TftDS: Chapter 10, Part 1. The Slovokian Traffic Cone. (NSFW)

I wasn’t going to post this, but here we go.  I hope you enjoy and feel free to share.

 

 

The Slovokian Traffic Cone

 

Innuendo. It’s a big word, I know. It basically means “hinting at fucking.” Okay, that’s not exactly what it means, but close enough. I was mostly a weekend driver, but I went out this particular night during the week to revel in the celebration of Saint Patrick. Which, like Cinco de Mayo, is just an excuse for college cunts to get wasted. So, loads of college cunts getting wasted should have equated to a fair amount of rides for a Thursday in the no-quite-as-big-city. Not so much. If I recall correctly, I got maybe five rides all night. Not as impressive as I had hoped for for such an event. The first time I ever took a ride share, I asked the driver about the income side of it and he told me that St. Patrick’s Day was his biggest money maker next to New Year’s. That conversation echoing in my subconscious had my hopes skyrocketing. But, like most of my hopes in my life, nothing came of it. I took a couple of groups out to dinner and took some guy home who was plastered by 6 P.M.

I was considering cutting out early and indulging in my own St. Pat’s Day traditions. You know, some Guinness, watching Boondock Saints, jacking off and passing out. Oh. Wait. That’s not a holiday. That’s my Tuesday. But luckily I got another ride coming through and I was off the next day, so I’d probably still go through with my traditions anyway. Hey, I’ve got my priorities.

I picked up a group of four, two guys and two girls, and were taking them downtown to party. As I rolled up the first thing that struck me was that the guys were buttoned-down and the girls were in basic white bitch on a holiday mode. Head to toe in green wearing all the accouterments you can usually find a Wal-Mart seasonal aisle, complete with necks full of Mardi Gras beads. And we’re a long way from New Orleans. Or Mobile. Mardi Gras actually started in this country in Mobile, AL. But that’s not important right now. They get in the car and the taller of the guys plops down next to me. Everyone seems to be polite and in good spirits.

They interacted with me a little bit, but nothing significant and I get the feeling that this was going to be another uninteresting night. Then I found out out that, despite the basic bitches in tow, the guy sitting shotgun to me had a similar sense of humor. One of the girls in the back offered him a row of beads. To which he replied that he was wearing some…just not around his neck. And that’s how it started.

No one else seemed to get the joke at the moment. Except this asshole. I’m giggling like a little school kid that just said the word “Butt.” He he…Butt. Eventually it dawns on everyone else in the car and I’m hoping you have gotten the joke by now. If not, he’s talking about anal beads. Google it. A few more euphemisms and innuendos are tossed around and I’m getting ribbed to get involved. But, y’all know me. I try to avoid sexual harassment lawsuits. Unless it’s the wife. Then I’ll harass her until she stops speaking to me and leaves the room. You might think it’s rude and sexist, but honestly it’s a great way to get some Video Game time in. What? My MineCraft TARDIS isn’t going to build itself.

After avoiding interaction other than the occasional chuckle, a point came where I had to step in. Call it education, call it the innuendo Nazi, or just call it my overindulgent need to prove people wrong, but I felt it was a public service to correct an improper sexual reference. It can lead to some…sticky…situations. Do y’all not remember Seinfeld? In one episode Jerry wanted to leave the girl he was with for her roommate. Yes, the roommate swap. Quite difficult, but doable. Anyway, one of his friends improperly refers to the swap as a “Menage a Trois.” So he uses this phrase to the woman he’s seeing, trying to convey to her that he would rather sleep with her roommate. As we all know, Menage a Trois actually means threesome. So the roommates get excited. Most men would as well, but Jerry is a man of principle. He’s not an orgy kind of guy. Then he would have to grow a mustache and get beaded curtains. Threesomes are dangerous territory. There may be six holes worth of pleasure, but I still have only one dick. Threesomes typically follow one of three paths, from a guy’s point of view. Path A: Two people start paying too much attention to the other and someone feels left out creating conflict. Path B: Both girls are all about you to the point where all you can really do is lay there because you can’t move. Or Path C: The girls only really agreed to the three-way so they could fuck each other and you’re an afterthought. Yeah, you might be tapping one or the other or going back and forth, but they’re only really focused on each other. Now, at this point you may think that you’re awesome and the the girls are really into you and you’ll brag about it to your friends. But deep down inside, you must accept the truth. You’re a tool. Your girl now, like most girls in your life, is lying to you so she can fuck someone else and is just keeping you around for date insurance. Maybe you should have paid more attention to her needs and less to your ego. It’s not the Olympics, it’s okay to settle for the Silver and come in second for a change. Or if you’re all that is man, you shoot for the Bronze.

The point I was actually trying to make before I started rambling again is that this guy was wrong in a situation where being wrong could go horribly and you could end up with a 15” purple dildo up your ass. Or so I saw in that internet documentary. What was he wrong about, you ask? A little move called “The Rusty Trombone.”

The passenger directly behind me is hardcore trying to get in one of these girl’s pants. Everyone can tell. So as the course of dirty references plays out he starts asking one of these girls about different obscure things and asking her if she wants to try them. After a few rounds of resistance from this, he resorts to trying to make her laugh and gross everyone out by moving into the less tasteful of scenarios. And, keeping with the “if it’s not savage, it’s average” traditions, he starts swinging for the fences immediately. He starts his tirade off with the Mississippi Hot Pocket. Well, it’s actually called the Alabama Hot Pocket unless, like me, you’re from Alabama. After hearing this odd phrase, the object of his advances immediately snaps into the conversation.

Object: “What the fuck is an Alabama Hot Pocket?”

Creeper: “It’s when you take a shit in a girl’s vag and then fuck it!”

Obj: “That’s gross!”

Drunk Girl Not Paying Attention: “What’s gross?”

Anal Beads: “That’s not the end of it.”

Creep: “What do you mean?”

Kids, let’s remember, Hot Pockets are edible!

AB: “You shit in her, fuck it until you nut, then eat it out.”

Creep: “Oh that’s bad, man!”

Obj: “That’s fucking disgusting. You’d actually do that?”

Creep: “Hell no, I’m not eating my own jizz!”

Me: “It’s funny how you snap at eating your own semen, but don’t say anything about eating your own shit.”

AB: “Oooh! Fucking driver got you, bro!”

Creep: “Fuck, man! I wouldn’t do that either!”

AB: “Sure. We all believe you. What are ya, fucking German?”

Creep: “Okay, okay. But what about a Rusty Trombone?”

DGNPA: “Where’s my phone?”

Obj: “What’s a Rusty Trombone.”

Creep: “That’s when you’re having anal, and then pull out and the girl blows you till you finish!”

At this point, I had just taken a sip of my Grape-flavored NOS and was trying to swallow (tee hee) so I couldn’t say anything. Instead, I began to shake my head vigorously and wave my hand in protest. An incorrect sexual reference? Not on my watch, mother fucker!

AB: “Hang on, Hang on! I think the driver something to say about that.”

Me: [Swallowing] “That is not a Rusty Trombone.”

Creep: “Then what’s a Rusty Trombone, smart guy?”

Me: “A Rusty Trombone is when you’re getting a rim job and a hand job at the same time so it looks like the giver is playing the trombone. [I did the fucking head and hand motion to demonstrate. What is wrong with me?] What your talking about is ATM.” (Ass-to-mouth)

Creep: “Are you sure?”

ME: “Dude, I’ve spent a large part of my life getting blasted and coming up with shit like this and telling jokes about it. Between that and dead baby jokes, that’s 90% of the weak stand up I do at social gatherings.”

DGNPA: “What’s a rim job?”

Obj: “Getting your asshole eaten out.”

DGNPA: “Oh! I’ve done that before!”

[Awkward, uncomfortable silence]

AB: “Okay, I looked it up on Urban Dictionary. The driver is right.”

Creep: “Okay, if this is what you do, what do you suggest if I want to prank a girl in bed. Like the rodeo or something?”

Me: “Well, that depends. There is a subtle difference between ‘The Rodeo’ and ‘Riding the Bull’ that most people don’t pick up on.”

AB: “What’s the difference?”

Me: “Riding a bull you can do own your own in practice. A rodeo requires an audience.”

AB: “Okay, we’ve got our own versions of it, but I want to hear yours. Whatcha got for us?”

Me: “Riding the Bull is where you’re doing it doggie-style in the center of the bed, then when you’re about to finish, you say something like ‘Your sister was tighter’ or ‘the Star Wars prequels were better” then try to keep her from being bucking you off for eight seconds.”

AB: “Nice, nice! That’s kinda what we thought. But we called that ‘rodeo,’ so what is a rodeo?”

Me: “Like I said, rodeo’s have an audience. A proper rodeo can only be done at like a party or something, and it takes a lot of pre-planning. During the party, sneak your girl off to a super dark room and refuse to turn on the lights, but the room has been prepared previously; that part is important. Start going at it, transition into doggy-style. Once you’re ready and in position, let out a loud ‘Yee Haw!’ and that’s the signal for all the people you have hiding in the closet and under the bed to come out, flip on the lights, start yelling ‘Surprise’ and taking pictures. Then, you try to hang on for eight seconds.”

AB: “Holy Shit.”

Creep: “So that’s how you’d prank her?”

Me: “Me, no I’m an asshole. I’d do my version of a Houdini.”

Obj: “Oh my God, what’s a Houdini?”

Me: “Well, a standard Houdini, and I’ll apologize in advance because all of this is going to sound really bad. A Houdini is when you’re tapping it from behind, you get close and you pull out. Once you’re clear, instead of finishing, you spit on her back. Continue to prepare yourself, and when she turns around, you go in her face.”

Obj: “That’s kinky and horrible.”

Creep: “Stealing it! That’s what you’d do?”

AB: “Wait, wait. You said you’d to a version of it. What’s that mean?”

Me: “I call it the ‘Reverse Houdini.”

Creep: “Details, bro!”

Me: “The Reverse Houdini plays out the same way, but when you initially pull out, you actually cum on her back. Then, when she turns around, you spit in her face.”

[The car erupts with laughter]

Me: “Or you could do a Reverse Houdini into an avalanche, you just gotta skip the spit part.”

AB: “How’s that work?”

Me: “Doggy-style at the top of the stairs, facing down. Pull out and go on her back then before she can move you knock her arms out from under her and scream ‘Avalanche!’ as you ride her down the stairs.”

Creep: “That’s fucked up!”

AB: “Wow. Just wow.”

Obj: “Okay, cool guy. I want to know one. I want to know the absolute worst shit you’ve got. Fucking shock me.”

Me: “Easy.”

AB: “Oh, this has to be good.”

Me: “Slovakian Traffic Cone.”

Obj: “What the fuck?”

Creep: “Is that like some kind of upside down yoga Tantric shit?”

Me: “Oh, no good buddy. You’ve got to be extremely fucked up to get off to this.”

AB: “I’ll give it a shot, hit me.”

Me: “Y’all asked for it. The Slovakian traffic cone, true to it’s name, involves a traffic cone. You take the top of the cone with the little hole in it and fit it into the girl’s ass. Then you shit into the other end of the cone, then piss in it when your done with that. Then you jack off into it. Then you stick your finger down your throat and puke down the cone. For those keeping count, that’s piss, shit, jizz, and vomit. Into a traffic cone. Shoved into someones ass. Now, all that ain’t going to go down easy, so you’ve got to take a toilet plunger or something and force it in there. Then she holds everything in there as long as she can, while taking laxatives. Finally, she straddles your chest and shits everything out on you while giving you a hand job and wearing the traffic cone as a hat.”

The silence was deafening.

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