When I moved to the city where my wife grew up, we started looking for a church to go to together. I was Lutheran, she was Baptist, together we found that we were Methodist. Well, there was a little country church just down the road from the house we were renting so we went there one Sunday. Surprise of surprises, the pastor of the church was someone I had known when I was very young, we were Boy Scouts together and after I obtained my Eagle rank and left the BSA, I lost track of this guy. We weren't buddy buddies, but we were amicable towards each other.
Fast forward, he's a preacher now, in the church down the road from my house. It's a small world. For about three years, the preacher, his wife, my wife, and I became friends. We would go and see movies together on week nights, go to the coast to shop, and after church we would often go out to lunch at one of the nice restaurants in town. Well, as you may or may not know, one of the things I despise about the Methodist church is its need to shuffle clergy around like it was a game of musical chairs. My friend told us that he and his wife had been asked to go to another state and take up a church there. It was kind of a sad time, mainly because I don't have many friends in life (I prefer it that way) and there are very few people that I really click with. It was even more sad for my wife who had really become friends with the pastor's wife. My wife is like me, she has few friends out of choice, not circumstance, so here were two people that fit our criteria as being interesting and worth spending time with and they were leaving. Needless to say, we were asked to help them move out of the parsonage.
The moving day went pretty well. They had wisely packed up all of the unmentionables, lacey things and I guess the bad nun costume in one rather large cardboard box that weighed far more than it should have, considering that what inside was the property of a pastor and his wife. I made the off-comment while he and I were moving it that we shouldn't drop it because the inflatable nun doll with three love openings might pop out. He laughed and said there wasn't anything like that in there. About that time, one of his pet dogs decided to chase the other pet dog and they ran through our legs, causing us to become unbalanced. He scolded the dogs verbally while his wife and my wife came out to see how things were going. The two dogs nipped and played at me, hopping up on me (these were big dogs, Golden Retriever and a Black Lab, full grown) so standing on their hind paws, they could easily put their front paws on my shoulders and lick my face or stare eye to eye with me. I'm five foot twelve so I'm not a short guy by any means. It was at this time that the second dog decided that since my shoulders and face were taken by the first dog, that he would hop up, put his paws on the box of secret naughty-ness and use that as a stepping stool to give his master some affection.
You guessed it, we both let go of the naughty box in an attempt not to get bathed to death by a pair of super friendly hyper canines. The box landed hard enough to make a small slap of the concrete. Both dogs scattered at the sound, but then we heard it... the unmistakable sound of a sex toy going full throttle.
I don't think my pastor could turn a darker shade of red. His wife ran over to see if we were okay and she heard it and started blushing, because this thing sounded like it was trying to chew its way out of the box. I politely told my wife that she and I should go and get something to drink and we started towards the kitchen. Now, I've always been known to carry a folding knife in a nylon carrier on the back of my belt, a nice big Gerber EZ-Out II with quick flip and serrated edge. As we were walking away and the pastor and his wife were trying to figure out how to get the box open and all of the tape off, he asked me in a voice that sounded almost normal.
"Hey, can I borrow your knife there?"
I let him borrow the knife and my wife and I walked away as the pastor and his wife hacked at the tape securing the box. The buzzing faded into the distance and it wasn't until we got inside the house and my wife and I leaned on each other and busted out laughing. These were good friends, our age so that made us even closer than I guess the traditional pastor - church member was. We joked about that for a while and when my wife asked what I thought it might have been, I told her it was probably a vibrating crucifix to ward off nympho vampires.
It was sophomore year and my friend Ian had a rather impressive porn collection for someone so young. One night his mom and sister are out (single parent home) and he decides it would be a good time to "treat" himself to a good time. Apparently that meant getting bare ass naked and spreading every dirty magazine he had (and that is a lot, the stack was 3 feet high) around him opened to his favorite picture with him in the middle. About that time his mom came home and went up to his room to let Ian know she had brought dinner home. And there he was...naked surrounded by an obscene amount of porn with a bottle of Jergens next to him. All she could get out was "oh, sorry" and she ran down the stairs. We had skip first period because we were laughing so hard when he told us this the next morning before school. Eight years later and we still give him shit about that.
My girlfriend lives in a tiny medieval town in Spain. It's a really cool place, has a ruined castle, a watch tower on the top of the hill, a big ass cathedral and a kickass cemetery. We were taking a stroll across the ghost town part of the town, and walked up to the watch tower. After standing on the top of it, watching the early sunset, we started making out and grinding a bit, so we looked around and saw that there was a cellar/dungeon to the tower.
Now, this town isn't really big with tourists, and it was my first time there, and hers too, since she had just moved down there. So we go down the steep steps into the cellar, take off some of our clothes and lay them out on the floor so we don't get completely covered in ancient dust and stuff.
We're going at it, and we can't seem to keep quiet enough. The ground was hard and uncomfortable, and we couldn't really find a good way to do it there. I hear a small rustle upstairs and freeze. The rustle stopped, so we keep going at it for a bit until we decide to stop, since this is just too uncomfortable. We get dressed, climb up the steps and promptly exit. Right when we're leaving, we see a woman sitting on the grass looking at the sunset. She turns around to look at us, laughs and faces the sunset again. We then do the only rational thing to do, we walked away really quickly, then ran a bit, then laughed our asses off. Then we told her mother that I had slipped and we both fell, and that’s why our clothes were covered in dust.
Anton Chekhov's famous gun rule is not being followed by some lazy screen writers for the Marvel Cinematic Universe.
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