Always a l'il disconcerting to wake up in a hotel room and have a few moments of complete befuddlement as to one's whereabouts. I was just grabbing a bitty disco nap before tonight's romp out on the town, and when the alarm cawed, I reached over for my Rovey. But instead of my fingers sinking into his moist, pillowy flesh, they brushed against…sigh…an empty pillow. A bleepin' shame since I'd been hoping to tell him about the funny dream I just had. Seamy details are slipping away as I sit here, but in the bit I can recall, I was charged with the task of nibbling open several hundred packets of duck sauce for use as lubrication in a steel-cage wrasslin' match twixt Howie Dean and my Rovey. No holds barred, and filthy below-the-navel tricks solidly encouraged. So far as I can remember, I was toting around Rovey's spit bucket (resisting the urge to swipe little sips because in the dream, for some reason instead of saliva, his lips and tongue were dampened by rich, chocolatey Yoo-hoo), and the match was a winner-take-all bout for the Oval Office. Loser had to back-wax George Stephanopouolos. Oh - and Tucker Carlson made for a rather dashing ring boy with matching red, white & blue sequined swim trunks and bow tie.
Gol dang it all - the details are fading now, but I must dash anyhow, as I now see Rovey's left a lipstick message on the mirror telling me I can find him pumping nickels into the Louie Anderson-themed machines at Slots-A-Fun. If I'm not quick like a bunny, I just know he'll gorge his delicate tum-tum on a couple dozen 99-cent shrimp cocktails, and having shared a hotel room potty with my baby after a few such incidents, I assure you, that's a royal flush best left unplayed.
Here's hoping I get an inside straight from my baby tonight…
FLY LIKE YOU OWN IT
Posted by: Bluestarjets at August 26, 2004 02:12 PM