Homonid

MY HAND AT JOKE-WRITING FOR STANDUP…Enjoy.  This is a completely fabricated (partially-true) story.

SETUP:

I don’t have sex much.  For gays, as fun as sex is, it really has a lot of elements to it that, let’s face it, aren’t always appealing.

A.)  It’s butt sex.  Things come out of there.  Things probably shouldn’t be stuck in there, but they do because it feels good.

B.)  The prep work prior to coitus for gays may sometimes involve a laxative, but in most cases just a cup of coffee, a smoke and a shower.  With me, maybe a six pack of beer and 6 Advil.   Jamie Lee Curtis would say otherwise - bifidus regularis.  Yeah, what does she know, the only thing in the toilet for that bitch is her career.

C.)  Protection.  Always important.  And no matter what the occupation, they still might have an STD.

 ”Well, I hate to bareback normally, but he is a doctor and you know they wouldn’t let a queer with AIDS operate on children.  I am sure they test for it all of the time, right?  Well, his dick didn’t feel like it had AIDS, anyway.  And plus, he’s rich and we all know rich people in New Orleans don’t have queer cancer.”  

That excuse doesn’t always work.   WHICH STRANGELY BRINGS ME TO THE POINT OF THIS POST.

I actually WAS having sex the other night.  You can pick up your jaws off the floor now, I just mopped.

Nice guy.  His name was Mark.  He was kind of a hipster, tall, shaved head, really short hipster jorts… had the voice of a Pinkberry barista.  He didn’t hit me, wasn’t an alcoholic, and from all outward appearances didn’t have any STDs (see section C).

So, with my gullet full of vodka and (with much regret) two White Russians, he passed the test and was allowed to plunder the treasures that lie within my loins.  Gross.

We came back to my place.  And thank GOD I don’t have children because I would forget about them all the time…as I did with my dog this time.

My dog.  He is a Airdale Terrer.  His name is Rocko.  

This isn’t him, but a close enough description.  He was so excited to see us, per the usual.  He is a loving dog.  I love him very much, but, when I am drunk and horny, attending to his needs aren’t exactly a top priority.

Strange thing about Rocko that will come into play much later in the story is that he loves anything that involves a carbohydrate.  Cooking a steak in the kitchen?  Rocko, napping by the chair.  Curing ham in the closet?  Rocko, napping IN the chair.

Toasting a bagel with apple preserves?  Rocko, at your feet salivating like a hungry hyena over a Zebra carcass. 

Anyway, Rocko wasn’t so much excited to see us this particular night as much as he was begging for me to take him outside to piss, shit, sniff things, pretend to hear things in the bushes and piss on more things.

So, I shoved Mark off of me and told him it would be a few minutes.  There are some beers in the fridge, help yourself.

I take him outside, with a raging boner no less.  I walk him, no wait, I stumble him around the outside of my apartment.  He sniffs at some things looks in the neighbors yard for who-knows-the-hell-what and now I HAVE to pee.  

Talk about awkward.  Taking your dog out to pee and then you have to go…with a boner.  Boners are hard enough to pee out of, especially in the mornings, but having to pee while walking your dog is just a weird situation.

As expected, he watched.  I found a nearby bush, away from the street and in the neighbor’s yard, and he found it very interesting.  Watching every moment until the last clench of my butt cheeks.  But I suppose it is just payback for all of those times I laughed while watching him take a shaky squat near the azaleas.  He just looks so embarrassed.  Much like I did at this moment.

Anyway, I go back inside and Mark is laying on my bed reading, “High On Arrival” by Mackenzie Phillips.  

Anyway, we fucked.  Nothing to write home to Mom about.  His dick was crooked. 

One of the FEW things I DO remember during us having relations was that I threw the used condom on the floor.  I don’t normally do that because, well, it’s gross, but for some reason I didn’t care tonight.

Mark even asked why I did that and I said, “I do what I want.  Shut the fuck up and go to bed.”

I get mean after sex apparently.

Anyway, we wake up.  I make the coffee.  He is brushing his teeth, trying to be as quiet as possible in order not to wake up my roomate.  Sadly I wish my roomate was awake, the walk of shame isn’t as fun to watch without him.

As he is gathering his clothes, he asks me, “Where is the condom?”  ”Condom?  What condom?”

He scoffed and explained that we had sex last night and I threw the condom, full of MYYY semen, on the floor.  I say “MYYY” because he said “YOUURR” in a very accusatory way… like “MYY” semen made his car keys disappear or “MYY” semen lost the plane tickets.

Anyway, I said I will find it later, but I am pretty sure I threw it away this morning.

Then he says, “Well, maybe your dog ate it.”  We both laughed.  First of all, my door was shut all morning.  Secondly, why would a dog eat a latex condom full of nasty human dick juice and furthermore, that is just weird.  I am kind of like the dog’s father. 

A day or two passes.  I forget about that day because the following Monday was a whirlwind of work nonsense.  I come home and grab a cup of coffee.  Sit down to watch some TV when Rocko is in my face.

He needs to go to the bathroom.

With a roll of the eyes and a grunt or two I go outside with my coffee and phone in hand to take him around the yard.  I am cruising Grindr and take a sip when I notice him beginning to pop a squat.  I watch.  I always do for some reason.  It’s strange, but it’s like doing the turn around after you take a shit.  Anyway, as I am sitting there I notice he is squatting, but nothing is coming out.

Is he constipated?

Then, all of a sudden, I see something beige pop out along with a long line of other matter.

It’s the condom.

At first, I forgot about the condom and was concerned he was shitting part of his intestines out, but then saw what the item was and IMMEDIATELY began laughing hysterically.

Wouldn’t be the first time.  I laugh at his shits a lot.  He looked even more embarassed this time, like he knew I knew what it was.  And I did.

I began texting Mark.  

“U will never believe what I just…”

Oh great.  Now I have to shit.

It was the coffee.

I didn’t even finish the text, we ran inside and I texted the rest while on the toilet.