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True Humorous Stories by Larry
Graves
MY VASECTOMY
OPERATION
#1 "Oh good, today is my vasectomy!"
#2 "Oh good, I'm finally getting the
circumcision I've always wanted!"
Yes, dear readers, 1990 was not a good year for a member of the family. My member, my private part, my willy, my manhood, my good luck charm I carried wherever I go.
First I will tell you about the vasectomy. (I hope you
have strong stom achs.)
Men who know I've had this delicate operation always ask me how bad it
is. I tell them the truth. Except for the unbearable pain and
embarrassment, it's not bad at all. The embarrassment of laying on the
operating table as the doctor strolls in, so cocksure. (Pun very
much intended...)
Let's just say,it was very uncomfortable when the
doctor lifted up the blanket to look at his next job. Very perturbed,
he stated "Mr. Graves, in order to have a vasectomy, you have to have a
penis." I assured the doctor that it was there. I pointed to the
very spot it
was located. The doctor sighed heavily and murmured "I can't see dick
all!" As the doctor tried to control his anger, he asked his nurse to
bring in a microscope. After searching for a few minutes, he located
what he believed to be my manhood (okay, boyhood...) I could be
imagining things but I swear I heard some discussion about contacting
the Guinness Book of
World Records.
The operation honestly wasn't too bad. It was actually the constant laughter during the operation which caused me the most pain. When the vasectomy was completed, I was thrown a couple of pain killers and told I could go home. Very gingerly I walked out of the hospital. My legs spread apart as far as possible as I shuffled towards the parking lot. Needless to say, everyone who saw me knew what operation I had just had. As people gawked and pointed at me, I felt like a real dick.
The circumcision was basically the same, except I was knocked out for the operation. When I awoke from the operation, I felt like I was being woken up from the dead. I looked down at "it" and noticed it was in some kind of cast. I started to have visions of girls wanting to sign my cast. Silly dreamer I am... Being the comedian I am, I asked the nurse if they had enlarged it for me. She stared at me in shock and said "I don't think so."
Another dream shattered...
A smile only a mother could love
I possibly overreacted a bit but the doctor had a steak knife in
his hands
After the operation I was back to my normal self...
FAMILY CAMPING = HELL
I know that camping would not be my first idea of a fun summer holiday. I'd much rather prefer sitting at home picking my toes or watching Baywatch reruns, lovingly caressing my remote control. That sure sounds like a perfect holiday
to me.
There were a few problems with our first camping expedition. Some of them were minor but most of them were major. The first problem was that you cannot put much else besides the cooler in the trunk of a Pontiac Sunbird. If you can manage to get the cooler in the trunk (with the help of a crowbar and some vaseline) you're lucky. The other few odds and ends (like the tents, pillows, sleeping bags etc.) are stuffed in-between the family members in the car, with a large bottle of aspirin wedged securely between my legs. Luckily, we decided not to bring the cat or I would have had to stick her on top of my head.
Of course, our arrival at the campground in Algonquin Park coincided perfectly with the arrival of my wife's P.M.S. I knew I was in for quite the camping experience when we began to try to put up our tent. I have enough trouble trying to tie my shoelaces. Anyway, I made the mistake of asking my wife a question about putting up the tent (something along the lines of "Where does this thing go?") and her replying that I was "brain dead". Maybe I'm just being too sensitive here but I believe calling your husband brain dead at the start of a camping trip is not the best way to start a holiday.
We finally got the tent up after my youngest son helped my wife assemble it while I sat in the car and sulked for a couple of hours. I will not go into detail here about the struggles we went through to get the campfire going on the first evening or the struggles we had to put out the campfire five minutes later.
The first night in our tent was not a pleasant experience. First of all, I knew I wasn't going to get what I wanted, as my two sons were wedged in-between my wife and I. Finally after a hectic day, I managed to relax and was ready for a good night of sleep. Wanting the experience of true campers, my wife had decided we would not bring anything remotely comfortable to lay on. Anyway, our sleeping bags were at least a good quarter inch thick. After a few hours I almost didn't mind the roots of the tree digging into my back...
Within a minute of closing my eyes I was ready to drift off into dreamland and get out of the damn campsite. Then I heard a sound. Not actually a sound but a noise. My oldest son had just dozed off and he was snoring very loudly. I shook him gently but he kept on snoring. I shook him gently and he kept on snoring. I elbowed him in the ribcage and he whimpered. It was at this point I realized it wasn't him snoring. It wasn't my other son or my wife snoring either. I knew it wasn't me snoring as I hadn't fallen asleep yet...
I finally realized the snoring was coming from a tent about five feet away from ours. I don't mind having neighbors but this was ridiculous. This man was really good at snoring. If there was snoring in the Olympics he'd get perfect marks. As I laid there awake hour after hour, I started asking God to forgive me for all of my sins and to stop that goddamn bastard from snoring so loudly. My prayers went unanswered once again. Finally, in the middle of the night, I fell asleep, only to be woken up by my youngest son. He grabbed onto my wife's arm and cried out "Mom, there's a bear! There's a bear! It's right outside our tent!!!" I thought to myself, "Great...first I have to battle my wife's P.M.S. and now I have to battle a bear." The only weapon in the tent was a plastic fork and one of the teeth on it was broken... I soon realized that what my son was hearing was not an enraged bear but our beloved neighbor happily snoring the night away.
I'll always remember my first night of camping. For the sake of the children and my own sanity I put on a happy face that morning as the thunder rolled in and the rain poured down on our happy little piece of paradise. Naturally, to start off this beautiful morning it started to rain. In fact, this rainstorm was what my one son called a "real doozy", whatever that means, I knew it wasn't good. Rain was not going to dampen my day, although deep within the recesses of my brain I heard those magical words, "I am not a happy camper".
We decided we would either sit in our damp tent playing cards all day (while starving to death) or go to a restaurant. We ran like hell to the car and drove off like a bolt of lightning. As we sat inside the lovely restaurant eating our delicious breakfast and drinking the best coffee my wife and I had ever had, it finally hit me. I looked over at my wife and she did not have single trace of P.M.S. She was happy...contented...relaxed. My two sons were in a great mood and not a single punch was thrown. They almost liked each other! This was now a real holiday. Sitting in a warm, cozy restaurant being served. Not a single mosquito to swat. Not a single care in the world. I was now experiencing the perfect family vacation. My wife has decided that we will be going camping again this summer and I'm only going to do one thing differently from last year. I'm going to pray for lots of rain
*SINCE I DO NOT USE VULGAR LANGUAGE ON MY WEBSITE, THE WORD "SHIT"
HAS BEEN REPLACED WITH THE WORD "DOO-DOO
A few years back, someone my wife knew was giving away a dog. We went to this person's home to meet the dog. It was a lovely dog named Rez. The woman stated that it was fully trained and loved to be outside.
We brought the dog home. It was a lovely, cute,
adorable
floppy eared three year old mutt. I worked the midnight shift that
night. The dog stayed in the house throughout the night in the living
room. I came home from work in the morning and walked into the living
room. The dog had shit, oops, I mean doo-doo'd. Major doo doo. I don't
think this dog laid down all night. There were droppings on top of
droppings. This dog was excellent at shitting. I looked at the dog in
disgust, the dog looked at me and smirked. "This is what man's best
friend does to him?"
I mumbled.
After I cleaned up the mess, I took the cute, adorable,
floppy eared dog out to his backyard leash. Forced myself to give him a
pat on the head. "Enjoy your day, Rez". I went back in the house and
flopped on the bed in exhaustion. I quickly fell asleep. Then I heard a
noise. It was the dog. The dog was barking, constantly. The dog that
loved the great outdoors. I went to see the dog from hell. I looked at
the dog in disgust and the dog gave me a smirk back. At that precise
moment I wish I had a gun collection. I let the cute, adorable floppy
eared dog back in the house. I finally fell asleep. I heard the odd
noise or two but managed to sleep for a few hours. When I arose, I had
a sense of deja-vu.
Suddenly there was a certain odor in the air and it wasn't perfume... I stepped out into the living room and there was doo-doo all over the living room floor. I stared at the dog in disgust. Damn dog gave me a smirk back. Out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of something I could not believe. It was my television remote control. My beloved remote control. The heart and soul of my whole reason for living. The remote control was on the floor. It had been chewed (probably in-between doo-doo's) It had been chewed so badly that the tubes inside were now on the outside. I never thought I would get to see the inner workings of my remote control. Amazingly, it still worked. (I always thought it was a quality product. To doo-doo all over the house is one thing but to destroy a man's remote control is another.
I also noticed my wife's underwear from the laundry on the floor. The crotch had been eaten completely out. I knew I didn't do it. There was also something else he had chewed on that I won't mention. Let's just say this dog must have been part bloodhound... The only thing the dog never chewed on were my underwear. Even with his cast iron stomach the dog must have known his limits.
It would be very embarrassing having this dog around the house when company was over. This was one horny dog. This dog would hump the hall rug until he was satisfied. He would hump my friend's leg. He would hump the cat. That was the first time I ever heard a cat say "yeow!" instead of "meow!".
We finally gave the cute, adorable floppy eared dog
back to
his owner after only three days of torment. As they pulled out of the
driveway with him, I could see that damn dog gazing out the back
window. I gave him the finger. He looked at me in disgust and I just
smirked.
Once in a blue moon I have been known to do stupid things. (check the other true stories...) I believe this story cuts the cake. Christmas was nearing and I wanted to get my wife something special. Growing up, she had never had a real "Barbie" doll. I knew that she loved the Barbie "Hallmark Special Edition" doll she had seen at the mall. One day, right after work I scampered to the mall to purchase it, before she got off work herself. When I got home, I wrapped it the best I could and I actually did a halfway decent job this time. It almost looked like a gift. I had one major problem though...where was I going to hide it? I was going to keep it at my brother's but there were already too many of the kid's presents hiding there. I sat down and thought it over...until a bolt of lightning went through my brain. I will hide this very delicate, easy to break present in the wall! Yes, in the hallway there was a little door which housed the fuse box and there was a shelf to put it on (at least I thought there was a shelf...) I knew she would never, ever go in there.
Later, on the same day, my brother came over. (This is always a bad sign when he's in the picture) After a bit of small talk, I wanted to show him what I had gotten Nancy. I also wanted to impress him with my hiding skills. I opened up the fuse box door and my mouth dropped to my knees. The gift was NOT THERE. I grabbed a flashlight and began my search. At the very bottom (inside the wall) glowed her present. Soon, laughter filled the air. Not MY laughter, but my brother's. There was no way to get it, as my arms were not six feet long...After my brother's laughter had subsided (three hours later...) we had to decide how to get it out. There was a broken hockey stick nearby, so I tried to lift the present up the inside of the wall with the stick. No luck at all. It would make it about a foot up the wall and then fall again. It was around this time I was getting a nauseous feeling in my stomach. It was also around this time my brother started laughing hysterically again.
My brother told me the only way to get to it would be to cut a hole in the wall. He went home to get his drywall compound and other tools. When he came back, he was about to put a hole in the wall when I decided to try something else. Back to the hockey stick again, although this time I was going to put a SCREW on one end of it. I put the stick inside the wall and tried to poke the screw gently into the present. After a couple of failed attempts, I finally latched on to it (like a baby latching on to his mother's breast, but I'm getting off course, aren't I?) I slowly lifted it up, up, up and out of the wall it came! Success at last!!! Except for a hole in the box (about the size of a screw...) it didn't seem to be broken. (I could just picture my wife opening up the box all happy Christmas morning and then screaming at me, "Her head is at her feet!")
I tore off the gift wrap and the doll seemed to have survived the hell it had been through. Has a Barbie doll ever been abused more than this? (I don't think I want to know the answer to that, sorry.) When my wife came home from work, I tried to act like nothing had happened. The gift was now hiding where it should have been the first time, at my brother's. Yet, "Nancy, The Detective" noticed Christmas wrapping paper in the garbage, which she thought was rather odd. Then she noticed the following:
The
door to the fuse box was slightly ajar... drywall compound and various
tools in the hallway...there was a broken hockey stick with a screw
sticking out of it... So, my wife peered into the fuse box door and
noticed a cute, green bow laying on the wall inside. Quickly she put
two and two together and got an idiot of a husband.
THE GARDEN
My wife does not know about the following story because I sort of forgot to tell her. I will hide this story in amongst my other true stories and perhaps in a few years she will find it and read it. Hopefully by then she will have compassion for me and not roll her eyes and mumble "Oh My God...".
My next door neighbor is a good man and a great gardener. Every time I look out my kitchen window, there he is working in his garden, cutting the grass, cleaning out his shed and helping out his next door neighbor, sometimes all at the same time. I am opposed to anything involving the great outdoors, especially in the spring, summer and fall when there are mosquitos, bees, ants and real men outside.
I have never had an interest in flowers. Yes, they are pretty but don't expect me to come across a dying flower and water it. There is always the possibility there is a bee hidden deep inside the crevices of the flower, ready to attack and sting me in the eye. I am not paranoid, just very very careful.
My next door neighbor is the greatest gardener in the world. I know this for a fact because his gardens in the front and back of his little house are perfect. I have seen him watering his flowers even while it was raining. He spends at least two hours a day in his small gardens making all of his flowers look perfect. My wife handles our garden, which of course looks nowhere near as good as his. (I can say that because there is no way in hell my wife is going to be reading this column.)
On to the main story...
Our garage is in pretty bad shape. The roof has needed replacing for the past five years. The paint has been peeling off for the past eight years. It is one hell of a sore sight. I finally decided to get my virgin scraper out of the mothballs and scrape some of the old paint off. I also decided to take my hammer out of my Big Bird tool box. I did not really need the hammer but I figured it would impress all of the other neighbors.
Suddenly I had visions of actually scraping off all the old paint and giving the garage a fresh coat of paint. I knew I could do it, although it might take me six months. TODAY WAS THE DAY I WOULD BECOME A REAL MAN. Amazingly my next door neighbor was out for the day with his wife, so I could take my time and do the proper job I knew I was capable of.
As I started to scrape, I noticed that the little pieces of paint were falling into my next door neighbors garden, which was right beside my garage. Thanks to the rather strong wind his beautiful and perfect garden was getting sprinkled with bits of white scrap paint. This was not good. I thought it over in my head on what to do until I came up with a brilliant idea. I would bring out the old door that was in the garage and lean it up sideways beside my garage. Now the paint scrapings would hit the door and land in my driveway instead of his immaculate garden. Am I a genius or what? I vacuumed up the tiny bits of scrap paint in his garden very carefully and avoided sucking up his flowers. So far, so good.
After about ten minutes of scraping I felt something rather strange. I was beginning to sweat. I did not like this rather odd sensation. Also, all the local bees could smell me and I could see them coming straight for me off in the distance. They were lined up in perfect order and I knew what they were communicating to each other. "It's Graves. It's a miracle! The bugger is outside! Let's get 'em, boys. I'll take out his left eye and you can go for his butt!" I knew the only way to lessen an attack of killer bees was to drop everything but my pants and get the hell back into the safety of my house and nuzzle up to my remote control.
This is where the idiot part comes in...
About an hour later I glanced out my kitchen window to marvel at the three or four scrape marks I had made on the garage. Suddenly my eyes bulged out of my head and I could feel my heart drop down into my left shoe. It seems I had forgotten to put something away. The nice big heavy door that I had used to prevent little bits of scrap paint from going into his immaculate garden was now laying perfectly across his once erect flowers, slowly but surely suffocating the little roses or whatever the hell they were. The first thing that popped into my head was "Thank God my wife is at work right now!" The second thing that popped into my head was "Thank God my wife is at work right now!". It was at this time I swore to myself that I would not tell my wife what happened and I most certainly would not tell my neighbor. Sometimes dishonesty is the best policy, if you want to remain alive.
I ran out and lifted up the heavy door. The flowers looked in pretty bad shape but at least they did not have any paint scrapings on them. For a split second I was going to give each individual flower mouth to stem resuscitation but I knew that would not work. I grabbed one of the limp flowers and shook it. "I'm sorry! Please don't die on me!" and shook the hell out of it and gave it a good slap.
My neighbor could be coming home any minute now, so I had to act fast. I knew I would have to hide all of the evidence of me being outside. I quickly vacuumed up all of the paint scrap in the driveway and threw the bastard of a door into the garage. I tried to straighten out all of his forty or fifty flowers the best I could. I finally stepped back to see how his garden looked and to be totally honest, the garden didn't look bad, if it had just been in a major earthquake, that is...
Later in the evening my neighbor came home. He pulled into the driveway and I was hoping and praying he would not notice his garden had just been to hell and back. As soon as he stepped out of his truck he walked directly over to his beloved garden and started to give it the tender loving care it had so badly been lacking for the past eight hours. He straightened out all of the flowers the best he could and he erected cute little stakes for them. Around this time my wife came home from work. She had mentioned to me that she was going to water his flowers in the back earlier but she said "They looked pretty dead so I did not want to touch them and end up getting blamed for killing them or something". Later in the evening my wife and I were sitting in the backyard and my neighbor was still working on his garden and he mumbled to us "It must have been awfully hot here today, all my flowers collapsed".
I would like to end this column by saying a few words to my good neighbor.
Sir, I am sorry for what happened to your garden. It was an accident. I hope you will forgive me. I also hope you will never read this.
We were visiting my wife's Uncle and Aunt a few summers ago. Uncle Ralph mentioned a water slide park in Barrie, Ontario. My two sons got all excited. I got all excited. My wife had P.M.S.
We were on the highway, following Uncle Ralph to the water slide park. My two sons were very excited. I was very excited. My wife still had P.M.S.
Our family of four was following Uncle Ralph's car to the park when suddenly he signaled for me to pull over. He excitedly ran up to our car and told us that he had heard on the radio that the TALL SHIPS were coming into Georgian Bay. He thought it would be interesting to go there first and then head to the water park afterwards. I was not thrilled at the idea but seeing as my wife loved her uncle dearly and had a good case (or bad case) of P.M.S. I was not about to say anything negative.
We drove to the large dock at Georgian Bay and there was a tall ship docked there. It was very tall. It had sails. There was a crew on the tall ship. Some of the crew members were tall also. I enjoyed it for perhaps five minutes. I noticed I was sweating a lot and my enjoyment of the tall ship evaporated into the hot, muggy air. Please forgive me for using bad language but I must say a bad word in order for you to appreciate my unappreciation. (If that is bad grammar, please forgive me again as I never said I was a writer...)
If you do not like bad language, please stop reading now, otherwise you will be reading a very bad word which might offend you. The bad word will be written shortly. I personally am excited at the thought of typing a bad word. For those of you who can not wait, skip to the next paragraph where the swear word is located. If you are offended by swearing (or tall ships) read no further.
It was fucking hot. It was so fucking hot I had to say fucking hot one more time. Fucking hot. Fucking hot. Fucking hot. I am so glad I got that off my fucking chest... There were also twelve billion mosquitos there that seemed more attracted to me then any other person at the dock.
There was a very large crowd at the dock and surrounding park. Hot weather and large crowds do not make me very happy. In fact, I think I would rather be at a country club line dancing to "Achy Breaky Heart".
After about half an hour I wanted to leave. My two sons did not want to be there anymore. I did not want to be there anymore. My wife had P.M.S. so it would not matter where the hell she was. We sat down on the ant infested grass as dozens of tall ships came into shore. There were a lot of tall ships but once you have seen one tall ship, it will do you for a lifetime (trust me) All I know is if there are tall ships in heaven I am going to commit suicide.
Once in a while I would turn to my wife and give her a
blank
expression. (This was my subtle way of telling her that I was not
having fun) She would look back at me with her P.M.S. eyes and I would
very quickly go back to admiring the
tall ships.
No one was enjoying the tall ships except for Uncle Ralph. His wife wanted to leave but did not want to upset him. After about three hours of counting my mosquito bites he asked me what I thought of the tall ships and I told him they were "very tall". We sat on the grass for a good two hours as the beads of sweat ran down the crack of my ass, which I honestly enjoyed more than the tall ships. I turned once more to my wife and gave her a really good blank stare. Her P.M.S. was now in top form and she gave me a Satanic stare back. Once more I turned away from her to admire the tall ships... We ended up staying there for the entire day and never did go to the water slide park. (Is it just me or is my life one big party?)
Now, whenever I see a tall ship on television I remember back to the end of that special day. The terrible heat, my wife with an excellent case of P.M.S., the hours of boredom, the mosquitos and ants, my two sons whining and Uncle Ralph happily watching the tall ships sail into the fucking sunset.
