The Wet Spot: To pocket p*ssy, or not to pocket p*ssy
SERIOUS LIFE DILEMMA ALERT!
I got married this past weekend. I'm talking about the real deal wedding with cake, dancing, grandparents and a pocket pussy. And that's where the dilemma begins.
Let's back up a little. The night before the wedding, I was hanging out in a hotel room with a friend of mine who has been married for a few years. I think he was trying to give me advice about marriage and relationships or something, but I can't tell you for sure because Die Hard with a Vengeance was on in the background. And when John McClane speaks, you pay attention.
Suddenly, without warning, he jumped up and started digging through his suitcase. Next thing I knew, this small black box came flying through the air, landing right in front of me. Enter, the pocket pussy.
For those of you not familiar with this device, it's a small, slick object with a hole at both ends, typically with one side shaped as a mouth or other orifice. You're welcome.
This particular pocket pussy (or as I like to call it, the P2) was bright green and called "Jane Blo," which I assume makes it a female P2.
I laughed at first, assuming that this was a gag gift, like a giant inflatable penis or that restraining order placed against me by my college girlfriend (Author's note: Hi Chelsea, you overdramatic bitch! Facebook me. Please).
Sadly, he wasn't joking and explained to me that by getting married, I was officially giving up any hope of enjoying some hot mouth-love for the rest of my life. I brushed off his warning, as I've been told time and time again that the law clearly states that eatin' ain't cheatin'.
(Author's note: It has recently been brought to my attention that this is incorrect, and that eatin' is, in fact, cheatin'. It would seem that my uncles have been lying to me my whole life. I feel so confused.)
I tossed the green monster into my suitcase and forgot about it, as I had a long weekend of wedding festivities to enjoy. Then came Monday.
Monday night I was sitting around, drinking a tall Coors Light (the official beer of eatin'), when Jane Blo started calling for me. It was quiet at first, but soon it grew louder and louder. All of a sudden, I was staring down the barrel of a P2, trying to decide if my friend was on to something, and whether or not I should test out my new gift. This is where you come in.
Over the past few days, I've been making a list of pros and cons as to whether or not I should give Jane Blo a try. I'm not necessarily sold on this idea, but then again, it's not like I haven't made some questionable decisions in the past. Here's the list I have thus far:
1) After spending the better part of my college years trying to avoid waking up with something green and slimy on my unit, it seems kind of backwards that I would willingly put myself in that position.
2) Once you do this, there's no going back. I would forever be a dude who used a P2. There's a mental price to be paid for that.
3) I'm fairly confident that John McClane would never use a P2. And if John McClane wouldn't do it, neither should I.
1) My friend has been married for years, so he probably knows what he's talking about.
2) No one would ever find out. Unless I wrote a column about it and put it on a major alt weekly news website. Then I would probably be screwed.
3) I bet John McClane has totally used a P2, and he may even be using one right now. John McClane fears nothing.
As you can see, I'm in kind of a deadlock. So this week, I would like to open the floor to you, the loyal Wet Spot readers. What do you think? Do I trash it, or should I go for the gold (or in this case, green)?
Also, if by some weird chance that Bruce Willis is reading this right now (which I know you totally are, Bruce), give me a holler and let me know what your experience was like. My marriage depends on it.
Get the Music Newsletter
Keep your thumb on the local music scene each week with music news, trends, artist interviews and concert listings. We'll also send you special ticket offers and music deals.