I recall the day...years ago. It was one of those that you set out in the morning and you get a feeling. Then the thoughts enter your mind. Will I die today? Maybe there's going to be an accident? Perhaps some guys nut will give me the cucumber eye treatment? It doesn't take long to shrug off such strange thoughts and then continue on my merry little way.
Ringing customers up at the store was business as usual. But then came in this little old lady. She had a look to her. Not sure exactly what it was. Maybe it was her glow of wisdom in her golden years, could be that she was just going senile and had that fucked up look all the time (I guess it would explain that strange twitch), or even more likely...maybe it's that I hadn't rubbed one out this morning and anything with a nostril coming into the store seemed 'do-able'. You know those printer cartridges that have a ribbon in them? Yea well when they run low a 'trade secret' (aka store owner is a shit faced cheap motherfucked who can't even pay 5 cents more to put cheese on my burger when buying lunch...what part of CHEESEBURGER did you not get motherfucker!?) anyway you can spray those cartridges with something like WD-40 and get a lot more life out of them. Little do many know that WD-40 will get you high as a motherfucker...and the can that you use can't possibly cost that much less than a new cartridge. Ok so nevermind that now, we're back to the old lady that came in. Know who she looked like? She looked like that little psychic lady (by the way you know you're old when you're called a lady instead of a chick, gal, or woman) from the movie Poltergeist. In fact the dude working with me must have had a mental connection with me on this one because as I rang her up he stood a few feet away and did his best munchkin voice while saying "walk towards the light my child" The poltergeist lady looked up at both of us sharply and said "What did you say!?" At that point I really wanted to ask for an autograph, but opted out at the last second. It must be her! But as I completed the sale she gave me a new look. One that's just troubling to see on an old ladies face. Like she knows something is going to happen but isn't going to tell me. Then again that guy who doesn't let you touch him gave even stranger looks. I'm serious. I would give the guy his change and you know how the cashiers fingers sometimes touch your hand? Yea, this guy won't have none of that. Mark got fed up with the fact that the guy will keep lowering his hand while getting his change so that no contact occurs...that he leapt over the motherfucking counter and latched on to him. Boy you should have seen the rodeo ride that came after that. Anyway, what? Oh right...the lady. Yea after the look she took her stuff and left.
It's always a bad idea to workout legs if you're having a bad feeling. Because it's either something bad about to happen or that fart you're going to cut loose while in the squat rack that could stop a rhino from charging. I must have just been asking for it when I lay on the ground to do ham string stretches. I was like a dog at that point with my senses, but then it was too late. There was a slight touch to my shoulder. Odd. I'm laying down. Who would bend over to pat me on the shoulder? The 70 something year old guy would, that's who! And he wasn't bending over...he was tripping. At that point it's one of those 'oh shit' moments. From the side it must look like some gitty teen trying to pull his prude girlfriend down on top of him to cop a feel because after a month of dating she won't give anything more than a lousy handjob! At least spit on it or something! My arms go up to keep him from falling on me, but the release time of letting go of my leg in mid stretch just wasn't up to par.
As the ass begins to impact near my chin I can distinctly and more clearly than ever see the commando nuts approaching me. No fear. I'm a sharp thinker. I'm one fast mother and I have already calculated that I am out of the ball danger zone...no contact shall be made.
However, before I go on, I must let all of you know. In all honesty (good or bad), I've never really examined 70 year old nuts. As strange as it may sound I wish I had, I wish that I had the knowledge of the elasticity of shriveled sack. Because in this case, after full ass to chin contact, it hit me. By 'it' I mean the ever so gentle touch of 70 year old elastic scrotum touching my face and coming to rest on my eye. Have you ever prayed for a hallucination from a massive overdose? If not, this is one of those times where you do. Taking a large gasp in my new found character of now being 'willy the one eyed pirate' I received the wakeup call from my overdose wishes. The hair. That little curly gray one got sucked right into the back of my throat. The hair, the smell, the gentle touch of sack on my eye...have you ever seen a grown man actually cry out for his mommy? Let's just end it with the fact that little old men fly pretty well when you put your mind to it. And that even if you wash your eyes until they bleed, they will heal. The only thing I cannot answer to you my friends...is if I vomitted from the situation or from shoving my hand down my throat to get the hair out. I think I'm drooling blood.