There were a bunch of us. We all always gathered at Marvin's. Marvin owns and runs a bar on the outskirts of town. It's a place where we gather once a month to talk, bullshit, and brag about all the stuff we wished we'd done. Mostly though we talk about the interesting, and many uninteresting, stories we've all read.
By the way we're all writers. People who've never actually submitted anything are not allowed to sit with us. We make them sit on the floor near to our seats. They aren't allowed to speak unless they politely raise their hands and wait to be called on.
Sometimes it's kind of fun to watch the knuckle draggers with their prehensile toes as they pick their noses and scratch their unwiped asses and try to think up ways to be profound without knowing any word with more than three syllables. It is a little frustrating to know they try to read what we write and then try to understand it.
Now no one's saying who's done what, or who's been with who or any of that shit; what we're saying is we all spend most of our time concentrating on those old fashioned 'Loving Wives' stories that appear on this or that website. It's kind of funny since everybody has a different take on what's important, who's done the best work lately, and which wife in the various stories is the most or least worth saving. Tonight's little conclave has been no different. Of course all the names have been changed so no one will know who's who. As one reads our little discussion one might realize we've allowed for some literary license. After all we're slumming.
Well old Melvin the Mattress Chewer started the conversation. In the interests of brevity we'll be calling him Melvin from now on. Old Melvin started out, "I got through a couple good ones this month about guys whose wives all wanted a bigger bone; seems like a lot of guys just got stuck with a shortage of meat."
This is when we need a narrator. It's sort of understood most comment writers, especially the anonymous ones are dickless wonders who get their pebbles off reading what other people make up; they, the commenters that is, are overwhelmingly unimaginative semen slurpers who only wished they could lean over far enough to suck their own skimpy little wieners. That's why so many of them lost their wives.
Barry the Barker lipped it up, "We'll just shorten his name to BTB, that'll make his point of reference easier to understand; everybody likes the bark as in 'bow wow' idea anyway. "Yeah I read a couple of those 'just shy guy' stories too. Hey man, if the bitch loved him enough to marry him she should be ready to love and be faithful no matter what."
Yeah said Chewer, "And give blow jobs every night."
Marvin, owner and bartender overheard and added, "She should swallow too."
Flaccid Harry from Virginia contributed, "Yeah even when he's been eating asparagus beforehand."
Flaky Beatles Lover interjected, "Come on Flaccid; that's just one of the many reasons you're so uptight. You ought to try pineapple juice; it'll make your semen taste sweeter. Maybe if you tried harder you wouldn't be home alone while your ex-wife's out with Gonad Gil."
Mosquito Dick piled on, "Forget it Beatle. Harry's penis is so small no woman ever knows when he's inside. Besides his wife told me he only shoots 'puppy water' and that's premature. Ask Invitro Ike; he was there when she told me."
Harry the limp one just gave Mosquito Dick the finger. Everyone else laughed because poor Flaccid Harry had never yet written a single coherent story, nope not one word.
This is when we need the narrator again. Helpless Horny Harry gets to sit with the real men because everyone feels sorry for the syphilitic diabetic overweight old retard who shits his pants every time he reads something he doesn't understand. Harry has a problem with big words plus he has irritable bowel syndrome.
That's when Sam the Stallion chimed in, Sam's a lover of certain types of over-priced and under-performing sport's cars that have plagued the market since the mid 1960's. We'll just label him 'The Stallion, or Stallion tonight. Stallion piped up, "Women are stupid. The really stupid ones are the ones who cheat."
BTB opened his slobbery trap, "They all cheat."
Clueless Cuckworth spoke up then, We'll call him Cucky. Cucky said, "You know Stallion half the guys you write about are dumb chuckholes who can't hold their wives."
BTB chimed in, "Yeah, let's burn the cheating bitches."
Blueballs overrode BTB, "There's not a real man among all us Loving Wives' writers, and you know why?"
BTB asked, "No spermatozoa breath tell me."
Blueballs replied, "You are clueless BTB, a real man would commit uxoricide and get it over with!"
