Good Morning Shriveled Ones,
If you’re reading this balder-dash I assume then you’re on your second cup of coffee. I don’t want to waste much of your time this fine morning headed to our three day holiday, but there’s something I’ve got to get off my chest. It’s not something I relish; this business of throwing a good friend under the bus. Yet, if I don’t do it, we’re bound to lose him to the demon masturbation.
Yes, you’ve probably already guessed it; there was an intervention last night. Poo was confronted by his sons. He of course denies participating but was surrounded by the proverbial smoking gun. The magazine and Vaseline said otherwise. Still adamant, he turned his back to his progeny and folded his arms inadvertently exposing his palms, revealing the thick growth of hair on each. This was all they needed to see and immediately executed an obviously rehearsed plan. One son quickly grabbed Poo around his arms, while the other chloroformed him; rendering our associate unconscious.
Shortly after the chloroform wore off Poo awoke and immediately assessed his situation and feigned sleep until the staff left him alone. Our fellow committee member had discovered a bottle of hand lotion sitting next to the sink. You’d think under the circumstances this had to be a mistake. He’d been staring at it on and off for over an hour now and was getting aroused as evidenced by his newly erected tent. Finally the staff left. Poo stealthily slipped out of bed to check the single nurse on staff to gage the angle between him and the lotion. It’ll only take moments to snag the lotion exposing him nano-seconds while in the act, so he turned and moved quickly toward the prize. In his single-mindedness though, he hadn’t noticed the monitoring equipment in his return path and ran into it full steam. The noise and clamor followed by a string of profanity immediately set the staff off on a dead run. Once again our friend was caught in the act.
Last I heard, he’d been strapped to his bed and drugged for his own safety and resting comfortably. The Nervous Hospital has a special section set up for this kind of addiction. He’s kept in a barbiturate induced fog to keep him quiet. He keeps asking for his reading material; but wasn’t fooling anyone. If you’ve ever had the pleasure of sitting next to him, you know the drivel is endless. While I’m sure being strapped down on a bed isn’t something new for the old fart, but it seems a bit extreme don’t you think?
Please remember Poo in your prayers, God bless him.