Have You Had Your Porn Star Today?

The day was a Friday, and it was beautiful outside. I needed a tasty beverage after work, but I had to drink it rather quickly because my sister and I were about to leave to see a high school basketball game; a girl from our youth group would be playing. I weighed my options: Should I pour my drink into my water bottle and nonchalantly sip it through a straw while watching the game? Could I bring my glass in the car with me? My conscience wouldn't allow either, so I drank it quickly before we left.

The evening was still beautiful when we got home, and our basketball-playing friend was arriving too, soon after her game. I wanted another tasty beverage, but seeing as it was technically a youth group night - even if only one girl was coming - I wasn't sure I should indulge.

I asked my sister, "Is there such a thing as a virgin porn star?"

"No."

Billy Ivey's Open Letters to Trojan, Part 6

10-20-06
Dear Trojan…
You know what makes you not the worst company (and product) to have ever been let through the patent office?

Nesting.

You read correctly. “Nesting.” That’s the only redeemable thing about what your crap product allowed to happen to me about 3 months ago.

She’s starting to clean, and I freaking love it! Drawers, closets, the kitchen cabinets and pantry. She even sorted my sock drawer.

Nesting is wonderful, and I guess - at the end of a long weekend - I owe you guys a debt of thanks.

So… thanks.

Douchebags.

*****
11-14-06
Dear Trojan…
…sorry I haven’t written in a few weeks. I’ve been busy.

Don’t think for a second that I’ve forgotten about you. The odds of that happening rank down there with me waking up from this very real and lengthy nightmare.

It aint happenin’.

But this particular love note has nothing to do with an update of any kind. I need to clarify a few things. My hate and disgust and rage toward you and your cheap-ass product have no reflection on how I feel for or about my wife. Any anger that you “perceive” regarding our correspondence should be absorbed and taken to heart by you and you alone.

And George Bush.

I love my wife more than I love beer (and I tell her so on a regular basis)! I just hate what you have allowed to happen to her hormones. Those little demon-bastards are what make me pray for death.

For me, not her.

It’s not her fault, and I know that. And I also know that I’ll one day learn to love the little miracle that’s dancing around in her belly. This has nothing to do with my family - current or impending. It’s about YOU.

So, thank you and screw you. You’ll be hearing from me soon.

*****
11-16-06
Dear Trojan…
Tell me something… since you guys are the supposed “experts” in the area(s) of whatever the hell you do: Is it normal for me to actually be able to SEE hormones? I’m not kidding. En Masse, they form something that looks almost exactly like my wife. Except for the eyes are fire and they yell a lot. I’d just like to know; I might need to consult a doctor. Or a minister. Or an exorcist.

Anyway, we’re making progress with all of this. We’ve decided on a name. If it’s a manchild, we’ll call him “Abe” (after someone named Abraham). If it’s a girl, my wife can call her whatever she wants, because Ben and I are leaving.

I hate you.