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Denim In Oswego

Tags: humor

I had just got my pecker caught in the chicken-coop door. It had been a non-typical day on my farm in Oswego.

It started with the cockamamie rooster crowing off key at three in the morning. In reality, a damn toad with laryngitis. Being as I pee, sleep, poop and play whoopee in my bib overalls, I'm ready to go at the fart of a peach.

My lovely wife, who I call Salamander (forgot her name years ago) was snoring the lyrics of "Auntie Get Your Guns." She was in between sawing out lines of it and grasping hold of my good arm, the one I use to pump water from the well.

I have learned to appreciate her ill temper, but pert-near fond of her whatchamacallit when its not on the monthly punctuation.

She started gumming on my weasel as if it were a bowl of high octane grits. Incidentally, her new pawnshop dentures, when not in her mouth, were the door-stop for out newly model out-yonder latrine. My pecker had that snot-looking goo seeping onto my "OshKosh B'Gosh" blue denim, but it did put starch in my handkerchief.

You would have thought she was playing baseball and swinging for the fence as she yanked my tallywacker.

Then she wanted me to put it in her wreckdum. She done wrecked the John Deere when she was digging a new hog trough.

"Put it in my wreckdum, Earl."

I obliged her, and my penis got tangled with her hemorrhoids. They were like bard wire, at the same time I was pounding my weasel to China. I tried to tell her to keep them soft by using 10W40 motor oil from the John Deere.

"How many people put hemorrhoids in a pencil sharpener or use dental floss on them?" She do, does.

"Make it hurt, Earl."

I had to remind her that my name was Fester.

"Make it hurt, and pinch my tits harder, Fester."

I thought they seem harder then usual. Being as I was putting a squeeze on a bedpost. I was all embarrassed up, as she nibble at my foreskin. She called it her cabbage and corn beef.

"Lactate, Earl. Frigging lactate."

"Late! Its almost dawn." 

I had one of those rare 'pecker farts' as my penis was breaking wind. In reality it was a breeze coming through the window.

"You forgot the condom, Earl."

"Its Fester."

"You forgot the condom, Fester."

She is pretty persnickety about things like that, so I reached down and grabbed an argyle sock. I don't see the point though, we are well into our eighties.

"Since when do you need a rubber when ass fucking, Salamander?"

"It's Helen, Fester."

"Do you want to get raids, Fester?"

"I ain't illiterate. I got all D's in school."

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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