"Wanna See My Golden Rod??" No, Thanks Though.

I do always have our neighbor, Oscar if I need to feel the love, I suppose. Or I could just jump in a bath tub full of water with a transistor radio that's still plugged in, which would be more inviting. Or I could simply staple my head to some railroad tracks.

I saw him a few weeks ago. I decided to stop and talk with him because I was feeling rather generous that day. See how charitable I am? Philanthropic to the bone, I tell you. Although, he'd prefer if I were philanthropic to the boner. Yeah, that's why I mentioned the staple-thing.

I had the dogs of course. And no surprise that we ended up at least 20 feet from where we began talking (and I am not kidding). Because he'll take a step towards me (invading my personal space) and I'll take a step back...and this continues for the duration of the conversation. I imagine that one day, I'll step out into traffic to get away from him. And it will be a welcome reprieve.

So, we were talking and he kept looking down towards my crotch as though it was going to join the conversation at any moment. I was lamenting to him about the mold in our walls and moisture in our home with living so close to the water and how the fog just brings more wetness to the whole area and that it's taking a toll on my health. I told him how we have fans going and the dehumidifier running and buckets of Damp Rid in the closets. And then he says (imagine lecherous/lispy voice); "Oh I know what you mean, the water table is so high here. These condos were built on a swamp. Wanna see my golden rod?"

The censor enforcement officer inside my head didn't stop the words quick enough before they spilled from my lips and I inquired, "Golden rod? What's that?" And then I thought, Oh no...please no...please don't, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, NOOO!!!"

Damn it.

And sister Mary (Oscar) said, "Let me show you! I'll show you my golden rod!"

And I said, "No...that's okay. No thanks. Really, that's alright."

I was actually pleading not to see it.

And he said, "Oh come on, silly! I'll show you right here at my closet door. I'll show you my GOLDEN ROD!" (the closet door was by his front door, which we were standing roughly 50 feet from).


I thought I was going to start crying.

He continued, "I keep it in the closet! And it plugs in and gets all warm."

And then I cringed, felt nauseous, like I might pass out (which he would just LOVE!) and thought, Jeezuz...is this a vibrator? He's going to show me a fucking vibrator? So, I run my inquiry further, scared of the results. I said, "What EXACTLY is your golden rod?"

And he explained that it's a rod that you plug in and it heats up and keeps the closet dry. It's for humidity control. So, I thought. Okay...that's over with. I escaped that one. Although, I have a sick feeling that he's tickled his own hole with it.

Then he proceeds to ask me (or my crotch, whichever one of us knew) where he could meet some nice people. My penis really didn't have a clue, so I suggested coffee shops, or joining a book club, or maybe even put an ad on Craigslist to just meet someone for friendship or companionship.

And then he replied, "Yeah, but they always want pictures. They want to know what you look like."

And because he always looks as though he just rolled out of bed and has perpetual bed-head, I suppose that's why he doesn't want his picture taken and put on the Internet. So, I said, "Well, if it's sincere and the person is just looking for friendship, they shouldn't care what you look like. Now, if you're looking for sex, that's different. If you want sex, why don't you just go to the beach? Santa's down there blowing out blowjobs like crazy and they actually advertise."

His eyes lit up and he practically leapt onto me and exclaimed, "WHICH BEACH??? WHERE??

After I threw up in my mouth and tried to hide the grimace on my face, I rolled my eyes and told him where I had seen the unfortunate action. I should've just given him directions to here:


and told him that there's lots and lots of cock below and it's really, really easy to climb down and once he gets there, Santa's helpers are sure to be there swinging in their banana hammocks.




And if he decides to go swimming, there are no sharks to speak of, but something else lurking in the water that might take a nibble of him,




and he's certain to find his true love hiding in the shrubs,



He would've been jumping off that cliff in no time. And actually, I would've like to have pushed him.

But, there's something in me that feels sorry for him. Don't get me wrong. He makes me want to projectile vomit everytime I see him, honestly. I just feel bad that he seems so desperate. He's lonely. I just wish he weren't so lecherous. I would go and have a drink with him if I didn't think he'd slip me a ruffie and I'd end up hanging from the ceiling naked in a harness with an eager audience.

So, the other day, he came riding up on a white Vespa with a white helmet covering his bed-head and a white scarf. The only fucking thing he was missing were capri pants and white pumps. He was waving to me like he was frickin' Princess Barbie and I waved back. He kept trying to talk to me over our dogs that were barking and growling like mad. They hated his new look and wanted to dismember him for it. I can't say that I blamed them. Half of me was gleeful because the sight of him on a white Vespa with a white helmet and a white scarf was so fucking money. The other half of me wanted to slap him.

He finally gave up trying to say what he wanted to and rode his Vespa sidesaddle into the setting sun,


pointy tits and all.