A Grab-Bag of 100 Word Groaners
by Laika Pupkino
Three months after her SRS, Michelle awoke before dawn
to see a glowing apparition above the foot of her bed...
It was a dick. A ghost dick!
It spoke in that warbling voice all ghosts use:
"Mi-i-ichael! I'm the ghost of your maaanhooood!
Yoooooou muuuuuuuuurdered meeeeeeeee!"
A well-aimed book hit the florescent dildo,
snapping the string it hung from.
"I know you're down there, Phyllis!"
A woman in pajamas stood up.
Michelle sighed, "Oh Honey ...... I know you hated my transitioning,
and don’t understand that I HAD to. But can't we discuss this
in the morning? Like grown-ups? Please?!"
MY SHAMEFUL SECRET...
I took the plunge today and wore it. Under my clothes. Slid it on in the bathroom,
where Janet wouldn't see.
Driving across town to work was a delicious thrill. Nobody could tell about my secret.
In the breakroom Bev and Miriam---who always acted like they found me somewhat creepy---were
chatting me up. Like my secret helped me connect with them. Just us girls.
The boss walked by. I should've known. He has a nose for these things.
He recoiled, "Good God, Hendricksen! Are you wearing women's deodorant?!"
My fetish is expanding. Now I have a pink slip...
She's young, beautiful, totally passable. What does she see in an old chaser like me? Sigh :)...
But there is a downside. Wendy drinks. And then she...
Like when we saw PEARL HARBOR. She was sipping schnapps, and halfway through the picture was standing on her seat, shrieking, "KILL THE JAPS!!! KILL THE F*CKIN' JAPS!!!"
Embarrassing? Racist? God!!
Well it was a war movie, and she was into it. But next time I suggested something a bit
more ...... introspective. That English film about the widower, shyly courting the mousy librarian...
When suddenly Wendy jumps up, screaming, "KILL THE JAPS!!! KILL 'EM-"
A CHILD'S LETTER TO SANTA...
DEAR SANTA CLAUS:
I KNOW YOU ARE A MILLION YEARS OLD AND HAVE TO GO ALL OVER THE WORLD IN ONE NIGHT TO GIVE EVERYBODY PRESENTS. AND I KNOW SOMETIMES OLD PEOPLE DON'T HEAR GOOD, LIKE MY GRANMA WHO HAS A HERRING AID, AND MAYBE YOU ARE WORRIED ABOUT YOUR HOUSE WITH THE POLER ICE MELTING AND EVERYTHING.
BUT I REALLY WISH YOU LISTNED BETTER WHEN I SAT ON YOUR LAP AT MACIES
AND TOLD YOU WHAT I WANTED FOR CHRISTMAS.
I SAID I WANTED A COCKATOO! NOT A COCK OR TWO!
(THE GIRL WITH TWO DICKS)
REDUCTIO AD ABSURDUM...
(This non-t.g. drabble is about a condition known as
Body Integrity Identity Disorder, in which an able-bodied person
wishes to become an amputee, and sometimes sets about trying to become one.
As I have taken this concept to its logical extreme, some readers may find it disturbing...)
Nobody understood him. Even the people in his BIID support group recoiled when he told them.
That in particular hurt. They were "trans-abled" like him. They were supposed to understand...
Finally he found a surgeon at a small clinic in Africa willing to do the deed.
The heart-lung machine and glucose drip would provide oxygen, sustainance.
The artificial kidney, his eliminative functions.
The next day he was in ecstacy. At last he was whole. What he was always meant to be!
A disembodied head!
But later, without much to do but look in the mirror, he started noticing his nose...
THE DEADPAN DETECTIVES IN: THE CASE OF THE CATALEPTIC KATOYS
The fiend was taken away in handcuffs, ranting. A doctor was called in.
"Will they be okay, Doc?"
"Hard to tell. Toxicology isn't my specialty. Why would somebody do this? Takes all kinds, I guess."
Friday glared at him. "No it doesn't. Not this kind..."
The abandoned furniture store was a ghastly spectacle. Apparently the Thai transsexuals were lured to America with promises of employment. They'd been put in strange positions and paralyzed with curare
to form chairs, sofas, ottomans. A hundred eyeballs stared in helpless terror.
"Well now I've seen everything."
"What's that, Joe?"
"A Lady Boy Furniture Showroom..."
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