IDrinkYourBlood
11-16-2005, 06:02 PM
Today was a FUN day!
I woke up to the metallic squaking of Old Mr. Blue Jay again. What a grumpy bird! Anticipating this, I had plugged in my George Foreman Grill on the patio before retiring last night, sprinkling it liberally with sunflower seeds. So you can imagine the smile on my face when that cranky old bird woke me up this morning. I just lay in bed waiting, trying to hold in the laughter. Sure enough, in no time Old Mr. Blue Jay decided to have his breakfast and alighted on the grill, hoping to enjoy a delicious seed. That’s when I pulled the string, closing the hot grill on his pretty blue feathers. Oh the funny sounds he made as he cooked, the fat draining from his body just like George Foreman advertises (I wish I could box and invent grills as good as George Foreman)! My whole yard smelled like a Pollo Loco. That made me hungry so it was off to Arby’s. So far, the morning was perfect!
After a Montana Beef Sandwich and some Jalapeno Bites with Bronco Berry Sauce, it was time to go to yoga. Problem is, I left my headband at that Soup Plantation (I sweat when I eat certain soups, especially Country Corn Chowder), so I had to improvise, and improvise quickly. Class was going to start in 10 minutes! Scanning the living room, I saw an ornate length of Ceylonese silk I had forced a worker on Michael Caine’s 1000 acre tea plantation to weave for me while she was not toiling in the fields for twelve hours a day. So I wrapped my head in that luxurious silk, slung on my backpack, and started biking towards the yoga studio.
That’s when the confusion began.
I was riding so fast and so recklessly towards my yoga studio that I didn’t notice the police barricade outside Baja Fresh. Apparently a disgruntled ex-employee had phoned in a bomb threat, and here I am riding like a wild man straight towards the place with a backpack on and what looked to all the world like a turban on my head! Well, those officers didn’t skip a beat. They pulled out their tasers and gave yours truly 200,000 volts straight up the ass! I could just hear Old Mr. Bluejay laughing. Now I smelled like a Pollo Loco!
Once I came to and convinced the cops I wasn’t a Jihadist, I was already five minutes late for yoga—not good etiquette! I entered the sanctuary as quietly as possible, as the middle aged new age instructor beat some small brass gong, and laid my mat down in the only available space, in between a woman far too fat to adequately perform yoga and a black guy. The woman was panting heavily, and the sweat dripped off her brow like the fat draining out of Old Mr. Blue Jay as he roasted on the George Foreman Grill. Then it began to soak through the ass area of her aqua blue leotards, making a stain across her ass that was precisely in the shape of the continent of Africa. That reminded me, over to my right was a black. Never seeing one in yoga before, I grew curious. As I studied him quite effortlessly twist into a wounded pigeon asana, I realized…that’s Don Cheadle! “Oh great God!,” I yelped. “You’re Don Cheadle! You saved all those Africans over in that Hotel Zambia!”
The whole class stared at me, awe struck, as the black man said, “I’m not Don Cheadle. I’m Mekhi Phifer.”
“Oh,” I said. “You look like Don Cheadle.”
Amazingly, they didn’t ask me to leave. Everyone just got up and left, glaring at me, leaving me there alone with the panting fat woman with the sweat map of Africa on her ass and the middle aged new age instructor.
“Well,” the instructor said. “Hopefully we’ll all laugh at this someday. But in the meantime, looks like the perfect opportunity for a three way!”
The fat lady and I looked at each other and smiled broadly.
Then, we all fucked. We fucked in every imaginable position, using every yoga prop, gong, drum, block and strap in some creative sexual way. At one point I had an entire rolled up yoga mat up the fat lady’s ass, making it look like Africa on a stick!
When the level 2 class that followed ours knocked politely on the door, we realized we’d gone five minutes over our allotted class time and collapsed in a sweaty heap of limber flesh in the middle of the studio floor. “See you in class next week,” we all said in unison, followed by laughter.
It sure was a FUN day!
I woke up to the metallic squaking of Old Mr. Blue Jay again. What a grumpy bird! Anticipating this, I had plugged in my George Foreman Grill on the patio before retiring last night, sprinkling it liberally with sunflower seeds. So you can imagine the smile on my face when that cranky old bird woke me up this morning. I just lay in bed waiting, trying to hold in the laughter. Sure enough, in no time Old Mr. Blue Jay decided to have his breakfast and alighted on the grill, hoping to enjoy a delicious seed. That’s when I pulled the string, closing the hot grill on his pretty blue feathers. Oh the funny sounds he made as he cooked, the fat draining from his body just like George Foreman advertises (I wish I could box and invent grills as good as George Foreman)! My whole yard smelled like a Pollo Loco. That made me hungry so it was off to Arby’s. So far, the morning was perfect!
After a Montana Beef Sandwich and some Jalapeno Bites with Bronco Berry Sauce, it was time to go to yoga. Problem is, I left my headband at that Soup Plantation (I sweat when I eat certain soups, especially Country Corn Chowder), so I had to improvise, and improvise quickly. Class was going to start in 10 minutes! Scanning the living room, I saw an ornate length of Ceylonese silk I had forced a worker on Michael Caine’s 1000 acre tea plantation to weave for me while she was not toiling in the fields for twelve hours a day. So I wrapped my head in that luxurious silk, slung on my backpack, and started biking towards the yoga studio.
That’s when the confusion began.
I was riding so fast and so recklessly towards my yoga studio that I didn’t notice the police barricade outside Baja Fresh. Apparently a disgruntled ex-employee had phoned in a bomb threat, and here I am riding like a wild man straight towards the place with a backpack on and what looked to all the world like a turban on my head! Well, those officers didn’t skip a beat. They pulled out their tasers and gave yours truly 200,000 volts straight up the ass! I could just hear Old Mr. Bluejay laughing. Now I smelled like a Pollo Loco!
Once I came to and convinced the cops I wasn’t a Jihadist, I was already five minutes late for yoga—not good etiquette! I entered the sanctuary as quietly as possible, as the middle aged new age instructor beat some small brass gong, and laid my mat down in the only available space, in between a woman far too fat to adequately perform yoga and a black guy. The woman was panting heavily, and the sweat dripped off her brow like the fat draining out of Old Mr. Blue Jay as he roasted on the George Foreman Grill. Then it began to soak through the ass area of her aqua blue leotards, making a stain across her ass that was precisely in the shape of the continent of Africa. That reminded me, over to my right was a black. Never seeing one in yoga before, I grew curious. As I studied him quite effortlessly twist into a wounded pigeon asana, I realized…that’s Don Cheadle! “Oh great God!,” I yelped. “You’re Don Cheadle! You saved all those Africans over in that Hotel Zambia!”
The whole class stared at me, awe struck, as the black man said, “I’m not Don Cheadle. I’m Mekhi Phifer.”
“Oh,” I said. “You look like Don Cheadle.”
Amazingly, they didn’t ask me to leave. Everyone just got up and left, glaring at me, leaving me there alone with the panting fat woman with the sweat map of Africa on her ass and the middle aged new age instructor.
“Well,” the instructor said. “Hopefully we’ll all laugh at this someday. But in the meantime, looks like the perfect opportunity for a three way!”
The fat lady and I looked at each other and smiled broadly.
Then, we all fucked. We fucked in every imaginable position, using every yoga prop, gong, drum, block and strap in some creative sexual way. At one point I had an entire rolled up yoga mat up the fat lady’s ass, making it look like Africa on a stick!
When the level 2 class that followed ours knocked politely on the door, we realized we’d gone five minutes over our allotted class time and collapsed in a sweaty heap of limber flesh in the middle of the studio floor. “See you in class next week,” we all said in unison, followed by laughter.
It sure was a FUN day!