The Cornholio Corncob

April 22, 2010 at 8:20 pm (Cussed Dumbers)

“I am Cornholio! Do not make my bunghole angly!”

I never tire of hearing Beavis say that. Or was it Butthead?

Yes, sometimes I’m twelve.

When I walked into work yesterday, this thing was sitting on the counter. Immediate juvenile laughter. Pan said, “You enjoy your job too much.”

“Are we selling these?” I played with it, squeezed it.

“Yep, $2.39,” said Dr T. “Sometimes I wonder if the boss knows what we’re getting when he orders. First Juggalo juice, now we’re selling all these phallic objects.” He pointed to a lava lamp-shaped bottle of energy water, advertised to promote better orgasms.

“I once saw a vibrator shaped like a corncob. Ouch!” I was squeezing the tip, sizing it up, when a comely lass approached the counter and asked for a pack of Camel Lights. Her smirk of disapproval brought me back to reality. I couldn’t resist. “Where do you put the batteries?”

It was still on the counter when Rumpole came to work nine hours later. His typical laugh is a harrumph; the Cornholio Corncob earned a full-on guffaw. “Who’s this for? Grinder?”

I counted out, headed for the door. I couldn’t resist one last touch. I picked it up and wiggled it at Stuttering Richard. “Are we sure that’s caramel?…”

“Eww…” He skittered out the door, off in search of fresh half-smoked cigarette discards.

Rumpole was thoughtful. “For $2.39, it should have nuts. Like Crunch and Munch!”

I held it by the tip and stroked its base. “There’s plenty of room for nuts. Right here…”

That earned the harrumph I was waiting for.

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