|Blogs > pragmaticCTcpl > Random Thoughts & Expressions|
After weeks of seemingly endless diagnostic testing, Mr. Jones sits with his physician early one morning to hear the findings.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Jones,” the doctor tells him. “But you have a fatal disease that is incurable and you have maybe a few days left.”
Totally shocked, Mr. Jones walks from the doctor’s office and wanders aimlessly about the city.
After several hours of walking, he collects his senses to find that he’s in the red light district of town.
“What the hell!” He says to himself, and walks up the stairs and through the front door with the red lace curtains in the window.
He explains his situation to the Madam of the house, and after emptying his wallet of all of his cash, tells her he wants to go “out with a bang.”
The Madam takes his money, but explains to him that because it’s still early in the day, the only “girl” in the house is old Gertie, who hasn’t had any customers in over 20 years.
“I don’t care.” Says Mr. Jones, and with that the Madam tells him, “top floor.”
Huffing and puffing, after climbing the five flights of stairs, Mr. Jones knocks on the door and hears old Gertie softly say, “come in, Honey.”
Upon opening the door and entering the room, Mr. Jones sees old Gertie sitting on the bed.
Old Gertie is 70 years old. Her face has more wrinkles than a week’s load of wash that was forgotten in the washer. Her hair is all gray and worn in a bun. She’s wearing a sheer black negligee that shows her droopy, dried-up tits, hanging down on her stomach. Though she’s wearing a garter belt and black stockings, Mr. Jones can still see the varicose veins in her legs.
Remembering what the doctor told him, just hours earlier, Mr. Jones quietly says, “Fuck it,” to himself, undresses, and jumps into bed with old Gertie.
About 20 minutes after starting to fuck her, old Gertie gasps for breath, grabs at her chest, has a massive heart attack, and dies.
Realizing that the old woman has died, Mr. Jones pauses for a moment, thinks of his own impending fate, says “Fuck It,” again, and continues fucking old Gertie.
A half-hour of steady fucking finally brings Mr. Jones to his orgasm. As he expends himself into the corpse of old Gertie, he too, dies.
Three days pass....
The Madam of the house, realizing that even with all of the money that Mr. Jones had given her, has been in that room with old Gertie for three days.
She calls for the two bouncers of the house, Nick and Duke, neither of whom has the brains of an imbecile between them, to go up and find out what’s been going on for three days.
Nick and Duke walk up the five flights of stairs, knock on the door several times, go into the room, see Mr. Jones and old Gertie still locked together on the bed, then go back downstairs, and tell the Madam.
“I can’t have the police and the coroner coming here, there will be too many questions and we’ll probably get closed down and thrown in jail.”
Without thinking, the Madam tells Nick and Duke to “take care of it.”
Nick and Duke walk back up the five flights of stairs, go into the room, look at Mr. Jones and old Gertie, still locked together, and look at each other, not knowing what to do.
It’s gotten dark outside, and customers are starting to come into the house and there’s no way for them to be able to carry out Mr. Jones and old Gertie without anyone seeing them.
Finally, Duke scratches his balls, gets an idea, tells Nick, and they open the window, pick up Mr. Jones and old Gertie, still locked together, and throw them out the window, where they land on the sidewalk, below...still, locked together.
Sometime after 3 am, a drunk comes staggering down the street, and trips and falls over Mr. Jones and old Gertie.
The drunk sits up...looks at Mr. Jones and old Gertie...looks up at the house...looks back at Mr. Jones and old Gertie...back up at the house, and gets up...brushes himself off, and stumbles up the front stairs and through the door with the red lace curtains on it.
Nick and Duke, back on bouncer duty, stop him as he enters.
The Madam hears the commotion in the entryway, and quickly goes out there to see what’s going on.
Upon seeing the Madam, the drunk looks at her and asks her, “Hey Lady, is thish a whorehouse?”
“Yes it is,” replies the Madam, “but we don’t allow drunks in here.”
The drunk straightens himself up and tells her, “Oh, thash okay, Lady...I didn’t come in here to get laid. I came in here to tell you that your sign blew down.” >>!
2/15/2006 3:11 pm
ROFLMAO! Great one, thanks for the giggle!|
2/15/2006 5:00 pm
2/15/2006 7:57 pm
NSA, PurryKitty2, mzhunyhole...Thanks..! |
Glad we were able to add a little humor to your day.