So I was hefting a liter at the bocal lar…shocking, dear friends, I know…
The five flat screens perched perilously above blurted visual ephemera whilst AC/DC rocked the juke. When flat out of nowhere, I saw it there plainly on the screen:
CALL NOW FOR YOUR FREE CATHETER!
Yes, dear friends, it said FREE CATHETER. So many questions raced through my mind…
“You mean I’m not going to pay a dime, a penny or even a nickel to poke a GIANT needle up my tiny peehole with minimal training and virtually no instruction?”
No, fine sir, it’s free and easy to use.
“So I can just shove that sick ramrod unceremoniously right up into my vulnerable cockles and wiz?”
That’s what they’re there for.
“And seriously, there’s like, no catch involved with my NOT paying for the pleasure of force feeding a pointy evil solid object where only liquids are made to go (flow?)? Come on man, you can’t be serious! That’s WAY too good to be true. There must be a catch. Come on, don’t fuck around.”
But, there, happy as a freaking clam, is a VERY earnest looking man, and while I couldn’t quite make out his words through my very thick and viscous Stella goggles nor by lamely deploying my only novice-level lip reading skillz, he seems to be RAVING about the unholy DEVIL DAGGER he just crammed and crammed and crammed into his itty bitty weenis until he couldn’t ram no more!
Wait, though. Something about this guy is fishy. His sweater-vest says Sunday church….PTA tops, his out-of-date glasses say…oh, I don’t know…out of date glasses…and what’s with that rapier’s…erm sorry, I mean with that rapist’s mustache? Man that hairy beast is doing this commercial absolutely no justice, and quite frankly should probably be attended to by animal control.
I mean, although I OBVIOUSLY want to call RIGHT NOW and order COLD HARD SHARP STEEL for my soft tender supple urinary tract, I think I’m just going to hold it. Yup, I’m good. I’m out.
I’m seeing lots of fine print, slight bleeding, and WAY too much khaki.