Wednesday, July 21, 2004

The Fennwhacker

Everyone's been asking me "So, what'd you do on your mini-vacation?"  Each time, I happily reply "Nothing."  And that's the truth.  It was the most laid-back, wonder-full weekend.  Miz Meems and I accomplished what we set out to do which was spend time with Steve and Kerry and RELAX.  Now, relaxation in my book involves a lot of sittin' around shootin' the breeze.  Oh yeah, and drinkin' some cocktails on the lanai always helps, too.  Well, we did that.  Sometimes at the same time, too.

Point being:  I don't have anything to write about.  Well, I do... but it's stuff for another mood.  Personal enlightenment, epiphanies, great friends, good times... I may share some of these thoughts, but then again, I may just hoard them.

Instead, I'm going to tell you the story of the Fennwhacker (who the hell knows how it's spelled, but that's exactly how it's pronounced).  Kerry told us this story one afternoon and it inspired much consumption of vodka, which also led to the painting of toenails (including Ruby Jean, Miz Meems' dog... poor thing looks like a harlot).  Anyway, it's her sister's (Amy) story regarding her time working in a lab somewhere...

Now, Mr. Fenn, Mr. Whacker or Mr. Fennwhacker is the name of the man who invented this little device appropriately called The Fennwhacker.  And what this little device does is stimulate monkeys to the point of ejaculation.  They were researching color blindness or some such thing, and found that the DNA of certain monkeys aided them somehow in this research.  So these darling primates would back up into The Fennwhacker, have a jolly good time and ejaculate into a little contraption that was affixed to their tiny penii.

One morning Amy went into the lab and, lo and behold, there was a poor little monkey lying dead with The Fennwhacker still residing in his bum.  The sex-crazed beast had had a heart attack or something while gettin' his rocks off.  Amy called in one of her assistants to immediately preserve not only the DNA captured in the little semen sack, but the entire monkey as well.  They dipped the monkey carcass in liquid nitrogen, instantly converting him to a monkeysicle, and then put him in a deep freeze.

Some time later, Amy needs to get out the monkeysicle and do some tests on him and what not.  Her assistant goes to the deep freeze, pulls out the monkey, takes off the bag he'd been in, and... (you guessed it!) promptly drops him on the floor, thereby shattering him into a gazillion pieces.  And that, my friends, is the story of the Fennwhacker via Kerry via Amy. 

But just think:  what is the thaw rate on miniscule monkey bits?  What would you do?  Get the big chunks and then call housekeeping?  "You'd best not take your time on this one..."

I'm an old school monkey semen collector... these new devices keep me from developing a personal relationship with my monkey...and as the story pointed out, they are dangerous! Go ahead...touch it!
Pet my monkey... loooove my monkey...
I have a friend who used to probe geese to check the sex. We call him Goose Juice now.

As for your vacation...that's what it is all about. Going on vacation and doing zero.
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