point man for spontaneity

Point Man for Spontaneity

Even when it’s your birthday and you walk into your dark house after work and all the lights come on at once and sixteen naked women burst out of sixteen gigantic multi-layered cakes like sperm whales and a roomful of properly attired people wearing party hats yell Happy Birthday! simultaneously and begin shaking rattles and blowing horns, even then planning plays little part in the rapid-fire combat in the war zone of your brain.

Instead of being rocked back on your heels you say something highly inappropriate, laugh uproariously and begin stripping off your clothes while lunging after naked woman smeared with chocolate icing who squeal and scatter, creating pandemonium.

You pin a cake woman to the wall in the hallway and begin licking icing from her taut nipples. She throws her head back and laughs and runs her hands through your hair, and the other fifteen gather round, arching their backs and cupping their breasts.

By this time the guests are bunched up and exiting out the front door, and your wife, who thought to show you just how spontaneous she can be with this little birthday surprise, barks, “Carl! For Christ sake!”

Sensing the flow going out of things, you toss a naked women over your shoulder and march off to the bedroom.


By the time you come back out, everyone has left. The naked woman grabs her clothes that are neatly folded on a chair, dresses and leaves too.

Your wife is sitting at the kitchen table in her seductive dress that she bought spontaneously that very afternoon, her party hat still perched on her head. She’s staring at her hands on the table top.

“We need to talk,” she says, without looking up.

“What about?” you say, and march straight out the door, not bothering to put on the clothes that make you invisible.

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