Saturday, September 24, 2011

The First, but Likely not the Last, Hand Job Story You'll Read Here

The titty-shot in the previous post, while taken from my seats, was actually taken by a bud, FDD Spuds, who was there and who had the steely nerves sufficient to snap a picture of the event.  Good on him - I'd have just stood there transfixed at the sight of a woman's breasts, incapable of any action beyond mumbling "Oh, my God" and drooling a bit. And yes, there was a part of me that was jealous that he had that opportunity and I didn't. Ah well, c'est la guerre. But I will say this: I was witness, albeit less graphically, to a far more graphic act.

One fine evening a few years back I was at a game with my consigliere Steve B. Why does he earn that title?  Steve's a member of my poker family, and there is no man alive who doesn't have my back like he does.  He does that mostly by being mean to Josie when she breathes insults me or says or does anything mean or punches me in the arm in the same spot over and over and over and over again. His favorite phrase is "Josie - NO!" articulated as one would say to a dog who needed sharp correction. It's hysterical, by the way - if we were drinkers we'd use getting him to say "Josie - NO!" as an occasion to down a shot, or drink tequila from a whore's navel, or whatever it is you booze bags do to distract you from your empty, empty lives.

Mi Consigliere, aka the Mayor, aka  the Mighty Timekeeper
Even though I call him mi consigliere, the rest of the table calls him The Mayor, and I gave him that nickname too, based on a previous Bruins game.  As soon as we got through the turnstiles and upstairs, we saw cat after cat going right up to Steve and shaking his hand, saying hello.  I'm not shitting you, it happened four times before we got dogs and drinks. And not just spectators, employees too!  One of that group was an usher who snuck us into the club section and some REALLY nice seats; another was a waitress for the club section so we got all our food comped. It was pretty smooth. So as you can imagine, calling him the Mayor was an easy invention.

Anyway, on this particular night we were watching a game against the Capitals, and because we completely sucked that year we were a couple of goals back.  Steve was on my left, but on my right were a couple who must have been on a first date, or were friends and just realized they were hot for each other, or something, but they were paying zero attention to the game and sucking face like they were 14. They weren't even talking on those rare occasions when they'd come up for air.  They were into each other, man.

So much so in fact that the two of them, together, made the mature decision to demonstrate to each other, physically, the extent of their mutual devotion.  The dude pulled his jacket off (remember THAT phrase) and placed it on his lap - and the girl reached underneath, found the dude's todger, and started giving the old feller a tug.

Seeing snapshots of this whenever the action was on the right side of the ice, I started laughing and elbowed Steve to show him what was going down next to me.  His reaction was priceless - but things would get better yet.

Just around then, the Bruins scored a goal to make the game close.  Everybody jumps to their feet and starts cheering, but not these two - apparently things had reached the "mmmm, don't stop" stage and priorities were priorities. But this had also blown their cover, so to speak.  When the Bruins scored, the guy in the seat directly behind the two lovers - I don't remember his name but he used to call Brad Isbister "Ishkabibble" and I thought that was funny - looked at them, then looked back at me with a "what's with them?" look.  I reached back behind them and gave the universal gesture of the pistoning fist to explain and he starts laughing too. He tells his friends and pretty soon a dozen people altogether are watching these two go at it without them knowing (or maybe knowing but not caring).

Then the fun began.  I don't remember who started it but we all started shouting double entendres to the Bruins. Each one would make us laugh harder than the one before and soon we were all unable to control gales of laughter that made our eyes water.  A few examples:

  • Come on! Whack somebody!
  • (after another goal was scored) Watch out Washington - we're COMING!
  • GREAT JOB!
  • (to a referee): You jerkoff!
I've never laughed that hard at a sporting event in my life. And the best part was the Mayor was there to share (and corroborate) every word of this story.

12 comments:

  1. There's something about that loud "Josie NO!" that turns me on a bit.

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  2. Yeah, that's actually true for every one of us at the table - funny enough, except for Steve, who hates you...

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  3. He doesn't hate me! That's all an act....like when the fox can't get to the grapes he says "aww their probably sour anyway".

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  4. Absolutely Josie - that's definitely the case.

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  5. Gotta "hand" it to you G-Man, great story!

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  6. Josie can reach your arm?

    Man -- two Josie stories in one post. I always thought she looked like she could be handy.

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  7. I was going to post something incredibly filthy about Josie but it was so bad it actually made ME cringe and retract it. Bottom line: she's not the woman who give this dude a handy.

    If someone wants to give me permission to say it, why, I could possibly be convinced...

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  8. Lightning, bite me AND bite me!

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  9. You have my permission, sir. Say it!

    Ahhh Josie ... I feel the love ...

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  10. Thanks, Light. You're a good friend. But alas, the permission needed to come from the one who would have been slandered - and really, I've already made too much of it than it was. I was just gonna call her a bunch of names but mention that stranger handies are probably not in her repetoire, that's all. Then I was gonna call her a bad mommy because, you know, kicking people when they're down...

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  11. Jo, I think Lightning's short-circuited on that mental image and is stuck there. We should just stay quiet and back slowly out of the room...

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