Handyman

I think I gave my new soap dispenser a handjob yesterday. I'm not completely sure yet as to what transpired, but for some reason I feel like a whore. I bought a new soap dispenser, whom I would have named but he probably would have given me a fake name anyway, and filled it with liquid soap. I sort of have a thing with washing my hands; like all the fucking time.

Anyway, once I filled it with its joy juice, I had to pump it a few times to get the "soap" up the "tube" and out the "spout". This took far too many pumps than should have been necessary. So I began to pump harder and faster. This is where the "Dear Penthouse, I never thought it could happen to me" moment occurred.

As it finally blew its load of what I still pray was soap, I swear I heard a sigh of relief from somewhere in my apartment. My bathroom stank of sex and shame, and I washed off what I now doubt was really soap and more likely millions of tiny swimming dispensers. I then turned around and noticed a lit cigarette in its spout. I don't smoke, I live alone, and there are no cigarettes in my house. There was also what appeared to be cab fare on the counter.

So I did the only thing I could; I hung my head and did the walk of shame out into my living room, and I left my number on the counter. I doubt he'll call.

PS - This is the first, and hopefully the last time I will ever have to Google "Funny Handjob".

-B
I created the sound of madness