son of a bitch" Clyde says. We are going slow, so Kevin steps out with remarkable adroitness and executes the walkin' piss to the amusement of our traffic neighbors. He gets back in and settles down and drifts off to sleep. About twenty minutes later, he begins to moan. When he becomes lucid enough for speech, he mentions something about his dick. "What did you say?" asked Clyde, fearful of what Kevin's dick might contribute to his truck. "Ah sayed, Mah dick is ON FAR, its ON FAR, goddammit!" Kevin bawled. Everyone figured he was making an excuse so we would stop at a truck stop where he would sneak a joint and generally slow us down and be a pain in the ass. When he did not relent and his face reddened and contorted in agony, we realized he was for real. We took the next exit. By the time we reach the truck stop, an hypothesis is beginning to take shape. He got hot sauce on his dick when we did the walkin' piss. Truck stops are real busy after races. Kevin eyed the other patrons nervously and fidgeted for a while before he surrendered to the inevitable, stumbled to the sinks, took his dick out, and began to wash it in front of the startled motorists. He felt a need to explain his behavior, though no one ventured to question his spontaneous act of emergency hygiene. People looked away quickly, finished their business and fled the bathroom after he apologetically explained that his dick was on fire, and he had to wash Satan's blood off of it. The next weekend, having recovered from his trauma and regained the good will of his exasperated friends, Kevin was as pleased as anyone that his dick story dominated the conversation at the Checkered Flag that Friday night. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Piprus Posted March 25, 2008 Share Posted March 25, 2008 ...been down roads like that, in my time, and many times, though those times be no more... ...minus the silly-ass Satan crap, though... Just the times of our lives, as the poet said... Thanks for sharing it, Ro-Bear.... Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Super Moderator florduh Posted March 25, 2008 Super Moderator Share Posted March 25, 2008 Great story! My brother had a similar incident while making Cajun peanuts (redneck style). Not drunk, but that probably only made the pain worse. Pain like that never gets sympathy, just laughs. - Chris Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
ShackledNoMore Posted March 26, 2008 Share Posted March 26, 2008 Truck stops are real busy after races. Kevin eyed the other patrons nervously and fidgeted for a while before he surrendered to the inevitable, stumbled to the sinks, took his dick out, and began to wash it in front of the startled motorists. He felt a need to explain his behavior, though no one ventured to question his spontaneous act of emergency hygiene. People looked away quickly, finished their business and fled the bathroom after he apologetically explained that his dick was on fire, and he had to wash Satan's blood off of it. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
BlueGiant Posted March 26, 2008 Share Posted March 26, 2008 Sometimes it is a better plan to wash your hands before and after the fact. Learned that the hard way with some habenero sauce once. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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