Hey, bud…check this one out

The guy was only at my house this morning to reappraise my home. So, I don’t know why I felt the need to whip out my johnson and sling it over the arm of the couch.

After all, this guy didn’t give a damn how manly I was. He’d even forgotten his ultra-high-tech-outdoor-measuring tape. So, he was going to be forced to guesstimate the length of my manhood anyway.

Thing is, I don’t get up early in the mornings. I awake just in time to wash my stank ass and get to work. But since he was to arrive at 8:30, I got up, showered, and had nothing better to do when he arrived than flip on the TV. Rob Thomas of Matchbox 20 was crooning some song about not be crazy, but perhaps a little impaired. I was just in the middle of thinking, “Boy, that Rob Thomas is dreamy” when I looked up and saw the appraisal guy was taking notes. Unzip the zipper, pull out Old Doc Swenson, and make sure it gets within his line of sight.

No man should get caught watching Rob Thomas sing to a bunch of fawning 16 year old girls on the Today Show. I nearly broke three fingers trying to get the channel changed to ESPN. I went through my current Rolodex of sports knowledge.

lebronclevelandcavssomegolfernamedanikamaynotmakethecut… canhespotmyjohnsonfromacrosstheroomireallydon’tmasturbatetorobthomas…

Appraisal guy didn’t take much note of Sports Center or my swinging trouser mouse. He did say he had to go to a hardware store before he could finish the job. I was going to offer, “If you only need to measure 16 inches at a time, you’re certainly welcome to use this.” However, the guy was already out the door.

I wonder if he heard me switch back to the Today Show in time to get a good a look at Al Roker’s new tight ass.