Squeezing Weenis with Don on the Double Dong

This is probably one of those stories that ends abruptly with an unfulfilling “I guess you had to be there” disclaimer, but I’m going to give it a shot anyway – and while I’m at it, three or four shots might help you get in the right (altered) state of mind required to appreciate the following.

It was my friend Don’s 40^th birthday, and a group of us got together at a local dive to celebrate. Many of us had not seen each other in years, and after all the wives were met, photos of the kids passed around, and careers updated, we got down to the real purpose of the evening…drinking.

Now as followers of this blog know, I gave up drinking for Lent – but as this event was on my calendar for months, I had saved one of my “outs” for the evening, and let’s just say I took full-advantage.

So there I was, blitzed and buzzing with good friends and cheap booze, listening to the handsome half of Hubinger St. playing an acoustic set. when Don is called to the dance floor to be presented with a special gift. The crowd gathers as he opens the bag, and pulls out this…

Now, from my POV (pint of vodka?) it appeared as if Don was just given some sort of sex toy as a gag gift.  Not that I have ever seen such an item, but the phrase “double dong” popped to mind when I saw him hold it up. Even the name, Vibra-Slap, sounded like it came from some adult store.

So I’m giggling like a schoolgirl, watching straight-laced Don deal with the double dong, when he decides to take it up to the stage. The band starts playing again, and I’m thinking, “Good for you Don! Pretend to play that vibrator and put the joke right back in the giver.” Only he really starts playing the thing. And it sounds good!

Now I’m cackling like a jackass at the quality of sound Don is getting from the thing, when someone asks me what’s so funny. I look at them like, are you serious? Don’s playing a dildo up there.  I start to explain, but am quickly corrected that it is indeed a musical instrument, and not any sort of sexual device. Sure it is, I say, thinking they’re still trying to get their money’s worth out of the joke gift, but then they show me the box, and I realize the joke’s on me.

Feeling foolish, I wander over to the bar, and immediately get my weenis grabbed.  No, it wasn’t that kind of a bar. And a weenis isn’t what you think it is, unless, unlike me, you already know what a weenis is.  Turns out, the weenis is the name given to the puckered pouch of skin that covers your elbow. See...

And for some reason, this part of the body is totally devoid of pain receptors. Seriously. Reach out your arm, pinch that little patch of skin, and squeeze the shit out of it.  You feel nothing, right?

At the time, I thought it was just an effect of the alcohol, as people were pulling, tugging, twisting, and even biting each others’ weenises, without inflicting a single shot of pain, but when I pinched my weenis the next morning, still nothing. It’s sort of amazing actually. I’m thinking maybe superheroes and X-Gamers must be made completely out of weenis skin, which is how they can absorb so much pain.

If only my liver and brain cells were made out of weenis, this story might have a happier ending.  But, alas, there’s a price to pay for being forty and partying like a kid half your age. It’s called a hangover, and it is nowhere near as funny as the movie of the same name. Hopefully I’ll recover by the time Don hits 50, because I’ve already got an idea for the perfect gift: the Viagra-Slap!


I had planned to end this by coming back full circle to the "you had to be there" idea by posting an video from the actual evening - but - to protect the innocent, while still satisfying anyone's curiosity of what a Vibra-Slap sounds like, I've decided to post this YouTube clip instead: