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The summer of my German testicle
The summer of my German testicle
Skimming the want ads for jobs, the guy in the laundromat looked ill. He had kind of a orange tint to his skin and kept coughing into a bandanna from his back pocket.
Somebody, his wife or girlfriend, was inside the drier with his clothes, and he would occasionally get up, blow his nose, open the drier door and ask her, "Can I take the bedsheets out?"
She, sobbing, would say "no" and he would close the door and start the machine up again. The woman would start rolling and tossing behind the glass and resume her horrifying screams.
It wasn't the screaming that had originally drawn my attention to the couple, but this man's sickness.
I normally come in to the laundromat once or twice a week to play Galaga and hit on the female attendant who looks almost exactly like Yul Brunner, but with tits and the whole not-being-dead thing. Lately I've been secretly watching Westworld with hand lotion and tissues.
So I'm there playing Galaga, and I see this guy with the orange skin and I think to myself, "Holy shit. That's the same color as my nut sack."
I should mention that a couple of weeks before this, my sack turned color. It also felt like it was filling with fluid and began to smell. Not a bad smell, kind of citrus-like. It was as if my nads had gone all Florida Orange Juice on me.
So I tell Yul--which was my nickname for the laundromat attendant, she still lets me call her that--I tell Yul I'll be back in a minute and could she please play Level 7 of the game while I go talk to this sick orange guy.
"What's up?" I say to him.
He looks up from his want ads at the drier and then at me. "Nuddin'" he says and blows his nose.
"Doing your colors?"
The woman's screams momentarily crank up a notch. He nods.
"Speaking of colors," I say, "what do you make of this?" And I drop trou, exposing my ever increasingly Vitamin C-rich crotch.
"You god id too," he says. "Loogs lige you god id jus' in the nuds."
He gets up and goes to the drier. Screams stop. He asks about the sheets. She tells him no. Door closes. Screams resume.
"What is it?" I ask when this little ritual is over, zipping up my pants.
"Valderie dinks id's cool," he says, pointing to the woman in the drier. "Says my cum dasdes lige an Orange Julius."
I start to get angry. "I don't care what Valerie thinks it tastes like. What the fuck is it?"
Laughing he says to the woman screaming in the drier, "He duddent know! Ha, ha, ha-ha."
"I hope you get ring-around-the-collar," was all I could think to say as I stormed off.
Back in the game room Yul was kicking ass. She had racked up several thousand points and earned an extra man. "What was that about?" she asked.
"Nothing," I say. And then, "Hey do you ever go to the mall?"
She actually looked away from the game to say in her scariest Yul Brunner voice, "No, I don't like Orange Julius, so forget it."
"Just a thought."
10/3/2005 10:18 pm
You are a loon, that was funny. I only looked here cause I thought it would be a Tuscan guy and I have a thing for Italians but it turned out to be a Tucson guy. Close enough I guess.|
P.S, Bottle of Mad Dod 20/20 and a ballpine hammer. Works every time.