***Author’s note: I don’t usually write about these kinds of things or use this kind of slang, well, because my mother reads the blog, but this was just too much for me to pass on. In an effort to distill the harshness of unmentionable acts, I will rely on slang terms or descriptions thereof.

Read at your own peril, Mom.


There are some things for slinging’…
Mud, hash, tv entertainment, but
Never should anyone ever think it appropriate
To do battle with the
One-eyed purple headed yogurt slinger
In an effin’ steam room by the pool where people swim.
Sure the hot temperatures,
The relative privacy of the foggy door, and
An imagination steeped in the internet’s debauchery
Might make rubbin’ one out
Seem like the thing to do, but
No, take your hairy ass palms home
And do your thing in the privacy of your home.

The idea of taking the short one for a public beat down
Is not appealing in the least.
Plus the thought of the clean up in aisle seven
Is difficult when there is nothing there but a swimsuit to wipe things up.
I guess the biological consequences of too much stimulation
Will be left behind by the dragon slayer (selfish, don’t you think)
Becoming someone else’s problem to deal with.
Note to self, chest waders in the steam…
What is wrong with people?
Pink Floyd had it right with the Fletcher Memorial Home,
Maybe we could put the public masturbators in there, too.
They could stand in a circular formation jerking to their
Pathetic phalangeal penile patois slingin’ far away from the steam room.

***Author’s Note: Remember, if the rules don’t say, “Masturbating in the steam room is not allowed,” people might think it is okay. I’m just saying, people need to be told. I’m worried that the man in the glass is concussed. At least in one of his brains…

Sorry, Mom.

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