I realized, writing it down, how very wrong that sounds, or perhaps as if I’m about to tell you all about my new emo band. I know. But there is no help for it, for this is what I must tell you about.
Or rather, this is what I was GOING to tell you about, before Joshilyn beat me to it because she just HAPPENED to be blogging while we were chatting earlier. Bless her heart.
Anyway, she beat me to it, but I will tell you even MORE because really, is there such a thing as too much warty genitalia? Of course there isn’t. So let’s start with the obvious:
1) No, I’m not talking about ME. Or anyone I KNOW.
2) I cannot WAIT to see what my Google Ads come up with after this entry.
3) Really, is it fair to STEAL references to warty genitalia from a friend and blog them, yourself? Only if you are very, very pretty. Joss is off the hook.
So. In case you did not happen to read Joshilyn’s account of our conversation, allow me to recap:
Monkey has a suspicious bump on his thumb, which may or may not be a wart. Frankly, I suspect bubonic ebola. But a wart seems somewhat more likely. The only bizarre thing is that he insists that it HURTS. So at first, I thought it was a blister. But it isn’t. Like I said, bubonic ebola seems most likely at this point, as I don’t like to leap to melodramatic conclusions unless it’s a day that ends in “y.” ANYWAY. I was discussing this with Joshilyn, because although she’s not a doctor, she often likes to play one over Instant Messenger.
And while Joshilyn was giving me her most learned diagnosis (which, if you check her post, you’ll see was QUITE astute and included recommending that we visit the VET), I decided to google “wart pictures.”
Very. Bad. Idea.
I clicked a link, and was suddenly face-to-face with all manner of warty penises. It was VERY DISTURBING. Granted–and no offense, guys–the penis is not exactly an artform on its best day, but in general I’m more than happy to appreciate it an objective sort of way, you understand (to wit: hubba hubba!). But to suddenly have a screenful of ASSORTED, multicolored, flaccid wart-covered penises was DOUBLE PLUS UNGOOD.
I was traumatized. I AM traumatized. Joshilyn thought this was AMUSING.
Yes, there is nothing funnier than a sexually frustrated woman permanently turned off of the male form for eternity, while her young son languishes with bubonic ebola. Hahahahaha.
Fortunately, I adore Joshilyn so much, I let her laugh at me and get my revenge quietly.
Through, say, drinking a glass of mulled cider (a.k.a. microwaved cider fortified with some wine) while she insists that I help her shop for ottomans online. Given that (so far as I can ascertain) no ottomans have either penises or warts, I’m happy to help her look around. It takes my mind off of the trauma. And I can both make juvenile comments about available products AND make my superior intellect known through stunning declarations!
Joshilyn: this is hard
Me: the fate of the universe rests upon your ottomans
Joshilyn: i need to go to a real store that has them, but what store has them?
Me: choose wisely, grasshopper
Me: Um, a furniture store?
Joshilyn: STOP. DRINKING.
Me: OTTOMANS BACKWARDS R US!
Joshilyn: i love going virtual shopping with you
Me: ME TOO!
Me: I AM BLOGGING ABOUT IT RIGHT NOW!
And in case you doubt how complicated shopping for ottomans really is, I invite you to do a brief search. It will make your head spin. Even without prior retinal scorching due to disfigured manhandles. And probably it’s the wine that made me giggle over these, true (stash cube! for your… stash!), but to this one just allow me to say that reading the review caused me to laugh until I wet myself. Oh, John. John, John, John. Poor naive John.
I bet he has warts.