If you could stop having mental sex with that poor man and turn this way, you could see I have the phone in my hand." Yeah, yeah, yeah!" she answered,...still staring real hard out the window.Just then the emergency operator answered, "911 Emergency, how may I help you? The board in front of me says this call is coming from your useless shit trailer house, Gomer. What's the emergency? You get your little needle dick caught in a beer can?" Myrtle Bowman only got the job answering the 911 phones. And if they failed to draw the properattention for some reason, the wake-the-dead, four alarm tingle of hisbells surely would. Poor Julian's understandably shameful glow nowalmost matched the cherry red rouge on his cheeks.Julian had just attained mega-milksop status. Only his pulsing patheticlittle peenie belied his deep, scarlet cheeked embarrassment. Each stepthat he took was an adventure; each new movement a new symphony ofsensation.Mr. Wigglie provided the bass section, his clicking high. More

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