3 balls in the corner pocket

OK, so I made some random Tweet last night and got a bunch of replies and direct messages to the effect of “WHY has this not been publicized on your blog?”

That’s because I’m a nice person. OK, not really, but while I’m waiting for Mr. Right to come (say it with me: “And he’d better clean it up!”), I’ve definitely found every Mr. Wrong from Rockville, Md., to Springfield, Va.

The girls and I went down to Ballston for some Guinness and shepherd’s pie at Union Jack’s. (Which, YUM.) And I happened to recall that I hadn’t been to Ballston since I was dating the guy with the three balls and the pint-sized pecker.

Which, of course, I had to say aloud to the group AND share with 120 of my closest followers on Twitter. 🙂

Not much else to say about that. I mean, sure, I thought the bag o’ marbles did look a little bit big, but I figured that was because there wasn’t much else going on.

Nothing against smaller members, but seriously, at some point it’s like throwing a hot dog down a hallway. As long as it plumps when you cook it, I can work with it. But a girl needs bun-length, and I ain’t ashamed of that. 🙂

Of course, I do have praise for the teeny weenie because they take a lot less work, if ya know what I mean. When you want your bed back so you can kick out your gentleman caller and get some sleep or catch “The Daily Show’s” Moment of Zen, I have nothing but love for the cocktail-weenie-sized schlong.

Anyway, I don’t remember much about my adventures with that one. He told me after the fact. I guess I didn’t think to do a head (ha!) count. And I’m damn good at keeping secrets (with the exception of this post) — I mean, I’m sure I have a secret or two myself. And at a time when I need a ShopVac to clean the cobwebs out of my cooter, beggars can’t be choosers, ya know?

On a more serious note, what I learned from him is that when a guy starts talking about taking you on vacations and dangling things like commitment and that ‘l” word and whatnot, RUN FOR THE FUCKING DOOR, LADIES. They don’t mean a goddamned word of it. It’s when they wear you down and get you thinking about what they’re saying that they conveniently get a job transfer to Zimbabwe.

And then that only leaves you as just someone who got dumped by tri-ball guy. Oh, the humanity.

And you WONDER why I don’t share everything here! 🙂

4 Responses to 3 balls in the corner pocket

  1. Mel :

    I am glad you addressed this.

  2. Lachlan :

    Hey girl- add me on Twitter, I hate missing out on your cool thought processes. And the dirty stuff, too. 😉

  3. Bryce :

    You should email me … I have some great dirty stories for you although nothing about small weenies.

  4. Caterwauling :

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