(Click here to read earlier entries from the dild saga)
The Only Thing I “Tasted” Was Discomfort!
Last Tuesday my imbecile wife and I attended a special church service. I always look forward to services at Ninth Presbytarian. It’s a traditional church, a place where men can still smoke in the pews and women have to keep their mouthholes shut at all times. It’s nice to get a couple hours of peace and quiet every week. (Although, I swear to golf, my mushheaded wife makes up for it by yammering away twice as moronically on the car ride over.)
We arrived at our seats just after the start of the sermon, made late by my dunderheaded wife taking too long applying woman products in the commode. My good friend Pastor Louie was at the altar standing beside a rare beast: a middle aged female dressed ludicrously in clerical garments. At the time, I suspected this ogrish woman was a prop in some sort of comic morality play warning about the dangers of teen sexting. But, as I would soon discover, I was about as wrong as a Caucasian voting for Barack Obama.
"Friends," said Louie, "After much contemplation what with the praying and the genuflecting and the beseeching, I have decided that it is time for me to step down as your pastor, maybe. With great pride, I would like to introduce my replacement, Pastor Katherine Steinem de Beauvoir."
I sat there in open-mouthed disbelief as Louie handed this gargoyle of a woman his ceremonial ferula and top hat. A few of the other men in the audience were similarly dumbfounded, yet the women-types cheered and chattered openly in direct contradiction of the scriptures. Frankly, the whole spectacle gave me a nagging headache, rendering the rest of the service an absolute blur.
Afterwards, as my buffoon wife and the other hens were clucking around that bovine woman pastor in the lobby, I approached Louie and expressed in no uncertain terms my outrage at this cartoonish blasphemy. I begged him to reconsider his decision to put this foul woman-fiend in charge of his precious flock.
"Virgil," he said, taking a drag from his tightly-packed cigarillo, "You humble me what with the concern and the fear and the apprehension. But things do change, and move on, I must. In time, I know you will come to accept and even appreciate Katherine’s ecclesastical authority. But, until then, I think I have something that may put your mind at ease."
Louie opened his robe, and — holy Hank — he gingerly pulled out a Sexflesh Tasty Tony 9 Inch Dildo With Suction Cup. Well, despite my blinding rage and gnawing headache, I could nevertheless discern that this was one massive miracle of a sexual device. In my experience, the good men at the Sexflesh corporation manufacture tools of extraordinary quality, and this Tasty Tony seemed no exception. It had a lovingly-crafted vein structure, realistic scrotal wrinkles, and picture-perfect Caucasian pigmentation. Just thinking about the raw bliss such a device could provide nearly made me forget about my gnawing headache and that grotesque woman pastor.
In need of immediate relief, I rushed to the boys’ room, only to find all the stalls occupied. So I made a beeline to the only other place where a man could still get some privacy in this defiled temple: the confessional booth. Tightly gripping the Tasty Tony in one hand, I hastily drew down my sweatpants in anticipation of soothing spiritual ecstasy in this monastic confessional.
Well the only thing I had to confess was my outrage! After fifteen minutes of fecklessly working my rear with the device, the only thing I “tasted” was internal discomfort. My prayers for salvation were met by an enervated dilding arm, a brobdingnagian migraine, and a burnt sienna discharge that flooded down my legs and filled my Sunday Sperrys. And as for that over-hyped suction cup, the feeble thing needed to be licked and re-stuck to the wall-sized crucifix every thirty seconds. Even then, this impotent dild would droop and flop all around, making it a challenge for an adult male to correctly align his posterior with the device, which, even once the colossal burden of insertion was complete, felt about as soft as Barack Obama on terrorism.
What’s more, in my futile struggle for self-gratification, I had knocked over the partition between the booths. Half-blind from my pounding migraine, I tried to reassemble it, my elbows clanging against the walls. The commotion attracted a bystander, who entered the other side of the confessional. To my horror, it was that porcine woman pastor! Could you imagine? A female woman in a confessional booth! It was about as ludicrous as a dog playing basketball.
She stared at me uselessly then started shrieking like a banshee, which only managed to exacerbate my terrible headache. What’s more, this buffoonish slag was too incompetent to even help me reassemble the partition. I had no choice but to extract myself from the whole quagmire. I pulled up my sweatpants, adjusted the children’s drawings of Satan, and swiftly exited the filth-covered vestible.
My face as red as a cherry tomato, I caught my wife gossiping idly with some other horsefaced women in the parking lot. Silently, I collected her by the forewing and dragged her to the car. On the way, I ran into Pastor Louie.
With a patronizing grin, he said, “Virgil, what did you think of the Tasty Tony 9 Inch Dildo With Suction Cup? Do you feel better now?”
"Louie," I said, wagging the device at him like a mother scolding an anarchist teen, "you’re lucky your wife passed away last week. Because if I had to deal with both a brainless nag AND such an inferior dild at home, why, I’d have given myself a stroke by now!"
JUST THE TIP
"Pray" you don’t end up with a Sexflesh Tasty Tony 9 Inch Dildo. The only "flesh" this shoddy device has a "taste" for are the greenbacks in your wallet!
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