I'm Rubber, You're Goo

It’s occurring to me today that readers might be curious about what it’s like for me to wear jackets. If I’m being honest, I rarely wear them when I’m working. Ron’s got a solid reputation in the industry for being clean. Oh sure, the 70’s saw its fair share of crab salad, but by some miracle, he’s never had to deal with anything of the permanent variety.

The first time Ron slapped some rubber on me was when he was 17.

And yeah, it was shocking. He placed that gooey disc over my eye and then began to drape it down my shaft. It felt too tight and snug around me, and I didn’t understand what it was all about. But the moment I was plunged into Shelly Blisky’s hoo-hoo, I started to panic.

“I’m going to drown in my own goo!”

“Stop!! Ronnie, Stop it!” I thought.

But in and out I went, and as expected, the goo followed. Thankfully, there was this tiny little reservoir at the top of my head and it managed to collect most of it. So despite the fact that some of it seeped down around me, I did not drown. I guess that’s obvious since I’m here today to blog the story.

Eesh. Is this too much information? Probably lost a few readers, but I gotta be forthright and honest.

I guess the only other noteworthy story is the time Ronnie covered me again, only this time, the panic was that I thought I had suffered some kind of stroke. I could not feel a goddamn thing. I learned later that Ron had used a rubber with its own numbing cream inside, to delay his ejaculation.

He could have warned me beforehand. Ah, but who am I to complain? For more than 30 years, I’ve been as free as the wind, because my man is a guru of ejaculatory control, and because he’s mastered the art of something George Bush couldn’t with respect to Iraq: pulling out.

Good Wood & Bad Wood

Living in LA as I do--and I mean Los Angeles, not "Los Angeles of Anaheim"--my baseball team is the Dodgers. For better or for worse, in sickness and in health. I mean that...for the team, though; not for any individual players, who are as transient these days as the people who come to see them play. So my vows do not extend to Manny Ramirez, who, as every follower of the game knows now, was recently suspended for 50 games after having violated MLB doping rules.

I know I have a tendency in these blogs to make extended comparisons, but I really did see in Manny a kindred spirit. Here was a kid, like me, whose legend grew as his bat got heavier and heavier. We'd stop at first, second and third base only long enough to move on--going all the way was our mission, and millions of people have watched us do it over the years. Where the comparison breaks down (aside from the fact that he's switched teams and I never have) is, sadly, in his use of banned substances to enhance his performance. Ron has always been proud to claim that he's never used Viagra or any substance to artificially enhance my stamina and power. Remember when Albert Belle, Manny's former teammate on the Indians, was accused of using a corked bat by the White Sox? He responded to the camera by pointing to his flexed bicep. Well, Ron could do--and does--the same thing with me. I'm known primarily for my size, but lots of guys have big dicks. Shit, Captain Kangaroo's pipe looked like the drain under my front yard, I'll bet you didn't know that. And in the majors, lots of guys can hit homeruns. But can these people score as consistently and with as much raw power and entertainment value as Manny and I can? It's called talent! Manny, you schmuck! You doping dope! I saw you as a fellow destroyer. Yes, the Yankees have a rod (or A-Rod, as it calls itself), but to me it was in you that I really saw myself. Not any more. Know why? Because I'm a cock. You? You're a pussy. Thanks a lot. Calling Major League Baseball! Is there anyone out there still swinging for the fences with honest wood?