Bad Taste

“I voted Republican this year; the Democrats left a bad taste in my mouth.” – Monica Lewinsky

“Why are we stopping at CVS?”

“Well, Hank, I want to see if they have canned pineapple.”

“You have a midnight craving for piƱa coladas?”

“No, not exactly.”

“Do tell.”

“So, I’ve heard that pineapple makes a man’s you-know taste good.”

“What? Woman, you have lost your marbles.”

“Seriously. My friend’s man ate a few rings, and that night she insists his stuff tasted awesome.”

“Come on.”

“It made her want to do it more.”

“Pick up two cans and an Almond Joy.”

“OK.”

“Wait. This is silly. I can’t have all of those late-night carbs. My stuff already tastes good.”

“Does it?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know?”

“Um … I … well … fine, I blew myself once.”

“You did not.”

“Uh, huh. I have a cat back.”

“Shut it.”

“Or maybe, after an ex finished pleasing me, I accidentally kissed her.”

“… and it tasted like?”

“Salty pool snot … no, I mean banana cream pie.”

“Right.”

“Hold on a second there, Missy. It’s not like your juices belong on the Food Network. Maybe I should go in there, and force you to eat Coconut M&Ms.”

“Really, wiseguy? What do I taste like?”

“Cherry cordial juice?”

“Good recovery. You almost became the blownless man.”

“Horrors. Still, my little sugar snap, if you expect me to ingest come-altering substances, the least you could do is join me. Then, we can lick and tell.”

“It’s not the same. Licking a woman is like licking a lollypop. What I need to do for you is more like sucking a warm mojito through a mint-clogged straw, only to get a blast of yuck syrup in the back of my throat.”

“Thought you liked mojitos.”

“…”

“Well, lollypops aren’t always so yummy either.”

“I’m going in there to pick up canned pineapple slices, which you are going to eat before we go to bed. I will wake you up your favorite way, and I will document the taste of morning man to see if there’s any improvement. This will all be documented on my blog, as a service to my sisters of the sore knees.”

“What? You can’t write about my sperm. A potential employer might search and find this disturbing information about me online, and refuse to hire me due to my funky seed.”

“Don’t be a pussy. What’s the worst that could happen? If we do this and your stuff still tastes like congealed oyster juice, we’ll try another substance–perhaps avocado, starfruit, or almond butter.”

“And, if it tastes jiz-a-licious?”

“Suffice to say you’ll be on the receiving end of substantial oral pleasure.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Pineapple it is. Say, can you pick up the latest US Weekly too? I can catch up on my celebs, while you enjoy your penis colada tomorrow morning.”

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About the author

Author of humorous essays about relationships and lifestyles.