Wednesday, May 6, 2009

Dearly Beloved, Blame Pru.

*Caution: The following story is stinky. Read at your own risk.

Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today..

To tell a shiteous story that Prunella reminded me of, a couple of weeks back with a post she did.

You don't know Pru? Oh, for shame! She is awesome, hysterical and terminally fucking sexy. You must go to her site and follow along. Trust me, you must!

So, a couple of weeks ago, Pretty Pru did a post about what happens when you eat the wrong mix of foods and then have to go to the Booby Barn to strip for a livin'. It is one of the top five funniest posts that I've ever read. Go look through her archives for it - so worth the time!

I left a comment at the time telling her that someday soon, I would do a similar post and lay the credit at her feet, homage to the most fantastic girl on blogger! (Though she is tied with GI & Vodka Mom.)

Now where was I? Oh, the shiteous story.

Once upon a time,

(Do you like how I'm mixing the first line of the wedding ceremony with the first line of a fairy tale in this post?)

There was a very well hung man that P. Mama had the good sense to marry.

Ohhh, how she loved him. He was tall and strong, smart and funny, he worked hard to give her money for (clothes, shoes, purses, electronics) bills and food. He was so good looking he took her breath away and he was very (orally gifted) good at visiting Brazil. Daily. Frequent flier miles like a mofo.

Years went by and P. Mama felt very blessed. She never regretted saying, 'I Do' to the man of her dreams.

Until one awful day. One day that was to be the tornado, the famine, the blight, the natural disaster, visited upon her marriage.

On this day, she was sitting at her desk, chatting happily with online (perverts) friends when Big Daddy walked in. And walked right past her. Actually, sprinted right past her like the bill collectors were hot on his heels.

*stops here for a second to show off her loverly Coach bag*

Now Big Daddy had a schedule upon getting home to his castle. And it was always to show the love to his Queen, first. About 30 minutes later, Phat Mama looked away from the computer long enough to realize that Big Daddy had not given her kisses on her face. He had not shown proper adoration, at all! It was then that she vaguely recalled his crazed sprint towards the back of the house.

Just as she was wondering if he were okay, she heard the most horrific scream. High pitched and much like a girl, her Man of Steel was screaming her name!

She jumped up and followed the sound to the bathroom and there, she stopped, frozen, her hand on the doorknob, not yet twisting, eyes big and round, filled with fear at what she might find.

Had he fallen in the shower and cracked his skull open?

Had he cut himself while shaving his pork & beans??

With monumental effort, she jerked on the knob and THREW open the door, prepared to save the man she loved!

Big Daddy had come down with the flu. And he was spinning in circles (picture Exorcist, please) unable to decide if his ass or his head should be in the toilet. At the moment, still spinning with indecision, he was repainting the bathroom with a mixture of hot doody and projectiled chalupa.

And in return for her bravery, her devotion.. Phat Mama was sprayed with a tsunami of shit.

Never one to give in, in the face of adversity, she dripped her way over to the miserable man, got them both into a shower and then him to bed. (After demanding he sleep on a Hefty trash bag.)

She mixed a cocktail (Xanax & zinfandel in a box) and once suitably fucked up enough to get through what was coming, she scrubbed the bathroom from floor to ceiling with bleach and the yard hose. And she *may* have called Big Daddy some names.

Like.. sonofabitchmotherfuckerdickheadwhydidimarrytheAK-47ofassholes. But she was drunk so she doesn't really remember.

Only later was he able to tell her that he started ass on the can and when the overpowering urge to vomit came upon him, he didn't know what to do so spun around to use the toilet he was just seated on. She asked him why he didn't just lean over a wee bit and use the bathtub?

His Einstein response? "Do you know what chunks of food do to a drain? I didn't want to have to fix that!"

Sonofabitchmotherfuckerassholedickhead.

15 comments:

Dr Zibbs said...

(tears) I accidently deleted your email. Please resend.

Prunella Jones said...

LOL!!!

The only thing that cracks me up more than that (hilariously brown) story is the idea that I inspired you to share it.

I feel like I should take a bow.

"You're welcome, Internet!"

Prunella Jones said...

Also, I have a great respect for you. I'm glad your husband treats you like a queen. He should really kiss your feet daily.

Actually, I have respect for him as well. It's probably a good thing that he has consideration for the drains. A couple of years ago, a (male) roommate got drunk one night and crapped in the tub. Instead of picking it up and flushing it like a normal person, he proceeded to pound it down the drain with a shampoo bottle.

After that I could never bring myself to take another bath in that tub.

Mr. Condescending said...

wow!

Phat Mama said...

Oh wtf!!! at crapping in the tub!

diane said...

That was f*cking hilarious! xo

J.J. in L.A. said...

That's why bathrooms should always have trash cans. He could've kept his ass on the pot and rinsed out the trash can later.

zelzee said...

I can understand why you needed a 'cocktail' to clean that mess!
Shitty job...............

Divine Chaos said...

oh dear lord ... I'd have called a service to come clean it up. No way I coulda done it lol

otherworldlyone said...

Reason #37 to never get married.

If I ever had the misfortune to walk in on something like that...I'd be projectile vomiting all the way out the door.

Candy's daily Dandy said...

Bwahahahaha!
Oh Phat Mama, you both got HIT WITH THE SHIT!!

Poor things. You are hilarious and I love the smokin' hot, super brilliant and sweet Pru also.

After reading this post I am left with one thought. Always choose a man who is not only well hung, but understands the importance of expensive handbags.
Good for you!!Go girl!

honkeie2 said...

I am sorry Pru but this out does her Booty Barn post!
this happened once to my wife but she had the wisdom to have a bucket in the front and the toliet to the rear!
I must say I did tear up a little laughing at you!

the iNDefatigable mjenks said...

You know, I'm going to have to side with Big Daddy on this one. Seriously, you don't want to have to snake that out of there.

I, on the other hand, always keep a plastic target bag close at hand in the bathroom for those times when I feel like erupting from both ends. Bags of puke are so much easier to clean up.

Maelstrom said...

I think in 1 night you paid him back for years of treating you like a queen.

Cora said...

Oh Good God!! If a marriage can survive THAT, it can survive ANYTHING!!

And to answer the question you left for me the other day ~ yes, you may say FUCK in the comments of my blog! FUCK all you want! The more the merrier, I say! :-)