Prior to leaving for Omaha from my house, Max asked if he could use my bathroom. As he walked toward the hallway, an object fell from his jacket pocket and hit the floor with a loud thud. I recognized it immediately. "Oh, you've got boob cream!" I exclaimed. Apparently he had planned on slipping it into my medicine cabinet for me to find upon returning from the trip. It would have been a delightful prank, but alas, it was spoiled by gravity. He really did have to use the bathroom though (or so he claimed), so he continued on his way. Before leaving, I made one last pit stop and found something slightly amiss. For a moment, I couldn't put my finger on it.


Wait, what is that on the shelf above the toilet?


What the fuck? Crystal Gayle and Jeff Foxworthy circa Charles in Charge? The poor guy. He is gazing at her with the truest, most heartfelt love, and she can hardly stand to breathe the same air as him. The forced not-quite-a-smile, not-quite-a-frown look on her face says, "God, stop breathing on me. You smell like hot tuna melt and piss. I only tolerate you because I all of the girls are jealous that I date the guy with the foxy polo shirts. Well, let me tell you, pal, if they knew what was under that polo shirt and down those pants, they wouldn't be jealous of shit."


And he still went through with the Breast Friend cream. I suppose he figured why let it go to waste. I won't go into detail, but I can tell you that my penis skin is much more smooth and supple now.