Tag: Story


Cybersex

Wellhung: Hello, Sweetheart. What do you look like?

Sweetheart: I am wearing a red silk blouse and a miniskirt and high heels. My measurements are 36-24-36. I work out every day. I’m toned and perfect. What do you look like?

Wellhung: I’m 6’3″ and about 250 pounds. I wear glasses and I have on a pair of blue sweatpants I just bought at Walmart. I am also wearing a T-shirt with a few spots of barbecue sauce on it from dinner – it smells a little funny.

Sweetheart: I want you. Would you like to screw me?

Wellhung: OK.

Sweetheart: We’re in my bedroom. There’s soft music playing on the stereo and candles on my dresser and night table. I’m looking up into your eyes, smiling. My hand works its way down to your crotch and begins to fondle your huge, swelling bulge.

Wellhung: I’m gulping. I’m beginning to sweat.

Sweetheart: I’m pulling up your shirt and kissing your chest.

Wellhung: Now I’m unbuttoning your blouse. My hands are trembling.

Sweetheart: I’m moaning softly.

Wellhung: I’m taking hold of your blouse and sliding it off slowly.

Sweetheart: I’m throwing my head back in pleasure. The cool silk slides off my warm skin. I’m rubbing your bulge faster, pulling and rubbing.

Wellhung: My hand suddenly jerks spastically and I accidently rip a hole in your blouse. I’m sorry.

Sweetheart: That’s OK, it wasn’t really too expensive.

Wellhung: I’ll pay for it.

Sweetheart: Don’t worry about it. I’m wearing a lacy black bra. My soft breasts are rising and falling, rising and falling, as I breath harder
and harder.

Wellhung: I’m fumbling with the clasp on your bra. I think it’s stuck. Do you have any scissors?

Sweetheart: I take your hand and kiss it softly. I’m reaching back and undoing the clasp. The bra slides off my body. The air caresses my breasts. My nipples are erect for you.

Wellhung: How did you do that? I’m picking up the bra and inspecting the clasp.

Sweetheart: I’m arching my back. Oh baby. I just want to feel your tongue all over me.

Wellhung: I’m dropping the bra. Now I’m licking your, you know, breasts. They’re neat!

Sweetheart: I’m running my fingers through your hair. Now I’m nibbling our ear.

Wellhung: I suddenly sneeze. Your breasts are covered with spit.

Sweetheart: What?

Wellhung: I’m so sorry. Really.

Sweetheart: I’m wiping your spit off my breasts with the remains of my blouse.

Wellhung: I’m taking the sopping wet blouse from you. I drop it with a *plop*.

Sweetheart: OK. I’m pulling your sweatpants down and rubbing your hard tool.

Wellhung: I’m screaming like a woman. Your hands are cold! Yeeee!

Sweetheart: I’m pulling up my miniskirt. Take off my panties.

Wellhung: I’m pulling off your panties. My tongue is going all over, in and out, nibbling on your … umm … wait a minute.

Sweetheart: What’s the matter?

Wellhung: I’ve got a pubic hair caught in my throat. I’m choking.

Sweetheart: Are you OK?

Wellhung: I’m having a coughing fit. I’m turning all red.

Sweetheart: Can I help?

Wellhung: I’m running to the kitchen, choking wildly. I’m fumbling through the cabinets, looking for a cup. Where do you keep your cups?

Sweetheart: In the cabinet to the right of the sink.

Wellhung: I’m drinking a cup of water. There, that better.

Sweetheart: Come back to me, lover.

Wellhung: I’m washing the cup now.

Sweetheart: I’m on the bed, aching for you.

Wellhung: I’m drying the cup. Now I’m putting it back in the cabinet. And now I’m walking back to the bedroom. Wait, it’s dark. I’m lost. Where’s the bedroom.

Sweetheart: Last door on the left at the end of the hall.

Wellhung: I found it.

Sweetheart: I’m tuggin off your pants. I’m moaning. I want you so badly.

Wellhung: Me too.

Wellhung: Your pants are off. I kiss you passionately – our naked bodies pressing against each other.

Wellhung: Your face is pushing my glasses into my face. It hurts.

Sweetheart: Why don’t you take off you glasses?

Wellhung: OK, but I can’t see very well without them. I place the glasses on the night table.

Sweetheart: I’m bending over the bed. Give it to me, baby!

Wellhung: I have to pee. I’m fumbling my way blindly across the room and toward the bathroom.

Sweetheart: Hurry back, lover.

Wellhung: I find the bathroom. It’s dark. I’m feeling around for the toilet. I lift the lid.

Sweetheart: I’m waiting eagerly for your return.

Wellhung: I’m done going. I’m feeling around for the flush handle, but I can’t find it. Uh-oh!

Sweetheart: What’s the matter now?

Wellhung: I’ve realized that I’ve peed into your laundry hamper. Sorry again. I’m walking back to the bedroom now, blindly feeling my way.

Sweetheart: Mmm, yes. Come on.

Wellhung: OK, now I’m going to put my … you know … thing … in your … you know … woman’s thing.

Sweetheart: Yes! Do it, baby! Do it!

Wellhung: I’m touching your smooth butt. It feels so nice. I kiss your neck. Umm, I’m having a little trouble here.

Sweetheart: I’m moving my ass back and forth, moaning. I can’t stand it another second! Slide it in! Screw me now!

Wellhung: I’m flaccid.

Sweetheart: What?

Wellhung: I’m limp. I can’t sustain an erection.

Sweetheart: I’m standing up and turning around, an incredulous look on my face.

Wellhung: I’m shrugging with a sad look on my face, my weiner all floppy. I’m going to get my glasses and see what’s wrong.

Sweetheart: No, never mind. I’m getting dressed. I’m putting on my underwear. Now I’m putting on my wet, nasty blouse.

Wellhung: No wait! Now I’m squinting, trying to find the night table. I’m feeling along the dresser, knocking over cans of hair spray, picture frames and your candles.

Sweetheart: I’m buttoning my blouse. Now I’m putting on my shoes.

Wellhung: I’ve found my glasses. I’m putting them on. My God! One of your candles fell on the curtain. The curtain is on fire! I’m pointing at it, a shocked look on my face.

Sweetheart: Go to hell. I’m logging off, you loser!

Wellhung: Now the carpet is on fire! Oh noooo!

Stupid, Stupid, Stupid

Stupid people should be required to wear signs that just say, “I’m stupid.” That way you wouldn’t rely on them, would you? You wouldn’t ask them anything. It would be like, “Excuse me … oops, never mind. I didn’t see your sign.”

It’s like before my wife and I moved from Texas to California, our house was full of boxes and there was a U-Haul truck in our driveway. My neighbor comes over and says, “Hey, You moving?” “Nope. We just pack our stuff up once or twice a week just to see how many boxes it takes. Here’s your sign.”

A couple of months ago I went fishing with a buddy of mine, we pulled his boat into the dock, I lifted up this big ‘of stringer of bass and this idiot on the dock says, “Hey, y’all catch all them fish?” “Nope. Talked ’em into giving up. Here’s your sign.”

I was watching one of those animal shows on the Discovery Channel, there was a guy inventing a shark bite suit. There’s only one way to test that … “Alright, Jimmy, you got that shark suit on, it looks good … they want you to jump into this pool of sharks, and you tell us if it hurts when they bite you.” “Well, all right … hold my sign, I don’t wanna lose it.”

Last time I was home I was driving around and got a flat tire. I pulled my truck into one of those side-of-the-road gas stations, the attendant walks out, looks at my truck, looks at me and I SWEAR he said, “Tire go flat?” I couldn’t resist. I said, “Nope. I was driving around and those other three just swelled right up on me. Here’s your sign.”

We were trying to sell our car about a year ago, a guy came over to the house, drove the car around for about 45 minutes. We get back to the house, he gets out of the car, reaches down and grabs the exhaust pipe, then says, “Darn that’s hot!” See … If he’d been wearing his sign, I could have stopped him.

Know anyone who needs a sign?

Fast Dads

“My dad’s so fast,” said one boy, “that he can fire an arrow at a tree, run like buggery and catch the arrow before it hits it.”

“My dad’s faster than that” said the second kid. “He can drop a brick from the tenth floor of a building and run down the stairs and catch it before it hits the ground.”

“My dad’s faster than your dads,” said the third kid. “He works for the City. He knocks off at five and he’s always home by two-thirty.”

Mr. and Mrs. Potato

You know that all potatoes have eyes. Well, Mr. and Mrs. Potato had eyes for each other and they finally got married and had a little one — a real SWEET POTATO whom they called “YAM”.

They wanted the best for little Yam, telling her all about the facts of life. They warned her about going out and getting half baked because she could get Mashed, get a bad name like Hot Potato, and then end up with a bunch of Tater Tots. She said not to worry — no Mr. McSpud would get her in the sack and make a Rotten Potato out of her! But she wouldn’t stay home and become a Couch Potato either. She would get plenty of food and exercise so as not to be skinny like her Shoestring cousins.

Mr. and Mrs. Potato even told her about going off to Europe and to watch out for the Hard Boiled guys from Ireland and even the greasy guys from France called the French Fries. They also said she should watch out for the Indians when going out west because she could get Scalloped. She told them she would stay on the straight and narrow and wouldn’t associate with those high class Blue Belles or the ones from the other side of the tracks who advertise their trade on all the trucks you see around town that say Frito Lay.

Mr. & Mrs. Potato wanted the best for Yam, so they sent her to “Idaho P.U.” – that’s Potato University – where the Big Potatoes come from and when she graduated, she’d really be in the Chips.

But one day she came home and said she was going to marry Walter Cronkite. Mr. and Mrs. Potato were very upset and said she couldn’t marry him because he’s just a …

COMMON TATOR!!!!!!!!!

Computer Tech Support Messages

Ring … Ring … Ring … Ring … Ring … Ring … Ring … Ring … Ring … Ring … Ring … Ring … Ring … Ring … Ring … Ring …
Ring … Ring … Ring … Ring … Ring … Ring … Ring … Ring … Ring … Ring … Ring … Ring … Ring … Ring … Ring … Ring … Ring … Ring … Ring … Ring … Ring … Ring … Ring … Ring … Ring … Ring … Ring … Ring … Ring … Ring … Ring … Ring …

Thank you for calling Technical Support. All of our technicians are currently busy helping people who are even less competent than you, so please hold for the next available technician. The waiting time is now estimated at between fifteen minutes and eternity. In order to expedite your call, please punch your 58-digit product identification number on to your telephone, followed by your product serial number, which can be found in a secret compartment inside your computer where, for security purposes, it is printed in the smallest typeface possible to prevent being seen. Please note that you made need a size 11 3/4 torx screwdriver which may only be available from your original equipment manufacturer. Do that NOW!

Thank you again for calling Technical Support. We recommend that you sit at your computer, preferably turning it on at some point, and have at hand all your floppy disks, CD-ROM disks, computer manuals and original packing materials in order to allow the technician to aid you in the unlikely event that he ever gets to your call. If you were an inconsiderate jerk — we mean forgetful customer — and threw away your original packing materials, please call the company that sent you the computer and ask them to resend you the empty box with the plastic bubbles, fake popcorn and the wasted paper advertising that they recycle. We will hold your place in line on the phone while you wait for your boxes to be delivered. It would also be helpful for you to refrain from sobbing while explaining your problem to the technician. Shouting obscene threats will cause you to be immediately disconnected and blackballed from further communication with Technical Support, not only from ours but that of every other electronics-related firm in the industrialized world. (We all talk you know).

Thank you once again for calling Technical Support. In order to enable us to better assist you, it would be helpful to know more about you and your equipment. Have you called technical Support before? If you have, please press the numeral one on your telephone touch pad. If not, press the numeral two If you are not sure, using the letters on your touch pad, spell out the phrase: I am confused and despondent and quickly losing the will to live. Once you have finished, hang up your phone and make arrangements to sell your computer because by the time the technician takes your call, it will be obsolete, and you will be too senile to use it anyway.

Thank you for calling Technical Support. Unfortunately, all of our technicians just went out for lunch. This means that to the estimated waiting time we gave you earlier, you may now add at least another two hours.

Thank you for calling Technical Support. Before talking to the technician about your problem and risking the possibility that you may be wasting his valuable time, please ask yourself the following questions: 1. If my monitor screen is dark, is it possible I have forgotten to plug in my computer? 2. Have I exhausted every possible means of help before utilizing the sacred, last-resort-only telephone option? 3. Have I sent a fax to Fast Fax Technical Support? 4. Have I consulted my manual? 5. Have I read the Read-Me notice on the floppy disk? 6. Have I called up my know-it-all geek cousin who I can’t stand but who can probably fix this thing for me in under five minutes? 6. Have I given the central processing unit of my computer a good, solid whack? If you can not honestly answer yes to all these questions, please get off the line immediately so that our overworked technicians can help those truly desperate customers whose suffering is so much greater than yours. You must be really be so bored that you have to call technical support just to have someone to speak to about geek stuff.

Thank you for calling Technical Support. Our System has been overloaded, and unfortunately you have lost your place in line. Please push one if you would like to be connected again to technical Support.

Thank you for calling Technical Support.
Our electronic sensors indicate that you are about to slump over and die from a massive frustration attack combined with severe dehydration from lack of food and water. Before doing so, please take a moment to place your telephone receiver back in its base and switch off your computer so as not to wear down its internal battery. As a non-living person, you will have no further need of Technical Support and so we regretfully must remove you from our list of registered product users.

Remember, we valued your patronage and we’re happy to serve your needs. Do not hesitate to have your heirs or beneficiaries contact us should any further technical problems arise.

Beans, Beans

Once upon a time there lived a woman who had a maddening passion for baked beans. She loved them but unfortunately they had always had a very embarrassing and somewhat lively reaction to her.

Then one day she met a guy and fell in love. When it became apparent that they would marry, she thought to herself, “He is such a sweet and gentle man, he would never go for this carrying on.” So she made the supreme sacrifice and gave up beans.

Some months later her car broke down on the way home from work. Since she lived in the country she called her husband and told him that she would be late because she had to walk home. On her way she passed a small diner and the odor of the baked beans was more than she could stand.

Since she still had miles to walk, she figured that she would walk off any ill effects by the time she reached home. So, she stopped at the diner and before she knew it, she had consumed three large orders of baked beans.

All the way home she putt-putted. And upon arriving home she felt reasonably sure she could control it. Her husband seemed excited to see her and exclaimed delightedly, “Darling, I have a surprise for dinner tonight.” He then blindfolded her and led her to her chair at the table.

She seated herself and just as he was about to remove the blindfold from his wife, the telephone rang. He made her promise not to touch the blindfold until he returned. He then went to answer the phone.

The baked beans she had consumed were still affecting her and the pressure was becoming almost unbearable, so while her husband was out of the room, she seized the opportunity, shifted her weight to one leg and let it go. It was not only loud, but it smelled like a fertilizer truck running over a skunk in front of a pulpwood mill.

She took her napkin and fanned the air around her vigorously. Then, she shifted to the other cheek and ripped three more, which reminded her of cabbage cooking.

Keeping her ears tuned to the conversation in the other room, she went on like this for another ten minutes.

When the phone farewells signalled the end of her freedom, she fanned the air a few more times with her napkin, placed it on her lap and folded her hands upon it, smiling contentedly to herself.

She was the picture of innocence when her husband returned, apologizing for taking so long, he asked her if she peeked, and she assured him that she had not. At this point, he removed the blindfold, and she was surprised!!!

There were twelve dinner guests seated around the table to wish her a Happy Birthday!!!

Making Ugly Faces

Finding one of her students making faces at others on the playground, Ms. Smith stopped to gently reprove the child. Smiling sweetly, the Sunday School teacher said, “Bobby, when I was a child, I was told if that if I made ugly faces, it would freeze and I would stay like that.” Bobby looked up and replied, “Well, Ms Smith, you can’t say you weren’t warned.”

The Computer Age

A computer was something on TV
From a science-fiction show of note.
A window was something you hated to clean,
And ram was the cousin of a goat.

Meg was the name of my girlfriend,
And gig was a job for the nights.
Now they all mean different things
And that really mega-bytes!

An application was for employment,
A program was a TV show.
A cursor used profanity,
A keyboard was a piano.

Memory was something that you lost with age.
A CD was a bank account.
And if you had a 3-in. floppy
You hoped nobody found out.

Compress was something you did to the garbage,
Not something you did to a file.
And if you unzipped anything in public,
You’d be in jail for a while.

Log on was adding wood to the fire.
Hard drive was a long trip on the road.
A mouse pad was where a mouse lived.
And a backup happened to your commode.

Cut you did with a pocket knife.
Paste you did with glue.
A web was a spider’s home.
And a virus was the flu.

I guess I’ll stick to my pad and paper,
And the memory in my head.
I hear nobody’s been killed in a computer crash,
But when it happens they wish they were dead.