I Broiled My Butt So You Don’t Have To

(Music up: Dragnet Theme)
(Music fade…)
It’s 3:05 a.m.
I’m working the Vanity Watch out of South Smallburg.
My name is Sixty, my partner is Colonel Potter.
Somethings just burn my ass.
This is that story…
(Music up: Dragnet Theme)

J.D. at I Do Things has a great theme for a blog and she does a lot of things so I don’t have to…

So then there was that time I was covered in tar.

The end.

Oh, you want details. Well, you would.

I’m adapting imitating stealing her theme for today.

Nancy and I were feuding about the amount of time I was spending on the river. As a result, things were frosty at the old Conclave ala Kayak. We weren’t speaking.

This means I lost my best adviser and counselor to save me from myself. Things thawed after a day and we resumed our normal lives: she had Bunco last evening (earlier this night).

I decided it would be a great time to broil my butt.

– – – – – – – – – –

A great coupon for tanning I did boast,

My kayaked skin was as brown as toast,

Bajan folks would soon be our host.

Into the local tanning salon, I did coast,

With my skinnier ass as white as a ghost,

And therein lies the tale of my roast…

– – – – – – – – – – –

Earlier, during our break in day-to-day conversations, I got a great deal at a tanning salon. I’ve never been to a tanning salon. I have a nice overall tan this year and it would be nice to hit the Barbados beach without my normal golfer’s tan.

Aside: a golfer’s tan is worse than a farmer’s tan (dark brown arms and face – lily-white everyplace else because they wear short-sleeve shirts, but long pants.) A golfer’s tan is dark brown arms and face, dark brown from the just above the knees to just above the ankle, because golfer’s wear short pants, but socks that usually cover the ankle.)

Normally I would consult Nancy and perhaps even she would have indulged and gone with me, guiding me through the SOP’s for technology tans.

I had a Kayaker’s tan. I usually only wore a bathing suit while yakking in the river. (And yes, every time I would pull my shirt off over my head after we were on the river, Kenny would say “My eyes! My eyes!” Every. Single. Time.)  But since other guys were doing it I felt it would be OK, even with moobs that just won’t go away no matter how much weight I lose.

When I met Cassy at the front desk of the tanning salon, she was very helpful – by that I mean she didn’t bust a gut laughing when I said I was a virgin when it came to tanning beds. OK, I didn’t actually say virgin to her, I said it was my first time.

She was young enough to be my grand-daughter and I played on those feelings.

Bed 9, she said.

Whuck? I said.

Do you want me to go back with you to explain how it works?

Yes, please.

This is the doomsday clock, you have 5 minutes to get ready and get in the bed. This is the button to start the bed, this is the button to control the fan, the bed has been sanitized. Take off your clothes, (NO! AFTER I leave…) and put on these winkies to protect your eyes, get in the bed and in 20 minutes the bed will automatically turn off.

I did all that. As I’m lying there I’m thinking, this is kinda pleasant and recalled the days on the Beaufort beach. Then it dawned on me. I’m naked. This is a tanning bed. There are parts of my body that have not seen the sun except for very brief “pit stops” along the river. Draining the snake, if you will.

Holy shit! I grabbed my package to keep it covered. It took both hands!

There was no way I could cover my ass at the same time.

You know how a sunburn doesn’t hurt until a few hours later?

My ass started burning a couple hours ago.  Not the kind of burning you get from too much Thai food, my cheeks are on fire!

Sleeping is not an option – lucky you! I Broiled My Butt So You Don’t Have To.

Since we’re talking about my ass, let me update you with my new favorite toilet graffiti…

The oldies:

  • Here I sit, broken-hearted, tried to shit but only farted.
  • People who write on shit house walls, roll their shit into little balls, people who read these lines of wit, eat those little balls of shit.

The newest:

But don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. I took a couple Ass-burn tablets and will await the sunrise.

BTW: that full moon you saw glowing last night? You’re welcome.

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I Broiled My Butt So You Don’t Have To — 7 Comments

  1. I think you and my son are the same person. The things that come out of his mouth regarding asses and s— and a lot more, never cease to amaze me. Of course he says most of it just to get a reaction out of me. Yeah, I think you guys could be great friends.

    Sorry about your burned butt…hope you’re feeling okay. I’ve never been to a tanning salon and I don’t think I’ll put it on my bucket list. Heal well Mr. Kayakman. ~Joy
    Joy recently posted…I’m FIVE years old…My Profile

  2. Written in teeny tiny writing along the top of the inside of a toilet door:

    ‘It’s no good standing on the seat, the crabs in here can jump ten feet.’




    ‘Don’t throw your fag-ends in the loo, you know it isn’t right. It makes them go all soggy and impossible to light.’
    K8 recently posted…The InterceptorMy Profile